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She knew the answer. He’d always rotated between two or three. He hadn’t indicated a desire for anything different, even with his changed circumstances.
Whereas ever since Ros had teased her about Abby, her desire for exclusivity was only growing stronger. She didn’t want him doing sessions with other Mistresses.
He increased pressure and tempo, and she decided not to think any more about it, swimming out of the troubling waters into ones churning for far different reasons.
A long time later, when her stomach was quivering and she thought she could have come from the slightest touch of his tongue, if she’d permitted that, he lifted his head and gazed at her.
He was challenging her, knowing just how much he’d stirred her. Balance, she reminded herself. For both of them.
She gave him an even look and put her clothes back together. Then offered him her hand, regal as a queen, to help her straighten. His erection was visible against his jeans, and following her glance, he shot her a smile.
“Seems you managed to distract me anyway, Mistress. Even without a plug up my ass.”
That concerned her, because she really didn’t want to mess with his focus, but Tiger reassured her. “If anything, it might help. I won’t get so tense about screwing this up if I’m feeling an endorphin rush.”
He sent her a wink. With an easier heart though no less of a raging libido than his, she eyed the cones. When he’d taken them to the track to spread them out, he’d also carried a tin bucket of golf balls. The balls were on the tips of the cones. The bucket, which he’d left near the bike, was printed with cartoonish tigers against a bright green background.
“Aubrey gave it to me one Easter,” he explained. “Filled with painted eggs. When I was talking to the doc, I mentioned a lot of the games they do at rallies are balance tests. She suggested using them to help.”
He nodded to the cones. “The goal is to maneuver close enough that you or your passenger can pick up the ball and put it in the bucket. No feet on the ground. If a foot touches the ground, you’ve lost.” He pointed to the final cone of the course, smaller than the others. “An extra challenge, since you have to lean down further.”
“They do this at rallies?” she typed.
“Oh yeah. They do serious stuff like races, but there are also competitions for everyone. It’s like a big festival or fair.” He sent her a teasing look. “Some of them have rowdier events. Like hanging a hot dog from a stick, and the passenger takes a bite as you go past. No hands allowed.”
She narrowed her gaze. Typed. “Why am I fairly certain the passenger is always female?”
“Sometimes they also slather mayonnaise on it. To make it more difficult. Slipperiness, you know.”
“I’m sure. You made the right choice with the cones.”
“Are you sure? I probably have a pack of Oscar Meyer in the fridge.” He laughed and caught her arm as she got off the bike, pivoted in a mock show of heading for her car.
“Let me get on and then you swing on behind me. This game can be done solo, but I figure I’ll focus on keeping the bike steady and getting close to the cones. Let you handle the balls.” He winked at her. “If that works out, I’ll try it on my own.”
That ass flexing was front and center for her viewing pleasure as he swung on and settled. She knew she wouldn’t hesitate to join him on the bike. He’d already made it clear he wouldn’t let her ride with him if he thought he was putting her in any danger.
Even so, she typed one last question. “Anything I should know about being a good passenger for this?”
“Pretty common sense stuff. Don’t do any big acrobatics that might upset the bike’s stability. As I said yesterday, if this goes well and you’re up for it, we can go for a ride on the backroads. I’ll give you more advanced tips on being a passenger then.” He sent her a warm look. “There's a lot of trust involved, both in taking a passenger and being one. But to my way of thinking, it’s similar to the trust we’ve developed doing scenes together.”
He handed her a half-sized helmet he’d hung on the handlebar, what he called a skull cap. “While we’re in my dirt track area moving at slow speeds, there’s no need to make you sweat inside a full helmet. But I want you to wear this, so if I do lay it down, it will keep you safer.”
When he’d verified she’d secured the helmet properly, he gave her the go ahead to get on behind him.
She grasped his shoulder to do so, settling onto the seat and finding the foot pegs for the passenger seat. “We might have to make a few passes,” he said. “Don’t lean out any farther than you feel comfortable doing.”
She slid her arm under his, giving him a thumbs up sign. He started the bike, and the engine made a sharp roar that settledinto a growl. Resting her hand at his hip, she watched him release the clutch on the left handlebar. The bike started to chug forward.
He did his first passes through the course without attempting to get close to the cones, just feeling the way of it. The tension in his shoulders translated to his back, those muscles rigid as a board when she laid her palm there. She suspected he hadn’t been on a bike since he’d recognized how the balance issues would affect his riding. Which meant however he’d confirmed that must have been unnerving. And what unnerved a veteran biker wouldn’t be something minor.
When he came to a halt to take a break, putting his boots to the ground, she had typed the question. She slid her hand under his arm and showed him the screen. “How did it go the last time you tried to ride?”
He grunted. “Better than the first time. Threw my leg over, got dizzy and puked before I even started the engine. In all fairness, it was about a week after I got out of the hospital, three weeks before the doc told me it was a good idea to even try. Next time, I could get on without any problem, but when I tried to go faster than what a snail could beat, I leaned into a curve and my head swam like I had gone over a waterfall.”
He grimaced. “I panicked and braked mid-turn, a total rookie move. I dumped speed off the bike and upset my stability, even without the head-fuck happening. Me and this old girl skidded into a roadside ditch. Luckily, she landed upright, resting against the side bank of the ditch. Made it easier to walk her out, once I found some planks to help me do that. She took the beating and was fine.”
She was more concerned about the beating he’d taken, but he put his hand on her knee, pointedly gazing at her jeans, boots and the long-sleeved T. “I was smart enough to be fully geared inleathers that day, anticipating that shit happening. Got bruised but I was okay.”
