Jackson’s firm hand on my elbow holds me up when my knees threaten to buckle. “Harper, it’s okay.”
I gesture dramatically towards the motorcycle, gleaming in the sunlight. “I can’t get on that!”
“Says who?” Jackson presses.
“Every medical professional in the tri-county area.”
“I spoke to Beau and Colby, and they both said it would be fine if we take certain precautions. Don’t you think they have your best interests at heart?”
My brain gets caught on Beau and Colby. He spoke to them? I cover my eyes with my hands, hoping to stem the anxiety swirling inside me.
Jackson wraps his fingers around my wrists and gently tugs my hands from my eyes. His gaze is so soft, so tender, that again, my brain quiets when all I want to do is spiral out of control. I want to yank free from his grasp, snarl, spit, and cry at him, but before I can even muster an ounce of anger, he tugs me into his arms. His warmth bleeds through his clothes and right into me until all I can do is fall against him in a rare show of trust.
“I’ll keep you safe, I promise,” Jackson whispers into my hair, voice rough but low.
Fed up with being vulnerable, I push out of his arms with a stilted nod. Jackson seems to understand. He guides us to the bike and grabs a helmet off the handle. He places the helmet over my head with a small, pleased smile.
Watching Jackson put on his own helmet is borderline pornographic. I wonder if maybe one day he’ll leave the helmet on while I get on my knees for him. I’ve got to rush these fantasies before he gets bored.
He slips one long leg over the bike, straddling it in a way that has my blood pumping dangerously throughout my body. Now is not the time for a hard-on. Patting the seat behind him, he flips the visor of his helmet up to leer at me.
“Climb on, punk.”
I flush with annoyance at the nickname but decide against arguing. Climbing onto the bike behind his strong body, I lean heavily against the small backrest behind me. Jackson’s palm lands heavily on my thigh, squeezing just once in reassurance. My skin breaks out with goose pimples under his touch. I want to snuggle into his body while simultaneously shoving him away.
“Squeeze your thighs tight around me,” Jackson orders, voice gruff. I do as he says, then stare in confusion as he wraps what looks like a seat belt around us both. “Now wrap your arms around me and hold tight. If you loosen up at all, I’m stopping. We’ll ride as long as you hold on tight to me. Got it?”
There must be mics in our helmets because it’s easy to hear him as if he’s whispering right against my ears. Jackson’s voice is somehow simultaneously deep and soft. He always sounds like he’s speaking to a spooked animal when he’s talking to me. One would think that would piss me off, send me hissing his way. But it doesn’t matter as long as his voice curls around me like ablanket fresh out of the dryer. If he narrated my life, maybe it wouldn’t be total shit.
“Yes,” I say softly.
He pats my hands once in acknowledgment after I wrap them tight around his stomach. I can feel the muscles of his abdomen contract under my touch as he starts up the bike. The bike rumbles between my legs, forcing me to slide a little closer against his back. My groin presses flush to his ass, sending a rush of desire zipping through me.
A delighted laugh breaks free from me when the motorcycle jumps, only to rumble slowly down the gravel road. God. It’s just like I imagined. The wind whips against my body, giving me the feeling of flying. Jackson’s hands grip the handles tight, his gaze steady on the road before us. I tighten my arms around him in the imitation of a hug, hoping maybe he’ll understand the action for how I mean it.
“Good?” Jackson questions, just as he turns down the county road leading deeper into farm country.
“Great,” I reply honestly.
Jackson guides us through a maze of roads, until we’re on a small two-lane highway that rarely sees much traffic. Citrus groves line either side of the road, a familiar sight that keeps my anxious heart strangely calm. Jackson slows the bike slightly with no one behind us. The rumble of the engine is still loud, but I’ve gotten used to it. The gentle purr of the motorcycle is oddly comforting as the bike speeds along.
We ride for so long that I almost forget about anything else but the feel of Jackson strong between my thighs, the rumble of the engine, and the light yellow autumn sun in the cloudless sky. A perfect day. Surely things will go to shit soon.
“I’m going to let go, but I promise I’m fine. Okay?” I say into the helmet.
Jackson turns his head slightly to look at me through his visor, no doubt gauging the truth of my statement. He nods once, then says, “Alright, Harper.”
I untangle my arms from around him just in time for him to slow the bike to a crawl. Holding my arms out at my sides, I lean back against the backrest, pretending for one moment that I’m flying. Delirious with joy, my lips hurt from the large stretch of my smile. A delighted laugh bubbles through my chest until I could almost weep with happiness.
Looping my arms back around him, I hook my head over his shoulder to hold on for dear life. The bike winds and swerves through the backcountry of Clay Springs until we bleed deeper into the part of the county that I rarely visit. Large farmhouses dot the sprawling landscape beside us. Jackson comes to a slow stop beside a fence with a few horses grazing in the distance.
After unbuckling the belt, he hops off the bike in one single, easy motion, then gently picks me up by the ribs to help me off as well. A biting remark threatens to slip out of me, but I hold it back when I see the tender look on his face when he rips his helmet off. Jackson rests the helmet on the handle, then sweetly helps take mine off. He’s too nice, at least for me.
“Wanna pet a horse?” Jackson asks, grin wide and sweet.
I glance uneasily back at the house further up the road. “What if we get in trouble?”
“We won’t,” Jackson reassures me.
