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traveling through her body as she settled herself. Her chest pressed against Ricardo’s back, and her legs encircled him. She could feel his warmth through their clothes. He turned his head slightly and spoke over the sound of the engine. “Hold on to me. It is perfectly safe, but that will help your fears.”
    As soon as she wrapped her arms around him, they were off.
    If someone had told Chelsea a month ago that she would be riding through Los Angeles on the back of a motorcycle, she would have thought they were out of their mind. Despite the fact that a pair of worn and scuffed motorcycle boots were among her most cherished possessions, and she’d even attended an exhibition of early motorcycle design as part of an exploration of outsider art, she thought she had closed herself off from that world forever, just as she had tried to protect herself from everything that reminded her of the past, after her father’s death.
    But as Ricardo rode through the streets of downtown, emptied out now that the business day was over, she realized what she had been missing.
    The air was cool and gentle on her body. All of her senses were engaged as the bike purred smoothly over the streets, easily absorbing the irregularities in the pavement. The lights of the shops and buildings seemed more vibrant, almost magical, sparkling in the darkness. As they reached the edge of downtown and crossed over into University Park, the scent of grilled meat from a taco truck mixed with the sounds of conversation and music from cars. Ricardo took a turn and her body thrilled to the swaying movement of the bike as she instinctively held him tighter, pressing her cheek to the linen of his jacket and inhaling his faint scent.
    She felt alive, connected with the night in a way she never could be in a car or even on foot, and her body responded eagerly to the gentle swaying of the bike as it navigated turns and lane changes. When Ricardo spoke over the sound of traffic to ask if she was doing all right, she surprised herself by answering, “Faster. Go faster.”
    He was taking a long and circuitous back route to the Hollywood Hills, through the dense low-income neighborhoods to the south, the roads challenging and less well maintained. The bike absorbed the broken pavement and heavy traffic without complaint, but as Ricardo neared Franklin Canyon and traffic thinned, the engine’s sound changed. Its purr turned to a powerful buzz, as though the bike itself was thrilled to be breaking free, as though it wanted to show Chelsea what it could do.
    Faster, faster they drove through the night, and Chelsea felt the vibration of the engine and the pavement racing by beneath the wheels. She was learning to lean into the curves along with Ricardo, as though their two bodies were one, responding together. She was becoming aroused, but unlike some coarse joke about the vibration between her legs, her body was responding to the stimuli of all of her senses, none more powerful than the feeling of Ricardo’s strong, broad back and splendid ass between her legs. She clenched her thighs more tightly around his, hoping he wouldn’t notice, wanting to feel the press of him against her cleft, to imagine the heat of his bare skin against her own as they climbed faster and faster up a hidden road that rose up out of the neighborhood and over the rocky terrain of the hill.
    But he did notice. How else to explain the fact that he accelerated again or shifted against her so that her pussy was jammed up against the back of him? If she had any doubt, his hand on her leg a second later would have stilled it. She was afraid enough of crashing that she wanted him to put his hand back on the handlebars, hyper-attuned to every oncoming car, every rock and branch that had fallen on the roadside. One mistake and they would go hurtling over the side, with no guardrail to protect them from a fall that could easily be fatal, and yet she stayed silent, choking