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Chapter Nine
Peyton
Riding on the back of the motorcycle was exactly what Navarro said it would be. Uncomfortable. Although the motorcycle was designed to carry two people, he had modified it to carry only one, leaving a slight piece of leather on the rear fender for a passenger to sit on. Even at that, it was much better than skateboarding, far more satisfying than surfing, and was a close second only to snowboarding.
Having my arms wrapped around his waist made what would have been extremely uncomfortable seem almost sensual. The vibration from the V-twin engine did the rest. It felt like I was riding a 600-pound vibrator, and having Nick Navarro’s muscular torso in my hands made matters that much better.
The sound from the pipes as he shifted the gears was a reminder of the power that was wedged between my thighs. I found the entire experience thrilling, and realized as we slowed to as stop that even if Navarro never wanted to give me a ride again, the thrill-seeking part of me would forever yearn for another taste.
He tilted his head toward a bar at the intersection. “Want to grab a bite at this bar?”
“Sure,” I shouted.
“It’s a biker bar.
“I’m okay with that.”
He nodded and released the clutch lever. “They’ve got good burgers.”
Although I had my purse – and my recorder – I had no intention of ruining our lunch by interviewing him. A simple discussion over lunch would be nice, even if he didn’t think so.
I realized figuring out who Navarro really was may not ever happen, but obtaining a closer look into his life was an exciting addition to mine, that was for sure.
He pulled into the parking lot, turned the motorcycle around, and parked backward in the parking stall, facing the street. Short of his motorcycle and a few other cars, the parking lot was empty.
He switched the ignition to off. Even in the absence of the engine running, my legs, ass, and pussy continued to vibrate. “I really like riding on this thing.”
He removed his helmet. “Cheapest therapy money can buy.”
I took off my glasses and unbuckled my helmet. “Can I leave this out here?”
“Just hang it on the handlebars. Nobody fucks with helmets on a Harley.”
“Why?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I look like a nice guy?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“That’s why.”
I hung my helmet on the handlebars. “Nothing we talk about here is for publication, by the way. This is all off the record.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. “Good to know.”
“I do have some questions, though.”
He turned toward the door. “Ask away.”
“Why do you park backward?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you were in a car, you’d park facing the building. But you parked facing the street.”
“When we’re ready to leave, all we’ve got to do is fire that pig up and go. It only goes in one direction, forward. So if I was facing the building, I’d have to push it around to face the street before we could go. Doing it when you park makes leaving, I don’t know, easier.”
“A quick getaway?”
