I was lying on my blanket, enjoying the music and my beer, feeling the 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 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 came alone. 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 and want what I want when I want it, and other people’s needs are exhausting.

I stood up, ready to go get myself another beer, when I felt a presence behind me. I turned and promptly got 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 was standing above me, smiling down. “Damn, girl, falling for me already? That’s a new record for me.”

Cute. He doesn’t come off as overtly cocky, thank God, perhaps just confident. I don’t mind confidence, but why do guys think cocky is sustainable? It’s not. It gets old quick.

He reached down and offered his hand. I hesitated, then let him pull me up. “Thank you,” I breathed, attempting a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Getting a beer?” he asked.

I exhaled hard. “Yes, you?”

He is ridiculously good-looking. Dark hair, glacier-blue eyes, his jawline strong and square, softened by a meticulously kept thick beard. Do I even like guys with beards? Clearly. A faded black T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Jeans, a 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. Name, where are you from, all code for can I picture myself with my mouth on you later?

For me, an easy yes.

“Are you into motorcycles? 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 easy as we finish our beer.

I go and gather up 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 looked good off the bike, he looked fucking intoxicating on it.

I just 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 was addicted.

I felt the warm wind on my skin, blue skies above, and colors flying by me in colorful streams. It was as if I felt peace and excitement crashing together at the same time.

We take off through the narrow and windy back roads past barns, pastures, and forests filled with pine. The fading sunlight flashing on the chrome of the bike.

You could smell the world around you: fresh-cut grass, damp earth from an earlier shower, the 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 over 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 the bike. 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 the 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, 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.

Reaching behind me, he threads it through the chrome bars, the sound of 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 even is this? I don’t even know. Is this bondage?

My mind is reeling, but his hands snap me back to the moment as he runs them up my thighs, pulling 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 slip under the seam of my panties, pulling them down, making me gasp.

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 fingers move between my legs. Jesus, I can hardly catch my breath.

He straightens up and pulls my waist down and onto him. The sensation of him inside me catches me off guard. Overwhelming, but in the best way. I wasn’t prepared. It was almost too much. Almost.

He guides me to my stomach, the tether turning with me, the gas tank warm against my skin.

His mouth on the small of my back, moving downward, pushing my boundaries and igniting every nerve in my body. I squirm as he guides my hips upward.

His lips and fingers explore me slowly, tracing paths that make my body tremble. 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 moves on top of me, pressing his weight gently. “Relax, baby. This might hurt.” He places his palm over my mouth firmly as he moves into me. It does. The sharp sensation steals my breath, and I squeal loudly into his hand, but I don’t resist. I submit to him completely, my body trembling with a need I never knew existed, and he drags me past every limit I thought I had.