Knights in White Satin

Knights White Satin - Woman - motorcycle - highway

“Where’re we headed?” she asked.

“Nowhere and everywhere.” He answered and laughed when she slapped his shoulder.

She loved his laugh and slapped him again just to hear it.

The steady drizzle painted the road with jagged streaks of red and yellow, green, and white. The last signal turned and she pressed her booted feet against the chrome pegs leaning back against the sissybar—feeling the warmth of his body against the inside of her legs and the weight of movement pressing her tight against the padded bar at her back. She loved taking off fast, getting ahead of traffic and cruising out of the city into the country night.

She smiled when they took a sharp turn leading down to the river road, loved that he would choose this particular road when he’d been away for nearly a month—loved that he knew how to sway along the tight curves, rocking her gently.

Crickets ceased their call then took it back up as the black on black Harley flew by, kicking up water from puddled remains of the light rain. The moon rose above low clouds streaking the river silver. The curves tightened the bike slowed, gliding almost soundless through the mist rising from the slick road.

He braked, turning the road behind them scarlet before shutting off the bike and gliding down a walking path to the banks of the river. She spread her arms wide, feeling like she was gliding on the back of some great beast; like in Dragon Riders of Pern. And like the dragon riders, she knew his thoughts and he hers. They had formed a connection the first time they’d met that hadn’t lessened through time or distance.

Resting a hand on his shoulder she slid off, loving the feel of leather on leather, the sight of black on black, the ridges outlined in silver moonlight. Kicking down the stand he swung his boot-encased leg over and down, taking a masculine wide-legged stance. Placing both hands behind the small of his back he stretched himself backwards.

She never tired of watching him move, watching him strip off his bomber jacket, dig in the saddle bags for wine and cheese, spreading the blanket on the ground—all while she watched, waiting for his hand to summon her to ground. Tonight she couldn’t wait, dropping to the blanket and pulling him close, working her hips against his, kissing him long and deep, their tongues speaking in secret alphabets. His body responded and she couldn’t help but smile that he wanted her so badly, and she wanted him desperately in return.

She knew there would be no white satin sheets tonight—tonight there would be hard ground for hard loving.