Taylor talking about her own potential death is going to bring my breakfast back up. “You are never in danger if I’m with you,” I say, caught off guard by my own confidence. Where is that coming from? Her? Because of what she said on the beach when she didn’t know I was listening?
Now she blinks at me. “I know I’m safe with you. It’s other people on the road I’m worried about.” My pulse beats faster as she crosses the room toward me. “I trust you.”
“Hmm.” I can’t look at her. Not with warmth spreading from my throat down to my stomach. “I guess I like that.”
“Me trusting you?”
I grunt. Nod, in case the grunt didn’t make my answer clear.
And she slips her hand into mine.
It feels so good, I almost pull away. Hand holding is not part of the job.
None of this is part of the job.
Yet here I am, leading her to my bike by the hand like a doting boyfriend. Putting my helmet on her head gently and helping her onto the rear of the seat. She looks so fragile on the extra-large piece of machinery that sweat starts to bead on my hairline. I swear to God if another car comes within ten feet of us, I’m going to go fucking ballistic. Why did I suggest we take the bike? Is it too late to drive the car?
“I’m starting to get excited now,” she says, smiling at me through the helmet. “Should I just hold on to my purse?”
“No.” I take it out of her hands and stow it in one of the saddlebags. “You’ll be holding on to me.”
“Roger that.”
When I straddle the bike and her arms circle my waist, face pressing into the back of my shoulder, so many things happen to my body at once. My muscles tense with purpose. Protectiveness crams into my midsection. My tongue turns thick in my mouth, skin clammy in some places, hot in others. To say nothing of my swollen cock, which has been in perpetual misery for so many consecutive days that I’m beginning to get used to the pain. Mostly, though, it’s the organ firing in my chest. Pumping like crazy. Somehow I know I’ll never have another woman on the back of my bike besides Taylor. She’s the last.
No matter what happens.
With that uncomfortable thought hanging in the air, I squeeze the clutch lever and start the bike, slowly pulling onto the road, exhaling jaggedly at the way her thighs tighten on either side of my hips, arms cinching around me like a belt. I go slow. Slower than the speed limit. Every pothole and road sign is a potential threat.
“Faster,” she calls over the wind, squeezing me. Even though gunning the engine makes me feel like I’m going to be sick, I do it anyway, because I’m proud of her. For being brave. Facing her fear. Trusting me to do it with her. And hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the way she clings to me, her warm pussy against the small of my back. Her sexy, thong-clad butt is perched on the rumbling engine of my bike and that makes me hungry. Makes me think of hot, sweaty sex. Makes me think of us in bed, instead, while she screams faster in my ear. Why won’t I just beat off and get rid of some of this pressure between my legs? Just this morning, I returned to my motel room to shower and change. Could have worked out some frustration with my hand, but I couldn’t do it, despite my dick being harder than a two-by-four. My body knows nothing is going to come close to the real thing. Taylor.
God, I want to fuck her so bad. Might as well admit that I can’t…I can’t do it because my heart is involved. Or I would have spent the night in her bed by now. In and out. No entanglements. No sickening fear of missing something in the case and getting her hurt.
Or worse.
My hands are starting to turn to jelly on the handlebars, so I swallow the dark direction of my thoughts and focus on getting her to town safely. When we reach downtown Falmouth, it’s packed.
“Oh, I forgot,” she calls into the dying wind. “The rally.”
I nod, slowly navigating us into one of the municipal parking lots. There isn’t a spot in sight, so I park illegally between a car and a gate, earning me a smirk from Taylor when I draw off her helmet. “So.” My voice sounds like cut glass. “What did you think?”
“I loved it,” she breathes, putting her arms around my neck. “Thank you for convincing me. And not making fun of me when I balked.”
“No one makes fun of you ever again,” I blurt.
It’s such a stupid thing to promise. I have no way of making that guarantee. But what else am I supposed to say when she’s beaming at me like I’m her hero? Are vows just going to come flying out of my mouth now? Next I’ll be promising her a house and babies and a trip to Disneyworld. Matching shirts don’t sound quite as heinous as before.