...Scott stood on the pavement outside what looked like a very fashionable hairdresser—the kind that charged more for a quick trim than he made in a month. He’d already read the note Joe had slipped into his pocket at the end of their last date a dozen times and more and he’d been pretty sure he knew the address they were going to meet at by heart, but apparently not…

Frowning at the darkness behind the shop window, glad it was closed so that he at least didn’t have an audience to his stupidity, Scott dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the latest envelope he’d received from Joe. Carefully extracting the note, Scott read the address. He looked at the number on the building, then at the street name. They all seemed to match.

The sudden roar of a motorbike turning the corner at the end of the street made Scott smile. Even if the hairdresser didn’t look like Joe’s type of place, that definitely sounded like Joe’s kind of ride.

The physical memory of the vibrations that had danced through his body the one and only time he’d been permitted to ride pillion behind Joe, rushed straight to Scott’s cock. He immediately began to harden. Scott couldn’t bring himself to be surprised by that particular reaction. Every damn thing about Joe seemed to have the same effect on him. The guy was super-strength, leather-clad Viagra.

A hulking mass of silvered chrome and shining black metal rolled to a stop right alongside Scott.

Hastily pushing the note into his pocket, Scott did his best to force his features into something that resembled a nice, sensible smile, rather than an idiotic grin. He had as much control over his face as he had over his cock.

Joe pulled off his crash helmet and shoved his hand through his hair, shaking out the dark strands.

“Turn around.”

Scott obediently turned three hundred and sixty degrees, but as calm as he tried to remain on the outside, his mind was now racing like a stallion being whipped by the most sadistic of jockeys.

Joe hadn’t mentioned anything about needing to dress up for their date. Maybe if he—

“No,” Joe corrected, patiently. “Turn to face the shop window.”

“Oh, sorry,” Scott mumbled, dutifully turning his back on the other man.

“Do you remember what your safe word is?”

Scott swallowed several times in quick succession. In the reflection from the windowpane, he saw his Adam’s apple bob. “I remember,” he whispered.

“Stay where you are.”

Scott refocused. He was just able to make out Joe’s image in the reflection on the window. He watched Joe put his helmet in the case on the back of his bike and take something out of one of the panniers.

Nibbling at his bottom lip as more and more adrenaline rushed into his bloodstream, Scott looked down, not sure if he was allowed to make use of the reflection that way.