READ EXCERPT Giselle's computer started dinging with responses to her profile. Most responses were nothing more than a picture of their penis. She scrolled past the dick pics until one caught her attention: Harley Enthusiast. . . . He laid her down on the length of the bike seat and unbuttoned her jeans. It was all happening so fast, and her mind raced, telling her that respectable women don't do things like this. Her mind told her 'No,' but her body was screaming 'Yes.' She could feel the cold leather of the bike seat against her backside, the wine still warm in her chest, and the wanting, plain and enormous, with no apology attached to it. Harley pulled her jeans down, and the mountain air moved over her bare skin. She should have been embarrassed. Instead, she heard herself say, "I'm wet for you," and the words startled her. She had never said a sentence like that in her life. James would have looked at her like she was some whore if he had heard that come out of her mouth. Out here, with this man, there was no one to disappoint, and the freedom of it made her dizzier than the wine. He buried his face between her thighs, and she stopped keeping score of what she was allowed to feel. She fisted a hand in his hair, pulling, greedy, a thing she'd never have dared. She allowed herself to let the sounds of pleasure roll out of her because for once no one was listening for a reason to make her feel ashamed. He ran his tongue the length of her crack and slurped her juices. He licked, sucked, and bit at her pussy until she was writhing in ecstasy. He wanted to make her cum over and over, and he would.