Chapter 41 Willow
WILLOW
“This is not going to be fun,” I tell Ransom definitively the next day. We’re standing outside the RV, four large motorcycles lined up and ready in front of us.
I stare at them, my gut churning with nerves. This is what he wants to take over the border? I guess I should have expected it. All the guys are into cars, but Ransom in particular has always been crazy about motorcycles.
Even my sour expression isn’t enough to dim the brightness of his enthusiasm. He grins widely, excitement sparking in his eyes.
“I know you probably think I suggested this just because I like bikes,” he says.
“Oh, is there another reason?” I deadpan, my hands on my hips.
“Actually, yeah, there is. It’ll be good for us to separate at the border, for one thing. Anyone looking for us will be looking for four people together, not four separate people. Even with us changing our appearances, a group of four is going to stand out.”
I make a face, reluctantly admitting that he has a point about that.
“For another thing,” he goes on, “With helmets on, it’ll be harder to ID us on the road. We’ll have to take them off to get across the border, but it gives anyone looking for us fewer chances to pick us out on traffic cameras or security footage.”
“Ugh, fine. I guess that’s true.”
“Lastly, I know you enjoyed the times when I took you out on my bike before. But it’ll be even better this time. You’ll be the one in control.”
“Umm.” I grimace. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I have no idea how to control one of these things.”
Ransom smiles, leaning on one of the bikes. “That’s what I’m here for, pretty girl. I’m not gonna let you go crashing into a ditch or anything.”
“Thanks for putting that image in my head,” I mutter under my breath.
My heart beats wildly as I stare at the bikes. I’m terrified of the idea of handling one of these things on my own. Even though it was thrilling as hell to speed down the road on a motorcycle with Ransom steering, doing it by myself is a whole different ballgame.
But he has good points as to why this makes sense, and we’re so close now. Too close to let something like this stop us. So I drag in a deep breath, trying to steel myself.
“Okay,” I say, puffing out my cheeks. “Teach me.”
Ransom’s handsome face lights up even more, pride and adoration shining in his eyes. He comes over to me and takes my face in his hands, kissing me soundly on the mouth. When he pulls back, he looks exhilarated, like he can’t wait to do this.
“I knew from the first time I got you on my bike that I wanted to do this with you,” he murmurs. “And you’re so much bolder now than you were then.”
“Am I?” I mutter, even though I know he’s right.
“Hell yeah, you are. You’ve gotten all assertive about what you want in bed and what you want from us. You’re embracing your kinks and even bossing Malice around. You’ve gotten used to being a bad bitch in charge, and you know it. This is just an extension of that.”
I can’t help but chuckle, feeling pleased and a little better about this whole thing. My cheeks flush from the praise, and my body hums, warmth stirring in my belly at the reminder of how things have shifted between all of us.
But I need to focus.
“Let’s do this,” I tell him, giving a sharp nod before I can change my mind.
Ransom motions for me to pick a bike, and I do, going with one that’s been painted a bright, sunny yellow.
It gleams in the light, and Ransom chooses the black one for himself.
We grab some helmets and push the motorcycles over to a dirt road that winds away from the RV park, my pulse racing with every step we take.
But Ransom is a good teacher, especially when it comes to stuff like this. Stuff he really cares about.
“Do you remember when I taught you about this before?” he asks. “When we were hanging out in the garage?”
I nod. “Most of it, I think.”
“Show me.”
So I do. I point out parts of the bike that I can remember, telling him what they do and how they impact your ride. The parts I can’t quite remember, he fills in, going over it in a way that doesn’t make me feel like I’m stupid.
He talks about it all thoroughly, explaining how to make the bike go faster, how to brake safely, how to lean into turns and use your body with the bike instead of against it.
Next, he has me sit on my motorcycle and mime what I would do when I start it up, nodding and adjusting my grip in places.
Once I’m able to repeat it back to him, he smiles and then leads me over to his motorcycle.
“Okay, I’m going to control the bike first, going over everything we just learned,” he says. “I want you to mimic it behind me, and then we’ll see if you’re ready to try it on your own.”
“A-alright.”
My voice shakes a little, but there’s still a feeling of excitement in my chest when I get on behind Ransom.
He puts my helmet on for me, making sure it’s secure before giving the top of it a little tap.
Then he starts the bike up, and I match his hand movements, going through the motions of what he just showed me.
When he kicks off, I wrap my arms around his waist, and I lean when he leans into turns, getting a better feel for how to move with the bike, reading and guiding its momentum.
“In theory, it’s like an extension of yourself,” he says once we’ve stopped. “In a car, you’re just piloting it, and you can’t really feel how it’s connected to you. But on a bike, your control is everything.”
“What if my bike won’t listen to me?” I mumble, and Ransom belts out a laugh.
