Page 10 of Red's Peril: Part 1

She takes it in her left, placing her right on my shoulder, and dismounts the bike more gracefully than I’d expected as she’s never ridden before. Standing next to me, she unclasps her helmet and grins widely.

“The ground’s vibrating,” she tells me, handing me the head protection she’d been wearing.

The corners of my mouth turn up. I get that. It still happens to me, but nowadays only after I’ve been riding for a few hours. I kick the stand down then swing my leg over the saddle, bending to place her lid in the saddlebag. I then look around. There’s a low wall surrounding the parking lot. I lead the way to it. Once I’m there, I take out the pack of cigarettes and offer it to her. She shakes her head.

Unperturbed, I flick my Zippo and hold the flame to the tip. I breathe in deeply, then turn my head to blow out the smoke. The evening is clear. The few clouds have dissipated, revealing even more stars than would be visible under the streetlights a mile or so down the road. The moon is full, making me wonder whether some madness has got into me.

She sits, and I copy her, placing myself so close our thighs rub together. For a few minutes, we sit in silence. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, it’s companionable. I can appreciate a woman who doesn’t need to fill the quiet with conversation.

I smoke my cigarette down to the filter, stub it out on the brickwork, and place the dog end in my pocket to dispose of later. Turning to face her, I place my hand against her cheek. My face lowering is her warning, but I hover with my lips an inch against hers to give her time to protest. Instead, she tilts her face upward, bringing her mouth within range.

I hope she doesn’t object to the taste of cigarette smoke,I muse, as I bring my lips down, noticing immediately how soft hers are, and how quickly she yields to me. I angle her head for better access. When I apply a little pressure, she opens to me. When I tentatively press my tongue inside, hers meets mine.

If my taste offends her, she shows no sign, but enthusiastically starts responding. A little moan comes from her as I deepen the kiss. My arm goes around her, bringing her closer to me.

Snuggling her hands under my jacket, she places them on my chest. A little mewl fills my ears as she responds when I intensify the kiss, noticing she taste of sweetness and coffee.I could get addicted to this.

I’ve kissed girls before, but I can’t remember any I’ve enjoyed quite as much.Maybe I’m just out of practice?Ask me to explain why and I wouldn’t be able to answer. Maybe her perfume contains pheromones that attract me, I don’t know. All I can say is there’s something about her that makes me want to make her mine. My body seems alive for the first time in forever, and my balls throb in time with my heartbeat.

Even if I get lucky, it will only be one night.

It is what it is.

I’ll etch her into my memory and then move on. I’ll have to, even if one night won’t be enough. It’s all I can offer. I start to hope she’ll turn me down, so I don’t have to go through pleasure followed by torture.She could break me.

Could I stay with her? Nah, that’s ridiculous. That would be too heavy a load for her to bear. If I allow her to upset the route I’ve got planned, I’d come to resent her. My future’s not here in the land of winter cold and snow.

The sensible thing would be to draw back, take her home, ride away and forget her. But I’m not feeling very sensible tonight, and the more we kiss, the more I know, I have to have her. Part of me starts to hope we’re not compatible.

Any future regrets are put to one side as I tear myself away from the delights of her mouth, placing my palms on each side of her face, staring intently into her eyes and letting her know exactly what I want, and where my limits are. “I want more from you, baby. I want you in my bed tonight.” I wait for a pause, delighted to see that flare of passion in her eyes and hear the hitch in her breathing. Then I’m honest. “But that’s all I have, all I can offer. Tomorrow, I hit the road again.”

“One night,” she breathes out, covering one of my hands with her own. “I’ll take it. I’ve never met someone like you. I’d be a fool to give up this chance.”

Fisting my hand in her hair, I turn her head up. “You sure?” I stare into her eyes.

“Red, I’ve never done anything so impulsive. There’s just something about you…”

As her voice trails off, I take a deep breath, knowing she’s not the only one who’s affected and acting out of character. Somehow, I believe her. I know in my gut, she doesn’t jump into bed with every stranger who passes by her door.

She’s offering me something, the same as I’m offering her.

“You gotta be sure,” I repeat, hesitant to take advantage. If I have to live with regrets, it will be the same for her. “You going into this with your eyes open?”

“I am. And I’m sure,” she says without hesitation. Her eyes fix on mine, showing me whatever doubts she might have later, she has none now. “Make me yours, Red. If only for a few hours.”

If I were a good man, I’d walk away now. But it seems that I’m far from having good intentions. I could no more take a step away from her than I could stop taking air into my lungs. I stand, take her hand, then try to slow my steps to match hers, almost forgetting to compensate for her shorter legs as we head for my room. Once inside, I push her back against the door and start kissing her again.

Our tongues meet, twisting, turning, advancing and retreating as our passion heightens. Urgency rushes through me as I almost tear off her coat, then slide my hands up under her sweater, feeling her luscious tits through her bra, groaning as I get my first touch of them. Have I ever felt any so perfect before? Fuck, if I have, I can’t remember.

She gasps and shivers, and I realise my hands are cold, but hell, they’ll soon warm up. I could no more remove them than a starving man could put down his first plate of food in forever. Her breasts are every bit as amazing as I thought they would be—plump, firm, and barely fit into my hands.

Pulling her lips from mine for a second, she gasps out, “I want to see you, Red.”

I know I’m no fitness model. I’ve muscular arms from the work I used to do, but a six pack? Not there. I’d even admit my stomach isn’t firm due to the junk food I often consume. But as my fingers touch the rolls of excess flesh under her bra, I realise we’re probably well matched, and expect nothing spectacular of each other. So I only have a moment’s hesitation before letting her go, letting my jacket drop to the floor, then ripping my t-shirt over my head.

Her cheek falls forward, and she rubs her face against the red curly hair on my chest, just as if she were a cat seeking affection. Then, she makes the next move, releasing me and taking off her sweater.

Her stomach is pudgy just as I expected, but fuck, it looks good. She’s soft everywhere and all woman. Nothing I see turns me off. So what if neither of us is perfection like the models in magazines? We’re real. We’re typical human beings.

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