I’m lying on my blanket, enjoying the music and my craft beer, feeling the late afternoon sun on my face. An outdoor brewery, perfect for summer concerts and hanging out with friends or meeting new people.

This place is tucked into the wildflower-lined rolling hills of a quaint New England town. Cows graze in a pasture in the distance, scattered pods of Adirondack chairs, horseshoe pits, games of frisbee, and the soft rise and fall of conversation under the backdrop of folksy music.

I am utterly surrounded by people, but I’m here alone. Today is my once-a-month “me day,” away from the hubby and kids.

There are very few times I actually mind being alone. Truth is, I prefer it. It’s easier. Maybe it’s because I’m selfish. I want what I want, when I want it, and other people’s needs can be exhausting. And as bad as this may sound, sometimes that includes my family.

It’s not that I don’t love them. It’s that there’s something incredibly freeing about having no one to answer to but myself. No one is asking where we’re going next, what we’re eating, when we’re leaving, or what I want to do after this. Just me. And I fucking love it.

I stand up, ready to get myself another beer, when I feel a presence behind me. I turn and promptly get my foot caught in my skirt, toppling backward. Good to know I’m not going to outgrow my awkwardness anytime soon. Cue eye roll.

He’s standing above me, smiling down. “Damn, girl, falling for me already? That’s a new record.”

Cute. He doesn’t come off as overly cocky, thank God. Perhaps just confident. I don’t mind confidence. Confidence is sexy. But why do guys think cocky is sustainable? It’s not. It gets old quickly. If I were single, I’d be interested. I mean, fuck. I’m not, and I’m still interested.

He reaches down and offers his hand. I hesitate, then let him pull me up. “Thank you,” I breathe, attempting a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Getting a beer?” he asks.

I exhale hard, “Yes, you?”

He is ridiculously good-looking, because of course he is, with dark hair; his eyes are glacier blue; his jawline is strong and square, softened by a meticulously kept thick beard. Do I even like guys with beards? Clearly, yes. A faded black T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders and muscular arms: jeans, belt, and low black leather boots.

And the way he looks at me? Fuck, I already know restraint is going to be a challenge.

We exchange pleasantries on the way to the bar. Names, where are you from, all code for: Can I picture myself with my mouth on you later?

For me, an easy yes.

Wait. No. You’re married, El, I remind myself, shaking my head slightly. Right. Fuck.

“Are you into motorcycles, El? It’s a perfect day for a ride,” he suggests, watching me.

I shrug. “I’m not sure… I’ve never been.”

His expression changes. “Never?”

“Nope.” I shake my head.

“Well, this is definitely happening,” he says quickly as he waves down the bartender.

The conversation comes easily as we finish our beer. After several failed attempts to talk myself out of it, I gather my things and put them in my car, and shortly after that, I feel him approaching. A deep throaty rumble that pops when he revs the engine, the sound vibrating through the air and my chest, raising the hair on my arms.

The bike is impossibly shiny, like someone poured liquid gold over metal. I know nothing about bikes, but this one is unmistakably a Harley. And if this man looks good off the bike, he looks fucking intoxicating on it.

I stand there blinking, not sure what to do. He catches my hesitation, his blue eyes smiling up at me.

“Okay. Nothing to it. Get on, hold tight, and when I lean, you lean. Yeah?”

"Yeah." I nod.

“Naturally, not dramatically, okay?” He gestures for me to jump on.

I nod again and awkwardly climb on behind him. Before I can even ask where to put my feet, he takes off. The gravel crunches under the wheels as we leave the brewery, the sound of music fading behind us.

I cling to him, heart in my throat, and then it happens. Within seconds on the back of that bike, I’m addicted.

I feel the warm wind on my skin, waning blue skies above, and colors flying by me in streams. It’s as if peace and excitement crash together at once. We take off through the narrow and winding back roads past barns, pastures, and forests filled with pine. The fading sunlight flashes on the bike’s chrome.

The deep chill of the tree-shaded stretch rushes over me, cool and sudden, before fading just as quickly as we burst back into the warmth of the sun. You can smell the world around you: fresh-cut grass, pine, damp earth from an earlier shower, barn animals, and the classic smoky, sweet smell of Kingsford charcoal on a BBQ.

