Forty-five miles. God, the only thing better than this was sex. Sex done exceptionally well. As Lucas crested the hill, pushing the burn in his legs, he snagged his water bottle to take a measured draught. Releasing the bike handlebars to coast hands-free, he shifted his hips to negotiate the inevitable curve. No such thing as a straight line or a flat expanse this deep in the Berkshires. Every downward slope followed by a challenging upward one. Like the curves of a woman’s body. Or her mind.

Ben had given him shit about hopping a charter here for the weekend when they were still figuring out how to make the numbers work for the Mancuso plant operation. But it was all bullshit, because Ben knew Lucas did his best problem solving while cycling. Just as the legal advisor did it by finding the prettiest ass available and immersing himself in it. When they came back to the office Monday, Ben would fix the legal snarls, and Lucas would crunch the numbers into manageable pieces. Hell, Matt should save the money on their corner offices. Though Lucas had to admit he liked his Baton Rouge city view, with the backdrop of the Mississippi River.

It was time for a lunch break and a stretch, if he could find the spot his buddy Marcus had told him was right off the road around here. He was pretty deep in the Berkshire farm area, but tourists did have a way of finding the hot spots. Still, Marcus had stressed “hidden”, even giving him GPS coordinates for the exact location, give or take ten feet.

There it was. As he rolled across the shoulder, he saw the narrow deer trail. A couple broken twigs and some spoor suggested the brown-eyed creatures had passed through recently.

It was a short hike, so it worked as a good cool down. The light racing bike was easy to carry, even with his gear. Marcus had said the glade would have a stream, soft grass for a nap and a frame of trees for the sky that would make Lucas think he’d fallen into a nest made by heaven itself. Marcus was a gallery owner, brushing shoulders with New York art types, so such metaphors were to be expected. Or maybe the description had come from Thomas, his spouse, or life partner, whatever they called it. It sounded like a good place and Lucas wouldn’t dwell on what they might have done there. To each his own, but his preference definitely ran to heart-shaped asses of a different gender. Skin of milk cream, and tender pink lips hidden like treasure between not-too-firm, not-too-soft thighs. Just like Goldilocks, he knew when they were just right.

Lately, it had been just okay. Some lovely ladies, intelligent, beautiful and willing. Business associates on the same time schedules, which discouraged anything deeper on both sides, but ensured dinner dates and sexual release were no further than a cell phone call. He was CFO for Kensington & Associates, after all, so he didn’t have trouble with that.

But maybe it was watching Matt, the head of K&A, with his new wife, Savannah, during the past year. The way they’d taken the leap of faith together, and their love just seemed to grow and grow. Not like a molasses flood, drowning everyone in reach in gooeyness. More like the quiet reassurance of the ocean’s murmur. Timeless, clean, overwhelming. Proof that there was a greater purpose here. Maybe he was ready for something deeper himself. Maybe that was why he was cycling and Ben was likely hip deep in pussy by now.

As he stepped into the clearing, anticipating the tranquility, he came to a dead stop, his thoughts scattering like a game of 52-card pickup.

Marcus hadn’t mentioned the spot came with a half-naked girl on a motorcycle.

Either that, or Lucas had been run over by a mini-van and didn’t realize he was dead, stumbling into everything Heaven should be. If so, he was profoundly thankful to the mini-van driver.

He blinked. Yes, it was definitely a woman, stretched out on the curved seat of a Night Rod series Harley. At one time, she’d apparently been wearing black jeans with riding chaps over them, for they were in a crumpled pile next to the bike, leaving her lower body clad only in a pair of silky ivory panties. Her feet were braced on the handlebars, legs spread, ass snugged down in the driver’s seat while her upper body was arched over the hump to the passenger seat. The toned legs and generous ass were taut, for her fingers were tucked into the panties. Thanks to the blessing of filmy material, he could see the individual movements of her fingers.

Managing to pull his attention away from that, he saw she was wearing a corset. Curiously, it wasn’t the decorative kind women wore on the outside of their clothes, though this was a beautiful sundry. Ivory-colored as well, with one strap falling off her shoulder and elevating her breasts enough they were accentuated by the slightest breath. It hooked in front, so would lay flat under the heavy white T-shirt she’d been wearing, also lying in the grass. Just a touch of lace at the low décolletage that tempted full exposure from the crescent stretch of her torso.

She wore a music player, tiny earphones tucked into ears as delicate as porcelain, half-hidden by her hair, skeins of white gold long enough to fall over the top of the rear tire. A few strands were scattered by the breeze across her face, teasing wet, parted lips. Her bare feet flexed against the chrome bars as she apparently hit a good spot, biting her lip. Since her eyes were closed, golden lashes fanning her cheeks, he imagined she was deep in some fantasy, picturing her fingers as someone else’s.

Or perhaps she was envisioning someone stealing upon her in this glade, watching, getting hungrier for a taste of the pussy she’d teased into a wetness that had soaked the crotch panel. Someone who wanted to slide his hands under her, grip that delectable ass and tongue her first through the saturated silk. Bite her clit through her panties. Women loved that, the buffer to stimulation that provided friction, helped warm them up, so that when he finally pulled the cloth out of the way and tasted creamed flesh, she would be writhing, begging.

God, he loved eating pussy. Second best thing to fucking it.

A gentleman—not to mention a smart man—would have backed away. But he couldn’t make his feet move. This was undeniably a gift from God, and he was a devout Methodist. Okay, at least when he went home to Iowa during Christmas and attended church with his parents. Regardless, there was a higher power, a higher order. Hadn’t he just been thinking that? Maybe this was an answer.

Yes, Lucas. In your search for a deeper relationship, God has sent you to a private photo shoot from Penthouse.

Hey, crazier things had happened. Like his spontaneous decision now, to become part of her fantasy. As he moved forward, he hoped she wasn’t armed.