was clean, thanks to the little cover that protected it, even if it hadn't been worn in a very long while.
Falon swung astride the bike and started it, then waited for her to climb on. She hesitated only the briefest moment, then slid up snug, allowing those gorgeous breasts to flatten themselves against his back. The heat of her thighs around his hips send another blast of wanting through him.
She wrapped her arms around, but let her hands drop to his thighs, right up close and personal.
Uh oh.
Riding with Rita seemed like a very interesting prospect.
***
His scent was the first thing she noticed, that same spicy cologne from earlier in the evening, just not as strong. Combined with soap and laundry detergent from his shirt, the effect was a strange mixture of intoxicating and comforting.
The heat made itself known next, seeping first through his shirt and hers, and then into her skin. Her nipples hardened in pure reflex, reacting to the play of muscles under that t-shirt they pressed against. It wasn't at all difficult to plaster herself against him and hang on to enjoy the ride. In fact, the only hardship lay in restraining her explorations for the time being.
Vibration from the bike's engine worked its way up the base of her spine and sent tendrils to touch every sensitive area of her body, kindling little fires all along the way. Falon's every movement, no matter how small, stoked those flames until a raging inferno threatened to consume her. She only barely managed to hang onto her composure by promising herself she would taste all of him later.
Between her thighs, Falon moved a little as he guided them onto the old County Road out of Stags Leap, headed toward where the row of lights seemed to come from.
Falon leaned them into Diggers Curve, just half a mile from the Rattlesnake, then straightened the bike out and laid on the throttle to carry them screaming through the night, the engine's roar echoing between the sandstone cliffs and the River. The eight-mile straight-stretch ended in the series of narrow curves that led upward and into the hills, out of the river valley.
Rita signaled Falon when they approached the turn onto Carliss Road, which should take them toward the row of lights. He slowed for the turn, and in the decreased engine noise, she warned him of the loose gravel they would be on soon. Road rash was an experience she had no desire to repeat.
Carliss Road, covered with limestone gravel at this point, wound along the slope of a hill, through a heavy forest that contained the bike's engine noise and redirected it into a thrumming pulse that hung between the trees. At the top of the hill, the road became even narrower and left the cover of the forest for a short distance. The silvery glow of the limestone faded and went dark, replaced by sandstone creek gravel, packed into a hard, mostly solid, surface by the weight of log trucks and farm equipment.
Heading downhill, Falon slowed the bike so that they nearly coasted, without a great deal of noise, until they returned to the muffling cover of a forested area. Halfway down, the forest thinned and Falon slowed as they moved onto a small plateau that offered a view of the narrow valley spread below. He cut the motor and studied the scene in silence.
The Rattlesnake was clearly visible, and beyond it, the rest of Stags Leap, and a curve of the River. A barge made its way upstream, the throb of its engines rolling from side to side off the hills, and masking the sound of the freight train running parallel on the River's opposite bank.
Closer, on the near side of a forested strip, a series of a dozen bulbs hung suspended from poles. Several small campfires, each with a few people sitting or rolled into blankets beside them, burned to one side of the lit area. And in the center of the strung lights, a series of long tables were laid out, each with a number of unidentifiable items spread across them, and all with two to three people standing over
Falon swung astride the bike and started it, then waited for her to climb on. She hesitated only the briefest moment, then slid up snug, allowing those gorgeous breasts to flatten themselves against his back. The heat of her thighs around his hips send another blast of wanting through him.
She wrapped her arms around, but let her hands drop to his thighs, right up close and personal.
Uh oh.
Riding with Rita seemed like a very interesting prospect.
***
His scent was the first thing she noticed, that same spicy cologne from earlier in the evening, just not as strong. Combined with soap and laundry detergent from his shirt, the effect was a strange mixture of intoxicating and comforting.
The heat made itself known next, seeping first through his shirt and hers, and then into her skin. Her nipples hardened in pure reflex, reacting to the play of muscles under that t-shirt they pressed against. It wasn't at all difficult to plaster herself against him and hang on to enjoy the ride. In fact, the only hardship lay in restraining her explorations for the time being.
Vibration from the bike's engine worked its way up the base of her spine and sent tendrils to touch every sensitive area of her body, kindling little fires all along the way. Falon's every movement, no matter how small, stoked those flames until a raging inferno threatened to consume her. She only barely managed to hang onto her composure by promising herself she would taste all of him later.
Between her thighs, Falon moved a little as he guided them onto the old County Road out of Stags Leap, headed toward where the row of lights seemed to come from.
Falon leaned them into Diggers Curve, just half a mile from the Rattlesnake, then straightened the bike out and laid on the throttle to carry them screaming through the night, the engine's roar echoing between the sandstone cliffs and the River. The eight-mile straight-stretch ended in the series of narrow curves that led upward and into the hills, out of the river valley.
Rita signaled Falon when they approached the turn onto Carliss Road, which should take them toward the row of lights. He slowed for the turn, and in the decreased engine noise, she warned him of the loose gravel they would be on soon. Road rash was an experience she had no desire to repeat.
Carliss Road, covered with limestone gravel at this point, wound along the slope of a hill, through a heavy forest that contained the bike's engine noise and redirected it into a thrumming pulse that hung between the trees. At the top of the hill, the road became even narrower and left the cover of the forest for a short distance. The silvery glow of the limestone faded and went dark, replaced by sandstone creek gravel, packed into a hard, mostly solid, surface by the weight of log trucks and farm equipment.
Heading downhill, Falon slowed the bike so that they nearly coasted, without a great deal of noise, until they returned to the muffling cover of a forested area. Halfway down, the forest thinned and Falon slowed as they moved onto a small plateau that offered a view of the narrow valley spread below. He cut the motor and studied the scene in silence.
The Rattlesnake was clearly visible, and beyond it, the rest of Stags Leap, and a curve of the River. A barge made its way upstream, the throb of its engines rolling from side to side off the hills, and masking the sound of the freight train running parallel on the River's opposite bank.
Closer, on the near side of a forested strip, a series of a dozen bulbs hung suspended from poles. Several small campfires, each with a few people sitting or rolled into blankets beside them, burned to one side of the lit area. And in the center of the strung lights, a series of long tables were laid out, each with a number of unidentifiable items spread across them, and all with two to three people standing over
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