Page 33 of Coming Up Roses
As much as it terrifies me, the feeling is amazing.
I did this. I learned it and now I can drive a motorbike.
Another laugh bubbles up and Flynn squeezes my hips, where his hands now rest. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse than when he held them over my own and helped me control the bike, but once I got more confident in maintaining the speed, he slipped one hand, then the other, off mine and placed them carefully onto my body.
He’s not sitting pressed up against me like I do to him and Ifind myself wishing he was. There was a moment or two when I was learning to start that he slipped forward, his hot, hard body coming into contact with mine, but each time he immediately shoved himself backwards again.
My mind wanders back to earlier in the barn when I know I made him hard and I wonder if that’s what he’s trying to avoid. With him pressed up against my back, there’s no way I wouldn’t feel it.
I need to stop thinking about Flynn like that. He’s got no interest in a woman like me, despite what his body is saying. I’m barely holding it together. I cling to control like a life preserver and I’m lost at sea.
Flynn is young and carefree. No responsibilities beyond his job. He doesn’t want to be slowed down by me and my issues.
“Go faster,” he shouts over the noise of the bike and the thundering of the ocean. He places his left hand over mine again, hooking his foot around mine and as I accelerate, he somehow smoothly changes gear.
I want to have the casual confidence he does on this bike. I hope he lets me ride it again. It’s a similar feeling to riding horses, and while I can do that, I’m not very good at it. I can walk, trot and canter, jump the tiniest obstacles, but anything that requires actual skill is outside my abilities.
This though, it’s all of the adrenaline and feelings of freedom without having to maintain a horse. I’m not sure my property manager would be super impressed with a horse being kept in my back yard.
But a motorbike …
I’m getting ahead of myself. I refocus on the moment. Thesalt air is fresh on my face, the breakers crashing to our right, the thrumming bike beneath me, and behind me … Flynn.
His hands are gentle on the curve of my hips, his fingers resting on the crease between pelvis and leg and his thumbs brush the top of my ass. I’m surprised he’s not holding on for dear life, but his soft, confident touch is reassuring.
It’s also a fucking turn on.
“I don’t know how to slow down,” I call back to him when we eventually approach the spot where we parked the ute.
I can hear Flynn laughing, but he guides me through the process of slowing down, changing down gears and eventually stopping.
Somehow, even with his input, I still manage to stall the engine and it causes Flynn to slide forward again.
Before he can shift back, my hand lands on his thigh and he freezes.
He’s touched me in the same place over and over today. Every time he had to restart the bike he’d drag his palm along the back of my thigh to get me to move my foot out of the way. I don’t know if he realises I was well aware of where to put my leg, but I didn’t want him to stop.
Flynn’s got both feet on the sand, holding the stalled bike upright and I’m perched uselessly on the front, my feet on the pegs. If he wasn’t there, I’d be sprawled across the beach, probably trapped under this machine. I squeeze Flynn’s leg and lean back into his chest, resting my head against his shoulder.
Heat pools between my legs as his hands come to rest on my hips again.
I raise my free hand and grasp at the chin strap of thehelmet. I need two hands, but I refuse to let him go, and I don’t know why. I should let him go, but right now, I can’t.
Flynn’s hands knock my fumbling one out of the way and the tips of his fingers brush against my throat as he deftly undoes the strap, then pulls the helmet off and drops it in the sand beside us.
I want to protest … becausesandand I know he’ll be finding pesky grains in the lining for eternity, but when Flynn’s helmet hits the ground beside mine a moment later, and his hands return to my waist, I forget all about the sand.
I drop my head back to his shoulder and tilt it so my forehead connects with the side of his neck.
A strangled breath escapes him and he tries to shift backwards, away from me.
I grip his thigh tighter, my fingertips grasping the solid muscle and instead of moving away, Flynn lets out a guttural moan and slides forward.
His hips fit against my ass and there’s no mistaking the hard cock digging into me.
This is … this is not what we should be doing. But he feels sorightagainst me. We fit together perfectly.
I press my forehead into his neck and my free hand reaches behind me to tangle in his thick red hair. His lips brush against my temple as his hands drift higher and the rest of the world fades away.
