Part of me wants to cut her loose. Make some big excuse that she got away and no other information is available.
Of course, they would just pull the tapes and call me out for being full of shit. Again, almost worth the risk because my intuition tells me this is going to be the biggest cluster ever.
I lean down to look at her face, suddenly intent on seeing what’s going on in her head. Rather than attempt to move away, she leans in closer and asks slowly, “What are you doing?”
She’s frowning, looking seriously confused, so I reply, “Where we’re going is no secret, so as long as you’re going to behave, I won’t have to blindfold you or anything for the ride.”
She quirks a brow at me, her lips twisting, and I barely manage to repress my grin because throwing her off makes me feel a bit better about how incredibly messed up I feel right now. Snagging my extra helmet from where it’s secured in a tail pack, I turn back to her, yanking her close, placing the helmet overher head, securing the chin strap, and tapping my fingers on the visor.
Like Cinderella and her glass slipper, it fits.
My eyes narrow at my stupid joke, happy I at least managed to not say it out loud becausewhat the actual fuckis prevalent in my mind as I secure my own helmet, yank my gloves on, and then turn away from her.
Swinging my leg over, I settle myself astride and then turn and take her hand, pulling her toward me and helping her climb on the back. She mutters from behind me, “Couldn’t you just ride a hog like a normal motorcycle gang?”
“You seriously gonna judge my choice of motorcycle right now?”
She says nothing, and I grab her wrists, yanking her arms around my torso, turning my head toward her and saying over my shoulder, “Hold on tight and don’t mess around.”
Her arms tighten around me, but she says nothing. I start the bike and ease us through the parking lot, jerking and weaving to assess what type of trouble she might be in on the back of my bike. She doesn’t flinch or jerk around; she just keeps her arms around me. When I get to the road, I stop, placing both of my feet on the ground and reaching back with my hands, grabbing her knees.
I give her a yank so the spread of her legs is pressed firmly against me, and other than a gasp of surprise, she doesn’t object or attempt to move back. If she’s ever been on the back of a bike, she’ll know that this is the appropriate position for the ride I’m about to take her on.
Many people say they’ve been on the back of a bike before, but when I ask that question, I’m not asking if they’ve been on a Sunday drive. I’m not referring to the casual weekender or date night or subtle excuse to rub your tits on someone’s back.
I’m talking about an all-caps RIDE. I’m referring to speed, adrenaline, a state of euphoria one reaches when they’ve hit the upper limit, and one wrong move would equal the end.
As if she senses my unspoken question, she nods, pressing her body as closely to mine as possible, which indicates that she knows exactly what’s to come.
I ease the bike onto the road, immediately twisting the throttle, and within seconds, we’re barreling down the highway. I slow down slightly before the first curve, gauging her reaction as we take the corner, accelerating out of it at a significant rate of speed.
Much to my surprise, she laughs.
I shake my head, quickly coming to the realization there’s no point in being surprised by anything at this point.
So, I put my head down, focused entirely on the road ahead of me as I continue to drive like the methodical madman that I am.
FIVE
A TROUBLESOME START
Vivian
When the man said he was going to take me for a ride, I knew I was in for the thrill of my life.
I’m sure he was hoping it would be the scare of my life, but he’ll have to settle for outwardly exhilarated. And after fifteen minutes of rubbing my tits on his back, my hands clutching his rock-hard abs, I was more than a little horny.
Nothing like being on the back of the bike of a maniac to get the pussy juices flowing.
The only thing keeping me from reaching around with great intent is a healthy fear that my impulsivity will lead to us being strewn all over the pavement.
That being said, by the time he slows down, I’m considering putting my frozen hands beneath his shirt. I don’t want to come off too forward, but the idea of being warm loosens some of my natural inhibitions. I lift my head, relaxing as he sits up slightly, and look at my surroundings. I groan, immediately annoyed that he’s brought me to some private residence instead of the main compound.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but it doesn’t lessen my annoyance that this is going to take longer than I initially suspected.
And I can’t imagine what he thinks we’re going to do at what I assume is his house, if you can call it a house.
We’re in the middle of nowhere in front of what appears to be a huge building with one small, dim lightbulb illuminating a doorway. He comes to a stop, bracing himself on his feet, and a door to the right of the light slowly rolls open.
