Then he shakes his head once, short and decisive. “Helmet.” He holds it out, and I take it like it might vanish if I hesitate.
“Wow,” I say, fastening the strap. “Is this what personal growth looks like?”
“Get on the bike before I change my damn mind.”
I laugh under my breath and step closer, aware of how suddenly real the moment feels now that it’s actually happening. The engine’s low idle vibrates up through the soles of my boots, through my bones.
“Where do you want me?” I ask, softer now.
“Behind me,” he says, equally calm. “Hold on.”
“I was planning to cling like a Koala.”
“I’m counting on it.”
I swing my leg over, settling behind him, the shape of his back solid and familiar even before I lean in. When I slide my arms around his waist, he stills for half a second like he registers the contact somewhere deeper than muscle memory.
“Comfortable?” he asks.
“Dangerously.”
He huffs something that might be a laugh, then the engine growls properly to life, and the rest of the club fades into background noise when we pull out into the night. The first surge of acceleration steals my breath, leaving me almost breathless. The engine growls beneath me, the vibration climbing up my spine and settling deep in my chest, working against the knot that’s been locked there all damn evening until it finally starts to give under the raw, undeniable pull of movement.
Wind catches at the hair hanging free from the helmet immediately, tearing loose the last of the careful composure I’d been holding together inside Sin’s office. The night air is colder on the bike, sharper, alive with movement.
I tighten my arms around him without thinking.
He doesn’t react.
Which is, in itself, a reaction.
The city lights blur at the edges as we merge onto the road, the rhythm of the ride settling into something steady and sure. I press my cheek between his shoulder blades, the warmth of him radiating through leather and denim, through all the layers I pretend make a difference.
They don’t.
Every shift of his body communicates itself to mine. Every lean into a turn pulls me with him, an unspoken conversation conducted through balance and instinct. I find the cadence quickly, the way you do with something that feels like you’ve always known it, even if you haven’t.
Adrenaline hums low under my skin.
Not fear.
Not anymore.
Something brighter.
Something that feels suspiciously like relief.
At a red light, he eases to a stop, boots planting wide and solid on the asphalt. The engine continues its deep, steady thrum beneath us, vibrating up through my thighs and into the tight circle of my arms around his waist.
His hand leaves the throttle for just a second, and it reaches back to find my leg. He doesn’t grip, just rests his palm on my thigh, warm and grounding, a check-in that feels more intimate than anything he could have said out loud.
You still there.
I press closer in answer.
Always.
The light changes, and his hand returns to the chrome grip. We move again, faster this time, the road opening ahead of us in long ribbons of fluorescent glow and shadow.
