Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, bondage, wax play, motorcycles, submission and dominance. All characters are 18 or older. Julie's night shift at the Marky Mae's diner in Brawley is usually a pretty boring one, but when a group of bikers begin stopping in on their runs from Escondido to Yuma things begin to get a lot more lively. It's the leader of the group whose eye she happens to catch, though she'll never know exactly why, and before she knows it she's on the back of a Harley, blaring through the streets of her sleepy town. But when her biker offers to teach her what it is to live dangerously and surrender control, that little evening ride becomes the most mundane of her new experiences. Excerpt I feel a finger brush against my cheek and I jerk back to look at him, a thrill at the contact running through me and paralyzing me as he looks at me. "I could show you, if you want," he says. My breath has gone sort of shallow in my chest as I look at him. "You could?" I breathe. He catches a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. His smile isn't so much mischievous, now. "Sure," he says. I realize I'm sort of leaning forward now. The night is so quiet around us. "What - what do you have in mind, then?" I ask. He sprawls back even more luxuriously on the bike's handlebars, lips pursed in teasing speculation and running those blues eyes over me, head to toe. Now they do linger, the way I was wishing they had back in the diner. "It wouldn't be on a motorcycle," he says. "Oh yeah?" "But I think you'd like it even more." I turn my head sideways looking at him, my lower lip between my teeth. "It sounds like I would." "I'll take us back then," he says. "You keep a firm grip." He slides back into the seat in front of me and I clasp my hands around him. Holding onto the back of him is an underrated part of this experience, I'm thinking. His ass his tight and firm between my thighs and I press myself against his broad back. We take off again. The rubber squeals on the pavement for a moment and then we're catapulting forward with a roaring in the air around us that rattles every pebble we pass by. It takes us maybe twenty minutes to run back over our same ground. I start to recognize the ways he lets go, the way he sort of releases control as he leans over and lets gravity take over as we come around a turn at top speed. There's a sort of beautiful anarchy about the motion. This time I don't mind as much when the neon of the motel lights starts approaching fast from the horizon in front of us. Instead, the sight sends a thrill of excitement through my body. Kent ducks inside the lobby and gets his key from the receptionist. I peer into his side mirrors and try to straighten my hair, but it's pretty hopeless at this point. We roll around back and he slings his saddlebag over his arm, leading me up the stairs to a room on the balcony. "Sit on the bed," he tells me when we get inside. "I just need to find a couple things." I sit obediently and watch him as he rifles through the bag. He pulls out a chain lock and sets it on the ground with a cascade of heavy clinking. He digs a bit more and pulls out a grey bandana that he extracts with an exaggerated flourish. "Hold still," he tells me, approaching with the bandana. I jerk in surprise and move to stop him as he begins to tie it over my eyes. "It's alright," he says. "You'll like this." "Are you sure?" My trepidation momentarily overcomes my need to impress him. "Trust me," he says. I hold still and he knots the bandana in place. The light disappears and I am blind, helpless, listening to the sounds of the room as he steps back from me. "Alright, I'm going to go wash my face. Don't go anywhere." I make an expression at where I think he probably is, but I don't know whether he notices. I listen as he walks off across the carpet and then hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. I take a deep breath. I am both asking myself and trying very hard not to ask myself just what exactly I've got myself into.