I'd never been on a motorcycle before.
He didn't ask if I was scared. Just handed me the helmet, waited for me to put it on, and swung his leg over the bike like he'd been born on one. The engine rumbled to life between his thighs – low, deep, a vibration I felt in my teeth before I even climbed on.
"Hold on to me," he said. Not a suggestion.
My arms went around his waist. My chest pressed flat against his back and my thighs locked against his hips and I could feel everything – the leather of his jacket under my fingers, the warmth of his body underneath, the hard lines of his stomach through his shirt. The tattoos I'd memorized with my mouth were inches from my hands.
He pulled out of the lot and I held on so tight my knuckles went white.
Thirty seconds of pure terror. The wind hitti
