Page 284 of Rogue Riders Duet

Mason leans back against the doorframe, eyes closed, exhaling like the weight of the day’s bullshit finally caught up with him, but he just realized it’s only morning. “I’m so done with this circuit shit.”

“But we’re not done with the racing shit,” Luc replies, crouching down at Toulouse’s cage. “And you can’t have one without the other.”

The little guy is curled up in his hammock, sleeping like a baby, but it doesn’t distract me from my buzzing curiosity.

“What’s the present?” I ask.

Luc straightens and raises a brow at me. “Patience isn’t your strong suit, huh, Petite?”

I glare, but he laughs and nods toward a cardboard box next to his suitcase. “It’s in there. Wait, let me⁠—”

But Mason is already there, lifting the lid, and he hesitates only a second before he pulls out something bright pink.

My jaw drops.

“You bought her a bloody dildo?”

Luc grabs the hot pink dildo from Mason’s hands. “That’s not for her,” he says, shoving it back in the box.

Mason cocks an eyebrow. “It’s for you?”

“Yes,” Luc mutters, a pink sheen on his cheeks. “I didn’t buy it to use it with you, so don’t get all excited.”

Mason snorts, but my heart jumps as I look between them.

Fuck. The thought of them.

Focus, Crews.

“So, no dildo for me. What is it then?”

Luc pulls something else from the box. Also silicone, but more realistic in shape and color, and still a freaking penis. He hands it to me, and for some reason, I take it.

“What…” I squeeze the cock on instinct but then force my hand to stop. “What is this, Luc?”

“That, ma Petite, is your new cock. A pecker.”

My hand squeezes again, making the dick twitch. “A what?”

“A pecker.” Luc is clearly enjoying himself. “Pierre.”

I blink. “Who?”

“Pierre,” he repeats, deadpan. “Your co-captain. Your undercover accomplice. The little rogue riding shotgun in your bike pants.”

I snort so hard it hurts. “You did not name a piece of silicone Pierre.”

What kind of fever dream is this?

Luc’s grin goes wide. “He insisted. Whispered it to me when I unpacked him. He’s got presence.”

“Pierre,” Mason mutters from beside me. “He looks more like a Bruce or a Chad.”

Luc gasps. “Bruce has never known foreplay, and Chad thinks body spray counts as cologne. But Pierre’s got swagger. He has been places.”

“Pierre has trauma,” I mutter, staring at the floppy shaft.

“Exactly.” Luc winks at me. “And yet, he rises.”