Sasha, Not Aleks

seven - Cora not Lina

"Fair," I clear my throat, "alright, yay going over the Charles. Looking as appetizing as ever. We have to make a really shitty change-"

"I know the changeover, Aleksandr, you don't have to warn me."

"I'm giving you one last chance to tell me you don't want to go over forty on this thing."

"Take me over forty," she laughs.

Fucking erotic.

A little trill goes through my stomach at it as we weave through the shift from Longfellow Bridge to Route 3. Then, as she asked, I spin the engine and shift and kick us up to forty five, then, as the cars around us speed up, fifty five.

Her grip on me is damn near suffocating but the giggle relayed over the bluetooth is enough to tell me I'm probably good.

"Alright back there?"

"That fucking engine Aleks-"

"Miss me with the Aleks stuff," I interrupt, "my friends call me Sasha."

She pauses for a moment, "I've only ever met female Sashas."

"Hm," I look behind us for a split second and then shift over, avoiding being in the blindspot of a semi. "I like being people's firsts."

"How do you get Sasha from Aleksandr?"

"-sha is a nickname ending in Russian. Sa is from the middle of Aleksandr."

"Why don't they just call you Aleks?"

I shake my head, smiling under my helmet, "not my name."

"It sort of is, kinda."

"It's Cora not Lina, right?"

"Right?"

"Sasha, not Aleks." There's other reasons than preference, but she doesn't need to know.

I brake to stop for a light.

Cora lets my waist breathe a slight bit when we're idling at the light, but does as she was told and keeps her feet up.

"Comfortable?"

"Feels like a bike seat and I'd probably not be comfortable for any longer than a half hour, but yeah, I'm good."

"Good, I need to change one thing, it'll help you feel more comfortable and less like you're going to fly off the back," I glance back at her, "move your hips toward me, as close as you feel alright to."

"Um, okay, yeah."

"It's not usual but this is a sportbike that's not really designed for a passenger, so if you feel like you're teetering on the back, get closer."

That's enough to convince her and before I can breathe out, she's got her lower stomach against my back.

"Good," I say, my respiratory system not doing a good job with it's one purpose. The light goes green and we're off again. "Now, um," I clear my throat, "you're doing a good job leaning with me, but one more thing. When I stop, you might want to push your chest into me, don't."

"Got it."

"Phenomenal."

"So do you do a lot of things alone? You strike me as a guy that does most things alone."

Was that not thoroughly explained by my clear and violent unfamiliarity with someone on the bike with me? "Yeah, most things, spare a few."

"Which few?"