I stare at it. Then at the motorcycle. The powerful bike gleams in the afternoon light, all sleek black lines and dangerous curves.
I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to ride that thing. Cristiano looks so free on it, weaving through traffic, the engine roaring beneath him. Like nothing in the world can touch him.
“I’ll be careful,” he says, reading my hesitation. “I promise I won’t go fast.”
It’s just a ride home. Five minutes, maybe less. It’s not like I have any other options. And if some small, reckless part of me is curious what it feels like to hold on to Cristiano while the world blurs past, no one has to know that but me.
I accept the helmet. It’s heavier than I expected, and still warm from his head. I fumble with the strap until he reaches over and fastens it for me, his fingers brushing my jaw. The touch is brief, impersonal, but my skin tingles anyway.
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
He helps me up, his arm around my waist, taking most of my weight. The pain flares when I try to put pressure on my ankle, and I gasp, grabbing onto him for balance.
“Easy.” His voice is low and soothing. “I’ve got you.”
He guides me to the bike and helps me swing my leg over. The seat is warm leather, smooth beneath my thighs. He gathers my things up and slides my backpack onto my shoulders, and then climbs on the bike in front of me. Suddenly I’m pressed against his back, my legs bracketing his hips, my face inches from his shoulder blades.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. They hover awkwardly at my sides, gripping the edge of the seat, but that doesn’t feel secure enough. The bike is tilted slightly, balanced by its kickstand and Cristiano’s boot on the ground, and I’m terrified of falling off before we even start moving.
“Hold on to me.” His voice carries back to me, gentle but firm. “For your safety.”
Right. Of course. For safety.
I put my hands on his waist tentatively. My fingers curl into his leather jacket, feeling the warmth of him beneath. He’s solid and steady, his body a wall of heat and muscle between my hands. My heart is pounding, and I tell myself it’s the pain.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
He kicks up the stand, and the bike roars to life.
The vibration travels through my entire body. My thighs, my stomach, my chest. It’s overwhelming in the best way, a deep thrum that drowns out everything else. The pain in my ankle. The confusion in my head. The fear that’s been following me for weeks.
We pull away from the curb, and the world begins to blur.
He rides carefully, just like he promised. Takes the turns slow. Avoids the cars around us. The wind tugs at my clothes andwhips past my arms, but he’s shielding me from the worst of it, his broad shoulders blocking the rush of air.
I should be scared. I should be tense and anxious and counting the seconds until this is over.
Instead, I find myself relaxing into him. My grip on his waist tightens. Just for stability. Just because the movement of the bike keeps shifting me, and I need something to hold on to. My arms wrap fully around him, my hands flattening against his stomach. I can feel the muscles there, firm beneath his shirt.
He’s so warm.
I turn my head to the side and rest it against his back, and watch the world through the visor. The city scrolls past us in streaks of color. Buildings and trees and cars, all blurring into nothing. There’s only the road. The speed. The steady thrum of the engine vibrating through both of us.
His hand leaves the handlebar. Just for a moment, just long enough to reach back and clasp my thigh. His touch is firm and warm on my skin. Checking on me. Protective. Reassuring. I hear his silent question.
You okay?
My answer is to press closer, and his hand squeezes once before returning to the handlebar.
It felt good.
It felt really good.
I shouldn’t be enjoying any of this, but my cheek is pressed against his back, and I can feel his heartbeat against my fingertips. The pain in my ankle has faded to a distant throb. The fear is gone. The wariness is gone. There’s nothing left but this. The wind, the speed, the heat of his body against mine.
