Page 60 of Those Who Are Bound

Elliott gave him a mock glare.

“Move with me,” he instructed. “I lean, you lean. Otherwise, hang on and try not to move around too much.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that; I’ll be glued to you!” she assured him, still eyeing the machine. “It’s probably frowned upon to wrap both arms and legs around you, huh?”

Jonah answered cheekily, “Only while on the bike.”

Realizing what she’d said, a smile broke out across her face.

“Do you want to do this?” he asked.

Elliott looked up and gave a small nod.

“Okay, let me help you with your helmet.”

Helmeted, he handed her a pair of leather fingerless gloves to don while he pulled on a pair of his own. He climbed onto the bike to steady it, kicking up the stand, and then instructed her to climb behind him, showing her which pedals were hers. She placed herself as instructed, scooting as close as she could to him.

Caressing her knee, he said over his shoulder, “You’ve got space; you aren’t going to fall.”

Elliott looked behind herself. “It doesn’t look like a lot of space.”

“You’re good. Hang on.”

“Roger that,” she replied dryly. She put her arms around him; he was only wearing a leather jacket with a couple of buckle catches as decoration. She grabbed a hold of those for dear life. She would have preferred to bungee cord herself to him. She was grasping so tightly her fingers were already hurting.

But to be so closely and intimately pressed against him, her thighs riding the outside of his, his buttocks wedged between her legs, her armored chest against his back—she was quite literally as plastered to him as she could get—she loved it. She loved the sensation of hugging his hard body; he was solid, and she felt safe for that moment. When he started the engine and it roared to life beneath her, the vibration kicked off something even more primal in her.

“Ready?” He had his head turned toward her.

Although she wasn’t certain that he could hear her, she nodded and answered, “Ready.”

The first forward movement was a smooth roll, but the gear shift caught her off guard, and a small yelp escaped her. The buckles she’d been holding didn’t feel secure enough, and she lowered her arms around his hips, grabbing on to the jacket itself. He maneuvered the bike out of the alley and onto the street, moving at a glacial pace.

Elliott instantly became aware of cars. Cars and trucks and every other moving thing, and realized how vulnerable they were. She glared at all the moving hunks of metal as Jonah gently guided them through the small town, thinking the vehicles were too close, not paying enough attention, assuming everyone was on a cell phone and about to run them over. In just a few moments, her awareness increased tenfold, and she knew she’d be a better driver after this experience.

The slower pace, although she was closer to cars, wasn’t so bad. Once Jonah had them clear of the town and they began to pick up speed along the river on the road toward the highway, her anxiety ratcheted up as well. It was all new, the rush and buffeting of the wind, the sound of it. And she couldn’t duck her head behind him because of the helmet. She also couldn’t look up because wind would catch the helmet and jerk her head back.

Jonah had asked her to sit still. One, she didn’t have a choice; and two, she was too terrified to even look around. All she could do was hold on to him, looking for obstacles she could prevent before they occurred.

Jonah, she could tell, was relaxed but alert. He was constantly looking around; head on a swivel. She imagined that’s how motorcycle riders had to operate in the city.

But that was just the frontage road.

The highway was on another level altogether. They had to take a ramp to join it, which meant a lean. Elliott squeezed her eyes shut and leaned with him, murmuring the entire time, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me” until Jonah and the bike straightened. Then there was a hard jerk of shifting to increase speed, which elicited another short shriek before the bike took off.

They were traveling at what was probably a normal speed. She most likely drove faster in her car and never thought a thing of it. But here, she didn’t have the protection of sheet metal and frames around her. Her convertible seemed far safer than this.

And when a tractor trailer wind-blasted them out of their lane, she screamed. That was her interpretation—Jonah had the bike well in hand—but the noise and the blast had been sudden and forceful. He reached down and caressed her shin as though to assure her that everything was okay.

“Oh my god, keep your hands on the wheel!” she cried out, not even sure if he could hear her. Certainly, he could feel her flinch.

Of course, there was no wheel.

The entire ordeal only lasted twenty minutes; it was a short ride into the city. Once in the parking lot, when Jonah had parked and turned off the bike, he indicated that Elliott should get off first. On shaky legs, she dismounted. She lifted an arm, still quaking from holding on tight, and flipped up the visor as she took a few steps away from the bike, the adrenaline now rushing through her. She unzipped the jacket.

Removing his helmet and resting it on the handlebar, Jonah looked over at her. “Are you okay?”

Elliott reached for the clasp under her chin with trembling fingers, fighting it.

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