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She obeyed immediately, and my hands trembled slightly as I gathered her hair, lifting the soft mass away from her neck. Fuck she smelled good.

I settled the helmet carefully, adjusting the fit. "Tell me if it's too tight."

"It's perfect," she breathed, and I wasn't sure she meant just the helmet.

My fingers found the chin strap, working with practiced efficiency even as my mind catalogued every response—the way her breath hitched when my knuckles brushed her throat, the tiny shiver that ran through her, how she swayed slightly toward me like a magnet finding north.

"There." I stepped back before I did something stupid like kiss her on the sidewalk where any club member might see. "Ready for your first ride?"

Her eyes darkened, pupils dilating. "So ready."

Two minutes into our date and I was already fighting the urge to call it off, to carry her back inside and show her exactly what kind of ride I wanted to give her.

"Safety first," I managed, voice rougher than intended. "Where to put your feet, how to hold on, how to lean. It's important."

"Yes, sir," she said, and fuck if that didn't shoot straight to my cock. "I'll be a very good student. Follow all your instructions. Just like a good girl."

This woman was going to be the death of me. A beautiful, bratty, brilliant death.

"Come on," I growled, swinging my leg over the bike before I lost what little control I had left. "Before I forget we're supposed to be keeping this secret."

Her laugh was pure delight as she approached, one hand on my shoulder for balance as she climbed on behind me. The dress rode up as she settled, and I caught a glimpse of pale thigh that made me grip the handlebars tight enough to hurt.

"Like this?" She pressed against my back, arms wrapping around my waist, and every cell in my body lit up at once.

"Yeah," I managed. "Just like that."

The engine rumbled to life between my legs, but all I could feel was Lena. Every point of contact seared through my clothes—her thighs pressed against mine, her chest molded to my back, those small hands splayed across my abdomen like she was trying to feel my heartbeat through the fabric.

"Remember," I called over my shoulder, "lean with me in the turns. Don't fight the bike."

"Got it!" Her voice was bright with excitement, breath warm against my neck where the helmet didn't cover. "I trust you."

I eased out of the parking spot, hyperaware of every movement. Twenty years of riding, and suddenly I wasconscious of each shift, each acceleration, because precious cargo clung to my back.

"Oh!" She gasped as we hit the street, arms tightening reflexively.

"You're okay," I assured her, placing one hand briefly over hers before returning it to the handlebar. "I've got you."

The first turn came up, a gentle curve that would tell me if she'd fight the motion or flow with it. I leaned, and miracle of miracles, she moved with me like she'd been doing this her whole life. No resistance, no panic, just fluid grace as we swept through the curve.

"You're a natural," I said at the next stop sign.

Her laugh vibrated through my back, pure joy that made my chest tight. "This is incredible! I feel so . . . free!"

Free. Yeah, that was Lena.

We hit Main Street, and I opened up the throttle just enough to make her squeal with delight. Her hands fisted in my shirt, not from fear but excitement. Every red light became sweet torture—her weight shifting against me, her thumbs starting these little unconscious strokes against my stomach that made thinking about anything but her impossible.

"How fast can it go?" she shouted at the third light.

"Faster than we're going to find out with you on the back," I called back, earning me a squeeze that was definitely punishment for being responsible.

"Spoilsport!"

"Safety first, remember?"

"Sir, yes sir!" She pressed closer, her thighs tightening against mine. "I'll be good. Follow all the rules. Very obedient."