Montaine by Ada Rome

I caught his shining
blue eyes fixed on my bare legs.
    He stepped forward. He
wore a tight army-green t-shirt that accentuated his chest muscles. His
battered jeans were worn to threads at the pockets and knees.
    “Look, I know you’re
probably pissed.” He held his palms outward in a gesture of pacification.
    “Yeah, a little, now that
you mention it. Thanks for noticing.” Now it was my turn to stand with my arms
crossed.
    He smirked and flipped
back the errant lock of hair. “I’ve always been a sucker for a fiery redhead.”
    “Don’t change the
subject, Prince Charming.” I impatiently tapped the toe of my thin canvas
sneaker into the cement.
    His smirk spread into a
wide grin that threatened to melt both my heart and my panties. He opened a
compartment in the rear of the motorcycle and pulled out a helmet.
    “I’ll explain everything
when we get there.”
    “When we get where?”
    “You’ll see.”
    “You say that a lot.”
    “Have I disappointed you
yet?”
    He tossed the helmet to me
across the width of the sidewalk. I bobbled it, but caught it just before it
crashed to the hard ground.
    “Should I change?” I
looked uncertainly from the motorcycle to my delicate flowered sundress, the
hem several inches above my knees and the bodice held in place by thin
spaghetti straps.
    “No, babe. You look
perfect.” He winked. My cheeks and chest prickled pink with heat. Damn him ,
I thought. Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
    I settled the helmet onto
my head as Trent mounted the bike. I hesitated, my toes hanging over the edge
of the curb. He hooked one finger in the air, signaling for me to come closer,
and patted the seat behind him. Trying my best not to expose my panties to the
entire street, I swung one leg over the side and positioned myself against his
back. I tucked the hem of my dress under my thighs so that it wouldn’t fly into
my face as soon as we drove away.
    Trent clutched my naked
knees and pulled me forward. My breasts, in their thin casing of flowered
cotton, pressed against his brawny back. My inner thighs straddled his hips. I
wrapped my exposed arms around his midsection, my palms flattened over his rippling
six-pack.
    This is no fair . I might orgasm any second. I swallowed hard,
trying to steady my surging pulse.
    Trent turned his helmeted
head back toward me and nodded. I gave a thumbs-up salute.
    The engine growled with a
vibration that shook my spine. Then the tires squealed over the asphalt as we
sped out into the Saturday morning traffic.
     
    ***
     
    We zoomed along the
Hudson River, leaving the bustling island of Manhattan and gliding through the
quiet suburbs north of the city. The landscape shifted from huddled brownstones
to green manicured lawns to cow-dotted farm pastures with rail-post fences. The
clouds grew thicker the farther north we progressed until the sky displayed the
bruised blue hues of an oncoming rainstorm.
    Welcome to Leidensburg . An old-fashioned stone sign announced our
destination as we exited the highway onto a winding country road that carved through
the primeval forests of upstate New York. We soon found ourselves on the quaint
main thoroughfare of a university town. The patios of small coffee shops teemed
with students. They chatted, sipped from mugs, and leaned over laptops.
    We skirted the edge of a
quad surrounded by imposing columned buildings and drove slowly through streets
lined with stately colonial homes. Trent pulled up to a curb and cut the
engine. He removed his helmet and gently patted my knee.
    I swung down from the
bike, my legs stiff and sore after the long drive. I slipped off my helmet,
adjusted my flattened hair, and raised my eyes to a gate of iron scrollwork.
Atop the gate was an arch with one word inscribed in curling metal. Cemetery. We stood at the entrance to a graveyard.
    I glanced questioningly
at Trent. He looked pensive, his jaw clenched and his mouth turned downward in
a thoughtful frown. He closed his eyes and