Maelstrom

Chapter 28: Taken for a Ride

We roared out of the alley, and I tightened my grip around the mobster's firm body. He clearly knew what he was doing, pouring us into traffic and handling the bike with the fluidity of skill, experience, and pure daring.

I struggled to figure out what to do on the machine, other than hang on for dear life. I'd never been on a motorcycle before, but it felt like a combination of horseback riding, figure skating, and ballroom dancing, all done at breakneck speed. The balancing, the gripping with arms and legs, the tiny twitches of the hands or adjustments in weight that could lead to dramatic results – all were familiar from riding horses, and things I could understand immediately. But I had never been good at giving up the lead.

My grandmother had insisted that I take a couple of years of ballroom dancing classes at the dance academy near her home, so that I would be fully prepared for the gala-filled lifestyle she'd long envisioned for me. The entire experience was disastrous. My partners for the class were reluctant specimens from the wealthy families in the area, a good match for me in height but little else, who usually spent all their energy counting the beats and trying to cop a surreptitious feel on their partner. Holds were always too weak or too rigid or way too close, and clearly had no real interest in learning the steps, so I had instinctively tried to lead them, contrary to the instructor's specific instructions about our gender roles. We had all bumbled and stumbled, wobbled and bobbled, plodded and tripped and stomped our way through each song. I had avoided formal dance ever since.

Now here I was, making all the same mistakes, trying to use my weight to drive when the other person was in the position of control. I watched the road, evaluated traffic, tried to anticipate where Alkaev would go next and moved my body to lean into each expected turn or weave, brace for each acceleration or stop. I could tell I was throwing him off, badly.

I could feel my frustration building. I hated feeling like a liability, and took a deep breath to reassess. It caused my breasts to press more firmly into Alkaev's back, and I felt him shift slightly in response. That was the moment of my epiphany – he was focusing on the bike and the streets and the crush of vehicles around us, things he could control and react to but I couldn't. I could only focus on moving with him.

I closed my eyes to block out everything but the man in my arms. I spread my fingers out on his pecs and abs and relaxed my body to mold myself to him. God, he felt so good, even through the bulk of sweaters and coats. I tuned in to the play of the muscles of his back as they rippled along my breasts and belly, of his strong thighs and ass as they pressed and shifted between my legs, of his chest and abdomen as they tensed with each anticipated turn and stop.

Stop thinking, I whispered to myself, and I let my sense of everything but the present moment leave me in a single soft breath. There was no road, no cars, no bike – just him, and my body draped over him like a second skin.

The minutes and the city blocks flew by, but I was aware of none of it. Later I would be alarmed by how easily I had given my complete trust to a near stranger – one whom I recently had watched kill someone with practiced efficiency. But for this Tuesday afternoon ride from Manhattanville to 5th Avenue, there was nothing in my mind but the rhythm of my breath, the vibration of the bike, and the sculpture of a man I had wrapped myself around.

Eventually, the bike rolled to a stop, and Alkaev switched off the engine. I reluctantly unwrapped myself and leaned back to remove my helmet. Scrubbing my fingers through my hair to coax the strands back to their usual places, I watched as Alkaev performed a similar if abbreviated maneuver. He turned his head slightly, giving me a hint of his chiseled profile.

"I'm certainly in no hurry to move," he assured me, "But when you're ready, you do have to get off first."

I felt embarrassment color my face, partly from the revelation that I was essentially pinning Alkaev to the bike with my thighs, and partly from the alarming turn my thoughts had taken when he said I had to "get off first." I scrambled quickly from the bike and struggled for composure.