Page 25 of The Billionaire Babe

“It’s a bike,” I explain sarcastically.

“I know it is a bike, but I’ve never been on a bike before. I don’t even know how to ride a bike.” Her words tumble over each other.

“Just sit down and hang on to me,” I tell her. “Here, put this on.” Grabbing a spare helmet from my bag, I put it on her head. I don’t ask her to tie it up, I just do it for her, looping the chin belt and pulling it tight to ensure it is nice and secure. I bite my tongue at the smirk that threatens at how cute she looks.

“But is it safe? I am not really dressed for the occasion,” she says, and I look down at her body. She most certainly isn’t. I let my eyes wander over her. I like the way she is tiny but still has curves. She could definitely do with a few burgers in her life, but she has enough to grab on to.

“Here,” I say gruffly, trying to get these thoughts under control. Pulling out my leather jacket I wear when I ride, I hold it out for her to put on.

“I don’t think that is going to fit me,” she says, but I slide it on her anyway. I zip it up at the front and roll the sleeves a little. She is right, it swims on her small frame. It is almost longer than the dress she is wearing, but it at least will keep her warm.

“Fits just fine,” I grumble. She looks ridiculous but so fucking hot at the same time.

“But I’m wearing Jimmy Choos, and my dress is too short…” She keeps going, and I don’t give a shit about the heels, but the dress concerns me. It is too short.

“You will be fine,” I assure as I straddle the bike and sit forward a little. “Put your foot here and then jump on.” I guide her as my teeth clench, my body finally catching my mouth now that I realize her fucking fantastic legs are going to be wrapped around my middle. I wonder if I can actually ride with her behind me after all, because my cock is so fucking hard right now, I may not be able to ride in a straight line. She stands near me, glancing at both me and the bike, looking unsure.

“It’s alright, sweet thing. Live a little,” I tell her, almost in a challenge, and then hold out my hand. My words have the desired effect as I watch her swallow and take a breath.

“I can’t believe I am doing this,” she mumbles quietly to herself before she places her small, soft hand in mine, and I hold hers tight.

“Foot there, hands on my shoulders, and then throw your leg over and sit.” She follows my instructions and sits behind me. Her legs curve around my thighs, and I look down, spotting only bare, silky skin and her long, luscious legs. Her dress has ridden up and barely covers her ass, and I swallow hard and start the bike. The roar rumbles out of my Harley, vibrating through my body. I love this bike. It is my one indulgence. Something I saved years for. It is literally the only asset to my name. The lunchbox-size apartment I live in is not far from the gym but is only a rental, one where the hot water doesn’t even work on some days. But this bike, it is my pride and joy.

“What do I hang on to?” I hear her yell, her legs now settled around me, and I am itching to touch her.

“Here,” I say, leaning back, grabbing her hands and pulling them around my middle. She holds me tentatively as I rev the engine and take off quickly. Letting out a small squeal, her grip on me tightens. I severely underestimated my need for discipline for this ride. I am not even sure why I offered. But after watching her all night, I couldn’t not.

We ride to the end of the street and stop at the red light.

“You alright?” I ask her.

“This is insane,” she says, half in fear and half in awe. I chuckle as the green light ignites, and I kick off down the street at speed.

“Aggghhhh!” I hear her mini scream, her hands gripping into my shirt at my chest, her legs now squeezing around my middle, holding on tight. Setting the pace down a little, I start to cruise. There is not a lot of traffic at this time of night, and as I ride around the streets, I feel her body soften, now enjoying the ride. We can’t really talk, which is a good thing, because I can barely concentrate as it is. Her hands are on my chest, her fingers digging in. Her tight little body is pushed up against mine. I can feel her perfect tits pressing on my back, her body keeping me warm. But it is her legs that are teasing me the most. I see them out of the corners of my eyes. I can’t take it any longer, so I let go with one hand and drop it to her bare knee that is at my side. Cupping my hand around her leg, I hold on to her, my thumb tracing a small pattern back and forth over her bare skin. I shouldn’t be touching her, but the minute I do, I feel her soften even more and her hold turns into more of a hug. One that feels too fucking comfortable. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me. This feels… nice.

I drive through the streets to my side of town. The burger joint is still open at this time of night, but thankfully the crowd is thin and, by the looks of it, safe. I pull the bike up and park.

“Jump off the same way you got on,” I tell her and I hold out my hand for her to take as she peels herself from me, her dress barely doing anything to cover her backside. I am glad no one is around to watch her.

Once she is off, I step off in front of her and remove her helmet.

“There, it wasn't so bad, was it?” I ask, waiting for her verdict as I slip the jacket from her shoulders.

“No. It wasn’t,” she says, fixing her hair. “I don’t know much about bikes, but this one is nice. Pretty comfortable, actually.” Pride swells in my chest.

“Comfortable?” I ask her.

“Yes. I have helmet hair now, don’t I?” Her hands run through her long dark hair, her eyes alight with color. She is smiling, clearly happy, and warmth spreads through me.

“Not a thing wrong with it,” I mumble, imagining seeing her hair ruffled on my bedsheets, looking thoroughly fucked and perfect.

“Mr. Burger…” she mumbles, taking in the shop signage.

“Best burgers in Baltimore,” I tell her, and she smiles at me. “Let’s go before your stomach growls again.” Grabbing her hand automatically, I pull her along the sidewalk and inside. Her hand is small in mine, and it isn’t until we are almost to the booth that I realize I have done it. It’s a move I never make a habit of, yet here I am tugging her behind me, not wanting to let her go. Needing to have her close to me. As I walk us inside, I feel her other hand rest on my forearm, keeping me close, and my nerves settle a little. I feel like a king leading his queen, even though we are in a shitty diner about to eat burgers.

The place is quiet at this time of night, which I like. The traditional black-and-white tiles coat the floor, the booths red vinyl, and pictures of yesteryear scattered around the place.

“So, you come here a lot?” she asks as she ducks into the booth seat, and I sit opposite her. Mr. Burger is clean, but nothing like I am sure she is used to.

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