“It’s not a horse, angel. It’s not like you have to break it first. Don’t worry, you’re gonna be great.”
He takes me out on his bike once more, this time having me talk him through the process as he starts it up and we zip around the RV park in a quick loop.
When we get back to where we started, he nods to the motorcycle I chose.
“Now it’s your turn.”
I swallow down the panic in my throat and go to the bike, throwing my leg over it. It feels odd, being the only one on this massive machine, and I take a second to adjust myself, breathing in and trying to soothe my own nerves.
“First thing?” Ransom prompts me, and I nod, focusing.
I know how to do this.
I go through the steps we just walked through over and over again, but somehow, I still jump when I get the bike started up.
“Just go to the end of this little road,” Ransom calls over the noise.
Just to the end of the road. Right. I can do that.
It’s… a very wobbly start.
I get a couple of things mixed up and almost lay the bike down once or twice, scrambling to lean the right way and remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
But I keep practicing, riding up and down the short stretch of road over and over.
Ransom is a good teacher, which helps. He doesn’t rush me, instead re-explaining anything that I’m struggling with.
“Think about it like this,” he says at one point when I’m having a hard time with the throttle. “You want a firm grip, but not too firm. Like if you were jacking me off, right?”
My face floods with heat. “What?”
“Go with me on this,” he says, grinning sinfully as he flicks his tongue out, making the ball of his piercing catch the sunlight.
“Too loose, and it does nothing for me. You may as well not even be holding on to my dick. Too tight, and it’s too much, which also isn’t super useful.
You want the right amount of pressure, keeping a firm grip without locking your wrist. So just imagine that the right handlebar is my dick. ”
His explanation does make a certain amount of sense, and I adjust my hold on the handlebars, making Ransom nod.
“There you go. Much better.”
From there, he corrects my posture on the bike. “You’re too stiff. You’re riding it, but you have to put your hips into it. Just like if you were riding a guy.”
Oh my god. Clearly, I’m going to be blushing a lot during this lesson.
But it does help, in a way. It’s not hard to imagine that it’s a hard body between my legs instead of a hunk of metal, and I adjust how I’m sitting, letting my hips lead more.
“Perfect,” Ransom praises. “Told you, pretty girl. You’re a natural.”
We keep at it for hours, until I can make it down the road and back without any issues. Turning around trips me up at first, but eventually, I manage it smoothly. I lean into the little bend in the road and pull up to a stop near Ransom without even wobbling once.
We go from there into moving faster, closer to the speed we’ll need to get down to the border. It’s exhilarating and exhausting, but each time I manage to do it right, it feels so good.
Once Ransom seems satisfied that I know enough, he nods.
“You’re killing it. You feel up to going for a longer ride?”
“Okay.” I nod, wanting to keep up the momentum.
He straddles his own bike and kicks it into gear, revving it and taking off down the dirt road. I follow, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as we ride.
This far out, there’s not much around, just this dirt road with trees on either side of it. No cars, no other people on the road. Ransom picks up speed, and my heart leaps with excitement as I catch up to him, controlling the bike better than I expected.
The wind whips past me, and the adrenaline in my body builds. Finally, I can understand what Ransom loves about this so much. There’s a freedom to it, and something oddly sensual, without that separation that comes from being in a car.
When I lean the bike into a turn, I can feel the connection, the way it responds to my movements, and it feels incredible to have that kind of control.
After a little while, we stop, pulling over onto the shoulder in a wooded area.
I get off the bike and tug my helmet off. The breeze ruffles my hair, and I can’t keep in the little whoop of excitement that spills from my lips. I’m exhilarated, my heart pounding for a reason other than fear for once, and it makes me happy.
Ransom is grinning as he gets off his own bike. He strides over to me and scoops me up as my helmet drops from my hand and tumbles to the grass beside us. He twirls me around, laughing, and then kisses my forehead when he sets me back on my feet.
“I knew you’d love it,” he says, his lips brushing my hair. “I fucking knew it.”
“Yeah, you were right. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
We smile at each other as he draws back, but then suddenly I think about Ransom’s bike back home, and how he worked on it so lovingly. I think about their shop and how it was reduced to ashes. All their hard work—gone.
My smile fades, melting off my face like a piece of ice dissolving on a hot day.
“I’m sorry about your bike back home,” I murmur. “It’s probably burned now with everything else. I know it meant a lot to you.”
He shrugs. “It did, but I can always get another bike.”
I run my fingers lightly down his neck and along the curve where it meets his shoulders, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath his dark tee. “I hope… I hope all of this will be worth it.”
“It is worth it,” he says, conviction clear in his voice. “Because you’re worth it, and you’d better fucking believe that.”
As if to prove his words, or maybe to consecrate them like a vow, he palms the back of my neck and presses his lips to mine.