The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the deserted highway. The sound of revving engines filled the air, a promise of adventure, danger, and excitement. Avvy sat perched on the back of his bike, gripping tightly onto the leather vest of the man in front of him. His fingers trembled slightly with anticipation as they sped along the winding roads, the wind whipping through his hair and against his skin.

Maxwell, the biker with a deep, gravelly British accent, turned his head slightly, his stubbled face breaking into a smirk. "Hold on tight, Pup," he growled, the rough edges of his voice making Avvy's heart race.

The roar of the engine grew louder as Maxwell pushed the bike to its limits, the night air cooling their heated bodies. With every twist and turn, Avvy couldn't help but notice the power in Maxwell’s movements. He was a force of nature—muscular, covered in tattoos, and exuding a raw, masculine energy that had Avvy’s pulse quickening in a way he hadn’t experienced before.

They stopped by a quiet stretch of road, where the trees loomed tall, casting shadows across the pavement. Maxwell cut the engine, the sound of the world going silent, save for the rhythmic beating of their hearts.

Avvy slid off the bike, his body still buzzing from the adrenaline, his chest heaving with excitement. Maxwell watched him with dark, intent eyes, his lips curling into a half-smile as he removed his helmet.

“Quite a ride, Pup,” Maxwell murmured, stepping closer, his body towering over Avvy, the scent of leather, musk, and gasoline heavy in the air. "You handle yourself well."

Avvy’s pulse raced, his breath hitching as Maxwell closed the gap between them. “I like it when you take control,” Avvy confessed, his voice low, almost a...