But the second he accelerated onto the empty road, instinct took over. My fingers locked together over his stomach. My cheek brushed the solid plane of his back. My knees pressed in at his sides.
He didn’t say a thing.
He just rode.
He’s warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. Solid. Unmoving. The kind of steady that makes the world feel less dangerous.
I’ve never been on a bike before.
I’ve never been wrapped around a man like this before.
I’ve never felt this… aware of someone.
His scent is everywhere.
On the cut wrapped around me. In the fabric of his shirt under my palms. Clean. Warm. Something sharp beneath it.
Something that feels like him.
When we finally slow, trees replace buildings. Neon disappears. The road narrows and curves. My grip tightens without thinking.
“You good?” he calls back over his shoulder, voice rough but calm.
Good.
I don’t feel good.
I feel like something huge just happened and my body hasn’t caught up yet.
The bike turns onto a gravel drive. The sound changes. Crunching under tires. A cabin appears ahead, dark wood tucked into trees, porch light glowing low and steady.
He kills the engine.
Silence crashes in.
I don’t let go.
My hands are still locked around him.
He reaches back, fingers brushing my wrist.
“You can let go,” he says.
Heat floods my face under the helmet.
I peel my arms away slowly.
He swings off the bike first, boots hitting gravel. Then he turns to me.
For the first time, I really see him.
Not through club lights. Not through fear.
Just him.
His hair is dark and wind-tossed, pushed back from his face by speed and cold. It falls slightly over his forehead before he runs a hand through it. His jaw is shadowed, not clean shaven but not wild either. There’s a faint scar near his temple I didn’t notice before.
His eyes are darker in this light. Blue, but not soft blue. The kind of blue that looks like it has seen things.
