I had no idea if Hailey and Satan were still around. I didn’t really give a fuck. All I cared about was that Melissa was with me, she was following me eagerly, and whatever hesitations or concerns she might have had were about to be put to bed by getting on my bike.
I’d only parked one block away from the bar, giving less downtime to make small talk. Melissa said, “Oh, damn,” when she saw the bike. It was almost like she’d forgotten this part of the night would happen.
“You know what to expect,” I said as I lifted the seat and gave her her helmet.
“It’s too bad I got jeans on,” she said with a smirk.
I shrugged.
“No reason that can’t prevent you from having some fun,” I said. “Maybe I’ll take the bumps extra hard or make sure to rev the engine even more.”
“You’re so bad,” she said. “This is so bad.”
I chose to not say anything and risk engaging a more serious conversation. I hopped on the bike, feeling at home on my chopper. Melissa swung her legs over and scooted close to mine. Feeling her chest press against my back, her hips into my ass…fuck, I was so stiff my jeans probably looked like a mountain range.
I waited until she had her arms wrapped around my body before I revved the engine to life. Melissa let out a scream that turned into a laugh, and that was all I needed to know.
The power of the bike was amazing when it came to women and dates. It was arguably the best wingman there was, even better than puppies and little kids, because while dogs and kids made women coo and go “aww,” they weren’t something that got them excited. Not like a bike did. And a bike was interactive—last I’d checked, no breed of dog was large enough or strong enough for an adult woman to ride like a horse.
Every time I went on a date or was trying to convince a woman to sleep with me, I always had one goal in mind.Get them on the damn bike.If that happened, it was literally a guarantee I’d get my dick off that night. I had never gotten someone on the bike and not had them fuck me at some point. If ever there was “one shocking trick to get laid” like those fucking stupid internet ads suggested, it was getting the girl on the motorcycle.
In Melissa’s case, it actually seemed like it wouldn’t be required, but I wasn’t taking any chances. If she was ninety-five percent in with a five percent chance of having a recall to dark times, I was going to shut that shit out with the bike ride. Even if she didn’t come, she’d be so wet and charged by the time we did that she’d probably attack me in the parking lot.
And there were no guarantees I wouldn’t fucking take her right there under a streetlamp if she got me too riled up.
The ride back to my place normally didn’t take that long, maybe five, six minutes tops, but I made sure to take my sweet time going there, missing the highway exit, looping back around, taking side roads…time under tension, let’s say—or perhaps time over tension in the literal sense—was the goal.
I could tell Melissa was enjoying it because, even over the bike, I could hear her moaning behind me. More importantly, at stop lights, I could feel her hands moving down my body and trying to reach over my crotch. Girl was smart enough not to touch me when the bike moved—sex wouldn’t happen if we crashed—but by the time we actually got into the neighborhood, I knew it was go time.
I parked the bike and made sure I wasted no time. I hurried off, moved my hands over Melissa’s face to remove the helmet from her chin, and carried it in my left hand as I took Melissa in my right. I opened the door, let Melissa walk right in front of me, and took the chance to eye my prize.
Fuck, it was going to be good to be back inside this girl.
