Page 31 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
Her eyes meet mine, searching. "Okay."
"And hold on tight. Don't be shy about it. The closer you are to me, the more stable you'll feel."
She nods, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Got it."
I hand her the extra helmet I grabbed from the storage room, watching as she fits it over her head. I adjust the strap for her, my fingers brushing against her skin.
"How does it feel?" I ask.
"Weird," she admits. "But secure."
I put on my own helmet, then swing my leg over the bike. "Hop on behind me, and put your feet on those pegs there."
She hesitates, then awkwardly climbs on, her hands settling lightly on my waist.
I twist to look at her. "You're gonna want to hold on tighter than that when we get moving."
"I don't want to crush you with my death grip," she says.
I laugh. "Trust me, you won't."
The engine roars to life beneath us, and I feel Skye jump slightly. When I back out of the parking space and ease onto the street, her fingers dig into my sides, her body rigid behind me.
I take it slow through town, giving her time to adjust to the sensation. As we hit the edge of Flounder Ridge and the road begins to climb, I feel her gradually relax, her grip becoming less desperate, though still firm.
At the first stop sign, I reach back and squeeze her thigh reassuringly. "You doing okay?"
"I think so," she calls over the idling engine. "It's... intense."
"In a good way?"
She pauses, then laughs. "Ask me again when we get there in one piece."
The road winds higher into the mountains, the smell of pine permeating the air. I navigate the curves with practiced ease, leaning into them, feeling Skye mirror my movements behind me. Her body presses closer to my back, and I'm grateful for the rush of wind that cools my suddenly warm skin.
The scenery opens up around us—sweeping vistas of mountain ranges stretching into the distance, forests of pine and aspen covering the slopes. I wish I could see Skye's face, watch her take it all in. But I can feel her reaction in the way her grip occasionally tightens when we round a bend and a new view appears.
Twenty minutes in, she's loosened up enough to shift her position slightly, her thighs still pressed against the outside of mine, her chest against my back. The intimacy of it hits me—her trust, her warmth, the way we move together on the bike like we've been riding together for years.
We pass a small herd of elk grazing in a meadow, and I feel Skye tap my shoulder. I slow down, pulling to the side of the road so she can get a better look.
"They're beautiful," she says, her voice full of wonder.
"They come down from the higher elevations this time of year," I tell her. "Sometimes they walk right through town."
She watches them for a moment longer, then squeezes my waist. "Ready when you are."
The waterfall is tucked away down a narrow dirt road that most tourists miss. I navigate the bike carefully over the uneven ground, feeling Skye hold tighter as we bounce along. Finally, the trees open up to reveal a small clearing beside a crystal-clear pool fed by a waterfall cascading down from about thirty feet above.
I cut the engine, and the sudden silence is filled with the sound of rushing water. Skye climbs off first, removing her helmet, her face flushed with excitement.
"Griff, this is... wow," she breathes, taking in the scene. "It's like something from a postcard."
I watch her as she walks toward the water, sunlight filtering through the trees. Her hair's messy from the helmet, and she runs her fingers through it absently.
"I can see why you come here," she says, turning back to me. "It's stunning."
I shrug, trying to act casual as I grab the backpack. "Not many people know about it. Locals mostly."
