The speed was not exhilarating. He rode at a speed that screamed caution. She was okay with that. Speed was meant for empty highways, not main roads with traffic at every seam. She held on to him needlessly, the wind on her face. One hand held his shoulder, the other wound itself diagonally up to his chest.
When they halted at the crossroad, she glanced sideways. A couple sat, perched on a bike. The man was in his late forties, the woman close behind. They were slightly over weight and the man looked impatient to start riding again, obviously in a hurry. The woman behind him asked him to be patient. He muttered what sounded like an agreement. That they were a married couple was overtly obvious - both looked wary and tired.
The woman held a steel grip under her seat to position herself on the bike. She avoided all but unavoidable contact with her husband. The husband perched himself nonchalantly on his bike. The signal changed colours and they rode off into a cloud of pollution.
She felt her hand against his heart, the dull thud-thud clearly perceptible under her fingers. She resolved never to reach the stage where she would have to sit precariously on the bike, avoiding contact. She snuggled up closer. He shifted, aware of the constricted space he was stashed in.
"I am not moving, okay?? Don't ask me to shift back."
"Okay, I won't. It's just making turning on the bends a little difficult."
"Manage."
"Okay."
She tugged his T-Shirt down and licked the bare skin on his neck. It prickled and she laughed.
"That feels nice. Is anybody watching us?"
"Perhaps."
He gathered speed. She continued nibbling, tracing patterns on his skin.
"Remember to focus on the road. Pillion riders are relatively free for this kind of behaviour."
"Mmm, okay. My turn for that kind of behaviour when we get home then."
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