And he wanted to know how tight my pussy was? Caged in the V of his thighs, his back to the wall, a hand on my neck, the other clutching my ass, I was restrained by muscle. His rock-solid grip wasn’t letting me go anywhere, not that I wanted to. The top of my helmet tapped his chin guard as we moved in a slide of leather. The sensual roll of his hips and the grind of mine built into the most torrid dry hump I’d ever experienced. The fluorescent lights reflected off his black helmet, making his visor even more opaque. I had no idea who he was under there. Maybe that was part of the allure. A seductive mystery. I slid my hands to his chest, the leather of his jacket surprisingly soft and thin, like velvet over brick. I traced the carved dips around his pecs, each muscle etched from stone, my fingertips buzzing with sensory-overload. “If you’re going to feel me up”—the hand on my neck slid to the snap at my collar and tugged roughly—“take off your jacket.
