By the time our lips part I have practically molded my body to his, hanging from his shoulders with my fingers latched into his jacket with an iron grip. When I can finally focus again, I'm expecting some smug comment, a warm look of benevolent conquest. I'm relieved that he looks as shaken as I feel; breathless, his blue eyes searching mine.
"Come on." He grabs my hand and strides toward the path up the ravine. As we reach it I retrieve my glasses from him so that I can get to the top without breaking my neck and, in a lovely analogy, the clarity of that little moment of mundane trivia gives me a much needed anchor. I know exactly where he is taking me and I know that it would be a mistake.
I also know I really don't want to throw a bucket of icewater on things just yet.
I watch him straddle the bike, starting to put his gloves on when it hits me. It's such a girlish fantasy, but it's more controlled environment than his place and...what the hell.
His voice trails off as I put my glasses into my jacket and swing my leg over the gas tank to sit facing him.
He does so, chucking his helmet to the ground and pulling the one glove off with his teeth as he slides the other hand under my jacket to pull me in.
I can't tell you how long we are like that. I only remember his crisp masculine scent mingling with the rich smell of leather as I unzipped his jacket. His strong body and the feel of his warm skin under my hands. His sweet lips on mine and his breath on my neck. And having vague thoughts like...
I really should stop that hand, the one under my shirt, the one gliding up my rib cage to …Oh god no I'm not. I'mnotI'mnotI'mnotI'm...*
It was a one of the sweetest long whiles I had in a long time that lasted until I feel him push me back gently.
"I have to stop."
Dazed, I blurt out a bereft, "Why?"
"Well, the bike can to carry two," he says with a panting smile which is half grimace, "…but the kickstand was only meant to hold the bike. I've been taking a lot of the weight of both of us on my right leg…and it's about to give out."
"Oh." I had been feeling the tremors running through his thigh under my own. "I thought that was me."
"No," He retorts darkly, yanking my hips into his where I can feel...him. "That's you."
There's a mewling moan that must have come from me as I instinctively grind into him, eliciting an echoing groan from his throat as he kisses me deeply, digging his fingers into my backside until he pushes me back a second time. "Stop. Stop that. Sorry."
He dismounts on the high side and I follow, watching him put his weight on the left leg as he gingerly straightens the right out and rubs his thigh with a grunt and a curse.
"Oh God. Are you o.k.?" I shouldn't laugh.
It earns me a look of wry reprimand. "Yeah. Just needed to get the weight off it for bit."
"Sorry." I say sheepishly as I put myself back into place in my bra.
"Why?" He limps back toward me, tucking his T-shirt back in. "I'm not. Jeezus I'm not." He grabs a quick affectionate peck before gathering me close.
I don't care how strong you are, how mulishly independent you are, sometimes, just for a bit, it is really nice to just let someone hold you. To let the world slip away as you bury yourself in their scent and their warmth and in the encompassing strength of their embrace. We stand for a long while, watching the last red rays of the setting sun touch the distant sea before casting the world into soft grey shadow.
His lips tilt into that lop sided smile and he shakes with silent laughter as he looks down at me, "Me too."