The sky was dark, a black blanket laid over the earth with stars dotted around as if a painting, each placed so perfectly out of reach yet so close you can see each one as their own.

It was quiet, the roar and hum of the motorcycle under you being the only sound in the helmet adorned your head. Arms stretched around his waist, your head resting on his back, hands on his thighs. It was peaceful.

John knew what he was doing when he asked you to accompany him on a nightly ride through the city, though. He knew how you couldn’t keep your hands off of him.

He was like a magnet. His board chest and shoulders, his firm thighs that could rival your own in thickness, that damned accent of his. He made the mistake of asking you to join. Your hands carefully rubbed over his thighs, fingers trailing a bit too close to the center where he rested on the bike seat.

“Love, what are you doing?” John asked, his voice echoing through the earpiece in your helmet so you could hear each other. His head was tilted back, but his eyes forward, his chest heaving a bit. He tried to sound cool, he really did, but you knew that strain his voice, the hitch in his breath.