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“Nope, sounds great. Let’s go. I want to feel you up while you ride the bike.”
I looked at him, ready to deliver some witty rejoinder, but my mind went blank as a voice screamed at me, What the hell are you still doing here? But the inner rebel that had come back to life as soon as I’d stepped over a line and decided to sleep with Johnny was back in force and helped me ignore the annoying voice.
This was just sex. Amazing, earth-trembling sex. Nothing more. And soon it would be over and I’d move on with my life.
I handed Johnny a helmet and said sternly, “Put this on and no touchy-feely, Liam loves this bike more than me and quite likely Caitlin, too, so if anything happens we’d have to go into the witness protection program.”
I got onto the bike and Johnny climbed on behind me. The design of the bike meant that his crotch was right up against my ass.
“Close enough for you?” he asked innocently.
“Just fine. Hang on and behave.” I started up the powerful engine and of course the vibrations and throttle went straight to my groin and overly sensitized pussy.
Johnny’s hands came around my waist as I moved off. There was something incredibly sexy about a guy who was happy to take a backseat with a woman riding a motorbike. That he wasn’t one of those assholes who felt emasculated by such a thing.
As we rode over the Williamsburg Bridge and into Manhattan, all I was aware of was Johnny’s powerful thighs around mine and those big hands resting far too close to that place between my legs, which was getting more and more slick against my underwear. Or Johnny’s underwear. I’d had to borrow a pair of his smallest boxer briefs in place of my own ruined panties, and they’d looked like shorts on me.
It didn’t help now to have that imagery of my swollen slick folds pressing against the boxer briefs he’d worn close to his own body.
We finally made it to one of the entrances to the High Line in one piece. When I got off the bike I was seriously horny and jittery and turned on. Johnny looked the same. His jaw was tight with tension, his eyes burning. But I was determined to be the tour guide and not give in to the compulsion to find the nearest enclosed private space.
I put away the helmets and said grimly, “Come on.”
When we emerged at the top of the steps onto the High Line itself I heard Johnny breathe out in admiration, taking in the old disused railway track as it wound its way through several blocks. We walked, with the Hudson River sparkling in the bright autumn sunshine on one side and the very hip Meatpacking District below us on the other.
Plants and foliage were strategically placed all along the High Line in and among reclaimed and restored slats. Johnny bent down to touch one, clearly appreciating the work.
There was a mini sunken amphitheater and little cafés and restaurants. He took my hand. “This is seriously cool.”
I was absurdly aware of my hand in Johnny’s and felt like a stuttering teenager all over again. I was also proud of my city and so glad to be back. “Yeah, it’s nice.” I ignored the impulse to pull my hand away.
We came out from under an old tunnel into the sunshine again, and in the near distance a tall building with hundreds of windows dominated the raised railway line. It looked like a cross between a sixties’ Eastern Bloc office building and a futuristic design, straddling the High Line on two
massive concrete blocks.
“What is that?” Johnny asked curiously.
“It’s a hotel. A very hip and cool hotel. The Standard.”
We walked underneath it and Johnny stopped to look up, clearly fascinated by the design. When we walked on again, I spotted an empty seat and we went over to sit down. It was partially hidden by tall bamboo growing nearby.
Johnny pulled me in front of him between his legs, and we were looking straight out at the sparkling Hudson. His hands rested almost indecently between my legs and he exerted a little pressure. Enough to get me tingling and very horny again.
“What are you doing?” I rasped.
“Look, up there.” He’d lifted a hand and was pointing up to the hotel.
I squinted to see and when I could make out what we were looking at my breath stalled in my throat.
It was a woman, full frontal and naked with her arms raised and palms spread on one of the hundreds of windows. I could make out hands on her hips and a man behind her, forcing her hips forward and back as he thrust powerfully in and out.
My mouth went dry as I said weakly, “I forgot about the little shows some of the guests like to put on.”
Johnny’s head came close to mine but I could sense he was still looking up at the couple, too. “Liar,” he breathed into my ear. Both hands pressing against my crotch now, exerting stronger pressure.
I wriggled my ass slightly and heard him suck in a breath just as I felt the unmistakable hardness of his own arousal.
Jesus. This was so erotic. Sitting on a bench in broad daylight with Johnny all but sliding his hand right down between my legs, his thumb pressing against my clitoris. My breasts got heavy and achy, nipples hardening against my bra.
