Page 11 of Kane

“You got my word,” I tell her, holding those eyes of hers, letting her see I’m serious.

She tugs the swath of fabric higher, slides a leg over. “All right. I am ready.”

I let out the clutch nice and easy, roll on the throttle just enough to get us moving through the scrub, one foot still out for balance as I guide us back to the highway. Once there, I stop again, front wheel on the pavement.

I twist around enough to look at her. “So. Which way?”

I see her face ruck up in confusion. “Which way?”

I jerk my head toward her dead car. “That way’s east, back to Vegas and whoever you’re runnin’ away from.” I jerk my head the other way. “That way’s west, away from Vegas and whoever you’re runnin’ from.”

She looks east for a long time. Then west, for even longer. Then, leans forward so as to look at me. “Los Angeles is to the west, is it not?”

I nod. “Sure is, darlin’.”

“My father has real estate there. It is somewhere to go, and I am not ready to go back. I will never be ready to go back.” Her hands rest on my shoulders, and I do my damndest to ignore the thrill at this simple, innocent touch. “Could you take me to Los Angeles?”

Feet both planted to balance the bike, I bring her arms down around my waist and then give her a solid yank so she slams into me, and I tug her hands tighter.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’s soft yet firm, and her breasts flatten against my back in a way that threatens to make my cock go ramrod stiff. She’s flush against me from crotch to chin, which rests on my shoulder. I feel her heart in her chest, and it’s pounding like mad.

So’s mine.

“Hang on tight, hot stuff. LA, here we come.”

I bring us fully onto the road, headed west, and then I gun it. We bolt forward, the front wheel damn near coming off the road as the needle jumps from zero to sixty in nothin’ fuckin’ flat. Anjalee screams, her arms going death grip tight around my middle, fingers clutching at my abs, face burying in my neck, still screaming. As I keep accelerating, she loosens just a smidge, and the scream gradually fades, and while her grip remains almost painful, I feel her head lift, and then I feel her lungs expand with a deep breath—and this does some things to the way her small plump tits crush against me that I don’t dare dwell on. And then she’s laughing. Breathless, wild, rebellious, delighted, terrified, exhilarated—she packs a fuck-ton of emotion into that laugh.

And I get it.

Felt that way my first time on a bike. Felt it again the first time I jumped out of an airplane with a ‘chute on my back.

I’ve always loved riding, especially out here, or in the mountains. Nobody, no cars, no buildings, not even fuckin’ billboards. Just the road and the rumble of the bike between your legs. Totally fuckin’ free.

She settles from the laugh, but I feel her enjoyment wash over me in a palpable wave.

For hours, then, we just ride, throttle wide open, her small hands clutched into my shirt and digging into my belly, her chin on my shoulder, her warmth at my back.

We don’t stop ‘til we hit Baker, and I pull into the 76. She waits till I’ve shut off the motor and kicked the stand down, and then she swings off, somewhat gingerly, trying surreptitiously to stretch the kinks in her back and massage feeling back into that sweet round ass of hers. Fuck, that ass. Can’t see much from the way her clothes hang, sadly, but I can tell she’s got it goin’ on.

I grin, swiping my card and getting the pump going. “Go ahead and massage that butt, babe. We got a ride ahead of us yet.”

Skin as beautifully brown as hers don’t blush, but I can tell that’s what she’s doing. “That is very crass of you.” She doesn’t look at me, but I do notice she does dig her fingers into her ass.

“Just know you’ll be sore in places you ain’t ever been sore in before, first time on a bike, cross country.”

Her eyes go to the store connected to the gas station, then to me. “Perhaps we could find something to eat? I am rather hungry.”

I shrug. The pump clicks as the tank hits full, and I replace the handle, snatch my receipt, ball it, toss it. “Could. Depends on how on the run you are. You got folks on your ass actively huntin’ and you need to hit LA and somewhere safe ASAP, that’s our best bet—grab some gas station snacks and hit the road. You got more time, you ain’t in a rush to get nowhere specific at any particular time…” I nod my head at The Mad Greek across the street. “We could grab a sit-down meal.”

She frowns at the restaurant. At me. “I do not know.”

I laugh. “You don’t know?”

A shrug. “The way I left…who I left, and why…there are many questions to which I do not know the answers. But I think perhaps it should be fine for us to sit and eat, and I think the food would be somewhat better.”

I snort. “Somewhat, yeah. The Mad Greek ain’t nothin’ to write home about, but I figure it’s better than a bag of chips and some Ding Dongs.”

She snorts an unexpected laugh. “Ding Dongs? What is this?”