He reaches back and slides his hand up my thigh, stealing my breath. He hollers back over the loud engine, “You okay?”

“Yes,” I holler back.

This is clearly taken as permission to take it up a notch, and he speeds up, intensifying every experience.

There’s something incredibly intimate about riding on the back of a bike, arms wrapped around the driver, your life literally in their hands.

We cross a small wooden bridge, nothing but trees in every direction. He pulls off and cuts the engine. Steadying the bike with his feet, he takes my hand and helps me climb off. He leads me to the front and tells me to climb back on, facing him.

I perch myself on the gas tank. I’m sitting straddling the bike, facing him, close.

“You like the bike?”

I smile broadly. “So much!”

He chuckles. “I’m glad.” He grins. “You know, I’ve been trying to get your attention all afternoon.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right. I would have definitely noticed you.”

“Well, you didn’t, and I think you need to make it up to me.”

“Oh, really?” I laugh a little, smiling, but his expression is serious.

He grabs me behind my waist and pulls me off the gas tank. With one hand firmly on the back of my neck, he pulls me in for a kiss. The chemistry is instant, and I completely melt into him. And I don’t regret it. I knew he’d be a good kisser.

He pulls back, and we’re both a little breathless.

“Fuck.” He pauses, looking me over. “Man, if I knew you better, I wouldn’t ask, I’d just have my way with you. But, since you took your time to notice me, I’d like your permission.”

He bites his lip and runs his hand up my shirt, across my abdomen, sending goosebumps everywhere.

I nod.

His grin widens. “So I have it?” He tilts his head, licking his lips. I nod again, my lungs forgetting how to draw air.

He unbuckles his leather belt and pulls it out in one quick motion, not taking his eyes off me. Heat rises in my chest.

Reaching behind me, he threads it through the chrome bars, the leather creaking softly in my ears as he anchors it, the knot sitting heavily against the metal.

He guides my wrists back, wrapping the belt around them in overlapping turns, snug and deliberate, making an improvised tether that holds my hands where the grips would normally be.

My heart is racing. None of this is typical for me: a stranger, a motorcycle, intimacy in public, and what is this? I don’t even know… is this bondage?

My mind reels, but his hands snap me back to the moment as he runs them under my skirt and up my thighs, pushing my skirt to my waist.

His movements aren’t casual; they’re intentional. This man has experience, something I’m not accustomed to.

His fingers gently slide along my abdomen and beneath the seam of my white lace panties, pulling them down as I wriggle out of them. He lifts them to his lips, then stuffs them into his front pocket. My brain, apparently incapable of shutting the fuck up even now, supplies one completely ridiculous thought: Thank God I didn’t wear the typical overstretched cotton ones.

He looks up at me, his ice blue eyes holding a warmth that wasn’t there a moment ago. Everything else fades away, and he becomes all there is. He reaches up and pulls the tether tighter. “Are you going to be a good girl?” I swallow hard and nod.

His mouth finds my neck as his hand moves between my legs. Jesus, I can hardly catch my breath. He runs his fingers up and down, and there's no hiding my desire as he easily slides two fingers in. His lips brush my ear, “You like the feeling of my fingers stretching you?” Slipping in a third, making me squirm.

“Yes,” I murmur, closing my eyes.

After a few minutes, his hand moves away, and he straightens up, and I can hear his zipper. I catch sight of him, he's hard and fully upright as he frees it from his jeans. My mouth hangs open, and suddenly I'm not sure if I can do this.

He catches my glare and grins. He grabs it, squeezing the head tightly. Running the tip between my legs, slowly, blood rushes low, my desire left glistening all along his erection.

A few more unhurried glides through my folds leave me open even further, followed by a couple of deliberate taps. Each pass unleashes another cascade of heat, leaving me aching for more.

The wide head teases me as he pushes in slowly, stopping just as my entrance wraps around the tip. He rocks it gently, then pulls back out. A shuddering breath escapes me. He enters again, only partially, and the sound from my flooded threshold betrays just how badly I want more. But he’s taunting me.

