"You're not to touch this bike unless I put you on it."
And there was
something in the promise of being *handled* in that, that hit me
right. I
wanted to be curled behind her, tucking my head low out of the wind.
Rocking
forward as she idled at the lights, pressing my pubic bone harder
against the
saddle. Fighting hard to ratchet up the sensation. The lip biting,
panting
chase. My chapped, sun-stung face red at her knowing laugh; her reaching
back
to draw me closer against her backside.
I wondered when she would put
me on that bike.
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