Page 70 of Fighting Mr. Knight

This is going to be the wedding dance all over.

“You do nothing. The only rules you need to obey are to relax and hold on tight.” I turn my head around until our faces are nearly touching. “Let me lead this time.”

She nods solemnly. “I can do that.”

“After this you’ll be asking me to take you home every night.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Knight,” she counters breathily.

Grinning, I place my hand over hers on my stomach to try to reassure her then kick-start the engine into life.

She screams like I’ve just set the bike on fire.

“It sounds worse than it is.”

“It sounds like a Boeing 747 taking off,” she mutters into the nape of my neck.

The gate opens and I inch out, trying to get a space in the traffic to pull out.

I take a quick glance around again. “You okay back there?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods feverishly with her eyes closed.

“Fuck,”is breathed on my neck as I lean into the turn, taking us out into the main road. We’re not even doing ten miles an hour. It wasn’t easy resisting this opportunity to take the piss out of her.

I wonder if she’ll notice if I take the long route home.

***

“I didn’t think it would be this slow,” she says in my ear as we cruise past the old flower market towards the factory.

More cars honk. If I don’t speed up a tad, I’m going to get arrested.

It would be worth it.

“Still,” I say, “best you hold on extremely tight. Keep a good grip on my chest.”

I am acutely aware of her breasts pressed against my back. Thankfully the leather is restricting my cock from bobbing against my stomach in appreciation.

I wonder if I could convince her to get on my lap and straddle me.

Probably one for the second ride.

“The lady on the bicycle over there has kept up with us the whole way,” she muses. “In fact, she keeps overtaking us.”

“Oh yeah?” I turn my head slightly. “Never noticed.” Because driving this slowly takes a lot of effort.

“I’m such a badass!” She laughs into the wind.

“The baddest.”

As we turn the corner, a heaviness comes over me, like it always does. The memorial plaque on the brick wall with my dad’s face on it comes into view. The face I inherited my arrogant grin from, apparently.

It looks like one of my sisters has added fresh flowers.

“Oh, Jack,” she murmurs behind me. “This is where it happened.”

“Yup.” I slow the Harley to a stop, the engine chugging.

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