He does it again. And again.

On his next retreat, his manhood slick with my heat, he slides lower, pressing hard, and I gasp. Instinctively, I squirm and tug at my wrists, straining against the restraint as though I could stop him.

“Shhhhh,” he hums deeply against my ear.

He continues pressing, steadily, patiently, until my body finally gives way, stretching around him as he enters and pulls a startled squeal from me. He stills, the weight of his body pressing down just a little more.

After a few moments, he retreats. My opening closes tightly behind him, stinging slightly. He pushes forward again, meeting less resistance this time. Again, then again, before returning to my wet and waiting threshold.

I settle into the sensation, but the wanting has been building beneath it, steadily climbing toward a crescendo, and my back arches. Moans escape before I can contain them.

“Please,” I beg, the word barely more than a whisper, urgent and desperate.

Then, without hesitation, he pulls my waist down onto him.

The sudden sensation of him inside me catches me completely off guard. Overwhelming, but in the best possible way. I’m not prepared for the intensity of it, for how completely it consumes me.

It’s almost too much.

Almost.

His lips and fingers explore me, slowly tracing paths that make my body tremble as his pace steadies. At first, I resist what’s unfamiliar, but he’s patient, attentive, and unhurried, and it dissolves all my tension and turns my initial discomfort into intense pleasure with every breath.

He lifts my shirt and unclasps my bra, my breasts falling gently as they settle on my ribs. His mouth finds one, closing around the tip. Tongue circling, and as he retreats, he runs his teeth over the nipple, sending a mix of pain and pleasure.

After a while, he guides me unhurried to my stomach, the tether turning with me, my wrists crossing over one another, tightening the grip, the gas tank warm against my skin.

I catch the last glint of sunlight through the trees, red, orange, and purple streaking the sky. The evening’s soundtrack rises from the creek below, water trickling over stone, throaty frogs, and crickets humming in sync, interrupted by the occasional rustle of something waking in the woods. A faint sweetness of honeysuckle hangs in the cooling air.    

Suddenly, my husband flickers into my thoughts. He must be wondering about dinner, maybe wondering where the hell I am. A tinge of panic as I realize I haven’t checked my phone in hours.

His mouth presses to the small of my back, sending chills, and snapping my thoughts back to the here and now, and moving steadily downward, pushing my boundaries and igniting every nerve in my body. I squirm as he guides my hips upward.

He moves on top of me, pressing his weight gently. I peer over my shoulder, catching him running his fingers over his tongue, then down his length, guiding himself to new territory, and my stomach flips in anticipation. He’s already played with me, finessed me here, but somehow the thought of him entering me fully still sends goosebumps racing everywhere.

“Relax, baby, this might hurt,” he says as he places his palm firmly over my mouth and moves into me roughly. It does, the sharp, butter sensation stealing my breath, and I squeal loudly into his hand, but I don’t resist.

He grabs my hips firmly, his fingers sinking, making me worry they will leave a mark, and pushes as deep as he can. Again and again, unrelenting, sending shockwaves through me.

I bite into my lip until I taste blood. Still, I can't explain how something so initially discomfiting can be simultaneously so satisfying. I want more, every inch, and I find myself begging him for it.

He fills both holes, fully from behind, and slips his fingers into my open folds. Pushing them in and pulling them out, rolling them around, and sliding them up and down slowly, squeezing my clit between them. I was absolutely overcome all at once with heat, and I scream out as my body gives way underneath him. Seconds later, he groans loudly, grinding into me and releasing his seed deep inside of me.

His weight comes down on me as he rests his head against my back. Every muscle in my body relaxed all at once. I swear I could have fallen asleep right there, with him on top of me, tethered to a bike on the side of the road.

I never imagined someone could make me feel this exposed and this alive at the same time. Like the ride itself, he is wind, adrenaline, and absolute calm all at once.

He dragged me past every limit I thought I had, and now I’m left with the unsettling realization that cheating isn’t the thing I regret most. It’s discovering a need I never even realized I had, and the knowledge of just how much of myself I’ve been holding back.