His hands worked magic underneath her layers of tulle. Oh, how his hands cradled her hips against the wall of colors. Oh, how he moaned between her th...ghs until he blushed the color of her lips. Oh, how she fit over his hips, her throat in one hand and her heart in the other. She said his name. He fell sweetly, praising her, thanking her. And she took his forgiveness over and over again. He found her to be like a lazy Sunday morning gently parting ways with sleep. It was the day they woke up. As much as he loved riding, he was no longer enamored of bikes that kinked his back and neck or made his wrists ache afterward, no matter how prettily they howled and sang to him, begging for permission go supersonic. He now wanted a machine that could move out with a will, if necessary, but if he wanted to ride a long day, he insisted on a machine that he’d still be in love with by sundown. He came to the entrance to his street, but on a whim, he cancelled the turn signal, and blew right on. More

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