Page 45 of The Bonds We Break
I laugh. “Yeah, duchess. Bikes, bikes, and more bikes.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Well, let’s be careful on your bike today then, yes?”
I grab my own helmet and take her hand. It’s the first and last time she’s going to let me, and a more romantic man than I might have words to describe just how good her fingers feel intertwined with mine. “Just hold on tight and lean when I do.”
On the driveway is the 2009 Harley FXSTB Night Train I pulled out of the garage while she was showering. It’s my favorite bike of all the ones I currently own. All black and chrome and guttural Twin Cam 96B engine. It’s not just speed, it’s freedom on wheels. If I could only ride one bike for the rest of my life, this would be it. And for the next ten minutes, I’m going to pretend I’m not King and she’s not Rae. I’m just a motorcycle geek taking his girl out on his favorite bike for a minute.
I climb on first, then take the weight of the bike as I lean on my right leg toward her. “Hop on, duchess.”
Her small hand grips my shoulder as she does as I ask, kicking her leg over the seat. She settles on behind me, her thighs gripping my hips. The last time I fucked her, her legs were outside mine, squeezing me as I thrust into her. My cock stirs at the idea, which is really bad fucking timing as I’m about to ride.
She wiggles about, getting comfortable, then puts her arms tightly around my waist, her fingers inches above where I’d like them to be.
Then the motherfucking clouds break, sending a shard of brilliant sunlight over the bike that drenches the two of us. It’s like Rae organized it so she could tell me all about signs and listening to my gut. Jesus, now I’m wondering whether Rae had manifested rays. Rae. Ray. Another symbol?
It makes me irrationally angry, and I know I’m scowling as I rev the bike engine and pull away from the curb. I never drive recklessly, but I love to ride fast. Especially when my mood is dark. Disregarding the fears she may have for her safety, I speed up.
She grips my waist tightly, but I feel her body shake like she’s laughing.
Of course she is.
Little Miss I’m-gonna-live-my-life-behind-the-safety-of-books-and-helping-other-people doesn’t know what she needs to make her own life whole. Well, for the next few minutes, I’m gonna show her. I speed up along the straights; I lean into turns. I’m not knee-dragging, but I do shift my center of gravity. As if in tune with my movements, Rae does the same, and I adjust for the fact we’re both leaning.
I’ve never been this in tune with someone on my bike.
Add it to the list of things I’d want if I ever took an old lady.
When we stop at some lights, she burrows closer, hugging me around my waist. I run my hand down her calf, squeezing her as I go.
She seems content enough so I roll with the need for speed. I go faster until the freezing cold feels like needles against my skin and Rae burrows down behind me.
By the time we pull up back at the house, I’m almost sad it’s over.
Rae practically leaps off the bike and whips off her helmet. She’s probably going to yell at me.
“That was exhilarating,” she gasps, all pink cheeks and dark blue eyes. “I’m going to get a bike for myself.”
My thoughts go into overdrive.
She’s gonna visit a dealership, and they’re going to fleece her. Take one look at that cute smile and fluffy sweater and take her for a financial ride. I wanna go with her, in my cut, and make sure they give her a deal so fucking good they’re gonna lose money.
Who’ll take care of her bike for her? Would I want that job on Sunday afternoons, of making sure it always remained safe for her to drive?
I want to teach her. Take her to a dirt track and laugh with her while she wobbles and falls off and squeals when she accidentally speeds up. Maybe I’ll kill whoever ends up with the privilege.
The thoughts are a sure sign I need to go on a run with the guys, before I start believing I can have all that.
17
RAE
It’s Saturday. The weekend. Normally, Saturday mornings are reserved for paperwork. For chasing down invoices, putting my accounts in some kind of order, and trying to decide how much to put into my retirement pot—which looks like a whole heap of nothing this year, unless my accountant can spin my books and grow money.
The afternoons are all about my garden, no matter the weather.
Today, I’ve read. A lot. I’ve caught up on a lot of research reading. It triggered some suggestions I can make with two of my clients. I stemmed a panic attack at the thought that I have left them dangling for so long. While I’m grateful King allowed me to explain I’d be unavailable for a couple of weeks, I want to get back to work. Reading at least felt like I was doing something productive with my time.
King returned home after a two-day ride that took him to Pennsylvania, specifically Bethlehem. He came in, dropped his bags, then said he had work to do in the garage.
