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He was right. It didn’t matter that it was a smaller bike. It was different when she was the driver, and not entirely sure what would happen or what she was doing. Taking a breath, feeling the anticipation as well as the nervousness, she eased forward on the clutch. Thrillingly, the bike rumbled into motion. She wobbled a little, but then she steadied.
He was jogging next to her, but when the bike outpaced him, he moved to the center of the lot area, gesturing to her to turn, calling out instructions in a booming voice that penetrated the helmet and overrode the engine noise.
She was glad for that direction, needing it more than she’d expected. She’d listened closely as he explained where all the bike’s controls were, but that knowledge wasn’t instinctive. Clutch on the left, front brakes on the right, rear brakes on the right foot. Really? Shift with left foot…what? Down for first, halfway up for neutral, and where was neutral again? Then there was the ‘push, don’t pull’ counterintuitive instruction on the handlebars, which was nothing like riding a bicycle. Oh and for fuck’s sake…
“Keep your chin up,” he boomed for the fifth time.
Her pulse was beating high in her throat, but somewhere in the middle of it, she realized she was smiling, even as she was slightly terrified. Every turn was a victory. She wobbled a couple times, and once or twice she had to put her feet down and stop. When she forgot to use the clutch on her left, because she was trying to figure out the mix and amount of brakes to apply on her right, the bike also stalled. Each time those things happened, Tiger was watching and anticipating, well enough that he’d already closed the distance between them, ready to help if shetipped. He gave her more instructions and encouragement, and off she went again.
She lost count of the right turn loops around the lot she did, but eventually she switched directions and did some left ones. Then the figure eight. After she did five of those, enough to feel dizzy, she obeyed his gesture to bring the bike to a stop and hit the kill switch.
When she did, she would have thrown her fist up in a victory pump, but her arms were shaking too much. That smile was still on her face, though, and the thrill of the ride was enough to ignore the shaking of her limbs. As he approached, she made the emphatic sign formore. Tiger laughed.
“You can do more. I just wanted to touch base, give you a few more tips and see how you’re doing.” He grinned. “You’re doing great, by the way. I’m not saying my ass isn’t puckered, but you’re doing fine.”
She wasn’t wearing a face shield with the helmet, so he ran a light knuckle over her cheekbone. “You’re flushed and your eyes are dancing. This little Honda’s not so bad now, is it?”
In answer, she gave it an affectionate pat. He chuckled. “Growing up, any ride that wasn’t a Harley, Indian or custom chopper was sneered at. No Fallen Angel would ride a ‘Jap bike,’ as my dad would have called this one. Shame, because there’s a lot of good engineering in these bikes.” Tiger winked. “I can appreciate that without feeling like I’m cheating on my Harleys.”
He put his hand over hers on the handlebar. “On that note, you should talk to the other women riders here. They’ll tell you the stuff about riding that works for them that the guys don’t think about. When we get back home, you can practice on my dirt track, and then some of the back roads around my place. If you think you’re ready for more after that, you can take the motorcycle safety course to get your license.”
She pointed at him and made the question sign to ask if he’d taken one.
“Eventually.” He winked. “I was on a motorcycle long before I could reach the pegs. But having a license keeps the cops from hassling you over it if you’re stopped without one. You’ll find plenty of backroad weekend warriors who don’t keep theirs current, which is part of why they like the backroads. That, and it’s a great way to ride.”
She agreed. She was seriously considering a side-by-side ride with him on those backroads, her on her own bike.
“Careful. Once the passion gets into you, it’s hard to shake.” His gaze had the same light she expected hers did. Since she’d relinquished her death hold on the bike, their fingers were twisted together in a clasp on the left grip. Tiger’s gaze lingered on that point of contact as he added, “To a lot of us, the M stamp on the license says who and what we are.”
He brushed his mouth over hers, then pressed his lips together, his eyes lit with warmth. “Yep, tastes like a biker chick.”
In answer, she straightened in the seat, poised to start the bike up again. Tiger laughed. “Yeah, go do some more. First gear only for now, though.” He stroked a hand over her shoulder. “My heart’s had enough strain for one day, watching you shove Warthog and shoot Rock thatfuck you.”
“You gave me an approving look,” she typed.
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean it didn’t give me a bad moment.” He held out his hand and made a show of examining it. “If it had turned into a fight, it would have ruined the manicure I had done special for the rally.”
He grinned as she slugged him, capturing her fist to kiss it. She held up two fingers on the other hand, then pointed one at the Honda. “Let’s see how it goes,” he said, with a stern look that would have sent a wild flutter through any of the Progeny femalesubmissives. Skye admitted it actually did the same to her, even if she had a different angle of appreciation.
“Impress me and I’ll let you take it up to second gear. Though I’m pretty much already fucked on that, because you always impress me.”
He softened the kiss, teased her knuckles with his tongue. She straightened her fingers to touch his rough jaw. Then she mouthed her response.
Same goes.
On the evening before they went home, he grilled her the steak dinner he’d promised. Even with the limitations of a campsite, the man delivered on his cooking skills. Which had been evident in his kitchen at home, with its assortment of appliances. Mixer, sous-vide cooker, air fryer and bread maker. Pantry stocked with spices, plus a kitchen garden outside the back door that included bright peppers, pungent rosemary, basil and thyme.
He offered her samples from the seasoned baked potatoes and green beans he’d made as sides. On the way back from the school, they’d picked up some peaches from a roadside vendor. He used a Dutch oven over their fire pit to create a peach cobbler, a heavenly aroma wafting from the pot’s bubbling contents.
He’d moved the chairs to the upwind side of the fire pit and set up a borrowed folding table between them. He charmingly created a centerpiece for it with a handful of wildflowers placed in a rally souvenir cup.
He’d told her he’d learned early how to take care of himself. But somewhere along the way, he'd also learned how to taketrue care of a woman, making her feel special in a way that was genuine, because it took time and thought.
One-percenters might be romanticized, but he was the real deal. He’d learned how to be a good man, his character rising from a life of complicated choices. It was in the details—the quiet care and attention to others in his life.
He was the type of man a woman would want, not just for a quick ride, but as her companion on a much longer journey.
As she watched him cook while purportedly checking her email on her laptop, Skye thought back to when he’d first caught the attention of the TRA women. His reputation at the club had been in troubled waters. At the end of a full session, he was just revving up. Still antsy. That hadn’t worked for anyone, and he’d known it. No Mistress liked to give her all and find the sub was ready to do it all over again right afterward. A lot of them had started to pass on him.
