Whirlwind Flames

The First Ride

The roar of the Harley drowned out everything—her pulse, her thoughts, even the whispers of Millbrook still buzzing in her ears.

Harper clutched Ryder’s leather vest, knuckles white against the rough fabric as the bike ate up the road leading out of town. The wind whipped her hair loose from its neat pins, tangling it across her face. She should have been terrified. She should have told him to turn around.

Instead, she pressed closer, chest against his back, every vibration of the engine coursing through her body.

Then Ryder did something reckless. His left hand slipped from the handlebar and slid back, clamping firmly around her bare thigh just below her skirt. The sudden grip made her gasp, her whole body jolting.

“Ryder!” she shouted over the roar. “That’s dangerous!”

He didn’t turn, didn’t waver. His hand stayed on her leg, hot and commanding, as if daring her to push him away. The bike held steady under his single hand, eating up the road like he had all the control in the world.

Harper’s heart hammered—not just from the danger, but from the thrill of it. She hated how much she liked the way his fingers pressed into her skin, how the contact grounded her even as it took away her sense of safety.

You’re letting him take control, she thought, clutching tighter to his vest. You never do that. Not at school, not at home, not anywhere. But with him…

The realization sent a rush through her veins, equal parts fear and longing.

By the time Ryder slowed, pulling off near the overlook at Miller’s Bluff, Harper’s lungs felt raw from the rush of air. He killed the engine, silence rushing in heavy around them.

She slid off the bike, legs shaky, laughter bubbling out before she could stop it. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

Ryder swung off behind her, helmet dangling from his hand, grin wicked. “Liked it more than you’ll admit.”

“I didn’t say that,” she argued, brushing hair from her face. “But you—you took your hand off the handlebar. You could’ve killed us.”

He stepped closer, boots crunching gravel. “Didn’t, though. Bike listens to me.” His grin softened just slightly. “Same as you did.”

Her cheeks burned at the truth in his words. He was dangerous. Reckless. Everything she shouldn’t want. And yet she had leaned into it, let him steer them both with one hand while the other claimed her.

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” she whispered.

“Sweetheart,” Ryder said, his voice dropping as he lifted his hand to her jaw, “that’s the idea.”

And then his mouth was on hers—rough, hungry, claiming what had been building since the moment his Harley stalled outside her school.