Full Throttle

I woke up to Aaron's voice booming from the kitchen. "Kiley, get a move on. You can't keep putting this off."

I rubbed my eyes. My stomach twisted. The magazine job was everything to me—chasing street style shoots across the city.

But now they wanted all field reporters on motorcycles. Three months to learn, or I'd be stuck filing reports in a cubicle.

"It's not that simple," I said, padding into the room in my pajamas. "I've never even been on one. What if I crash?"

Aaron glanced up from his coffee, smirking. "Crash? Don't be dramatic. I fixed it already. My old roommate Clyde runs a bike club. He's gonna teach you—for free. Bro code. Just dress sharp. Don't embarrass me."

An hour later, I stood in front of the mirror. Aaron had picked the outfit: tight riding pants that hugged my hips and thighs, a cropped leather jacket that zipped low across my chest.

I tugged at the hem. It felt exposing, like auditioning for something I didn't sign up for.

"Looks good," Aaron said, eyeing me from the couch. He nodded approval. "Clyde's gonna think I married up."

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "You sure about this? Clyde... we haven't seen him since the wedding."

"Exactly. Time to catch up. Go learn. Call me if you need a ride home." He turned back to his phone.

The club was on the edge of town, a gravel lot dotted with gleaming bikes.

I parked my car and stepped out, the pants pulling taut with every stride.

Clyde was there, wiping down a black Harley. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that same easy grin from college photos.

"Kiley," he called, pushing up his aviators.

I bent to wave, and the fabric stretched across my ass.

His eyes flicked down for a beat, then up. He cleared his throat. "Aaron said you're in a rush. Ready to ride?"

I forced a smile. "As I'll ever be. Show me the basics?"

He patted the back seat. "Hop on. I'll take you for a feel first. Arms around my waist. Body close—keeps you stable."

My pulse quickened. I climbed on, wrapping my arms around him. His shirt smelled like oil and leather. The engine roared to life, vibrating under us. We peeled out, wind whipping my hair.

The acceleration hit hard. I lurched forward, my breasts pressing flush against his back. They're big and soft, always have been, and now they squished right there, sensitive through the thin jacket. My nipples hardened instantly, poking against the leather. Heat rushed to my face.

I shifted, trying to ease it, but the friction only made it worse.

Heat crept into my cheeks. This was just a lesson. Right?

Clyde glanced over his shoulder at a stop. "Holding on? Don't tense up. This is the fun part."

I nodded, gripping tighter. Fun. If you ignored the way my thighs clenched against his hips, or how my nipples throbbed with every bump.

We looped back to the lot after ten minutes. My legs wobbled as I dismounted. "Okay. Felt... intense."

"That's the bike," he said, chuckling. "Now you try. Grip the throttle like this." He stood behind me on the practice bike, his hands closing over mine on the controls. Warm palms, callused from years of wrenching. His breath brushed my neck. "Ease into it. Feel the pull."

I twisted the throttle. The bike jerked forward, then stalled. "Shit. Sorry."

"Again." His fingers lingered, guiding. Steady pressure. I could feel the heat from his body inches away. His grip tightened, almost possessive.

We moved to the cones for slalom drills. I wove too wide, clipped one, and the bike tipped. Gravel bit my knee as I caught it. "Damn it."

Clyde jogged over, frowning. "You're fighting it. Like this." He righted the bike, his arm brushing my side. "You'll never get it solo if you keep stiffening up."

Frustration burned in my chest. "What now? I need this, Clyde. The job's on the line. If I don't learn fast, they'll bench me."

He paused, rubbing his jaw. Crossed his arms. "Alright. There's a trick. Sit up front. I'll wrap around from behind."

My breath caught. Sit in front? Like... straddling the tank, him pressed against me? "Is that... standard?"

"For newbies who freeze? Yeah." He pulled out his phone. "Lemme check with Aaron first. Don't want drama."

He dialed. I stood there, arms crossed, heart hammering.

"Hey, man," Clyde said into the speaker. "Kiley's picking it up slow. Thinking she sits forward, I hold from back. You cool with that?"

Aaron's voice crackled through. "Cool? Hell yeah. Whatever works. Just get her riding. We got plans this weekend—no dead weight."

Clyde hung up, shrugging. "See? Green light. Hop on."

I froze.

Swallowing hard, I climbed on, legs over the tank. The seat was narrow, forcing me forward.

Clyde swung his leg over, settling behind. His chest molded to my back, thighs bracketing mine. One arm snaked around my waist for the clutch, the other over my hand on the throttle—his grip tight, fingers interlocking with mine like he owned them.

His cock pressed right against my ass through his jeans, hard and hot, grinding with the slightest shift.

"Start her up," he murmured, lips near my ear.

The engine growled low, vibrations humming straight through the saddle. Into my core.

His hardness throbbed against me, bigger than Aaron's ever felt—thicker, insistent. Aaron's always been kinda limp half the time, like he couldn't even be bothered.

This? This was real.

"Relax," he said, voice low. "Feel the rhythm. Like this." He twisted my wrist gently. The bike surged, and so did the thrum.

His hips rolled with it, cock sliding firmer against my ass. Heat pooled between my legs.

My body betrayed me, a shiver running up my spine.

I bit my lip. A soft whimper escaped before I could stop it.

God, this was wrong!!!