They flew onto Kennedy Blvd., zig-zagging through heavy traffic, then onto Westshore Blvd., heading due south.
Sonya’s black hair tossed wildly in the wind as it hung from beneath the helmet. The fluttering strands of hair tickling her neck felt like a feather or soft kisses.
She rested the side of her head against Dmitri’s wide back, watching strip malls and office buildings turn to high rise apartments and luxurious houses set on canals, just blocks from the bay.
Sometimes when Dmitri made a hard turn, he’d reach back and grab Sonya’s thigh, as though he were keeping her from falling off.
She loved feeling him touch her, and again wished she’d worn shorts instead of jeans, but she also thought it might be better if Dmitri kept both hands on the bike. Sonya certainly wasn’t going to fall off, not with the way her fingers were gripping his firm stomach.
As she held that big torso, she let her arms slide lower and lower, until she felt something hard bump against her wrist.
His cock? Am I making him hard? she thought for a second.
But she realized whatever was under his shirt wasn’t made of flesh. It was angular, and even through the cloth, it felt cold. It was metal.
Must be a tool for his bike, a wrench or something.
Once she knew what it wasn’t, she didn’t think much about what it might be. The truth never even occurred to her. She went back to enjoying the ride.
When they hit the Gandy Bridge, Dmitri opened the throttle. With no stoplights, he soon put the motorcycle in high gear.
Sonya had no idea just how powerful this bike was until it was screaming past sports cars on the open road. The speedometer registered 160 mph, though luckily she couldn’t see that number with the broad back in front of her.
Not to mention her eyes were now closed. The view was too dizzying at that velocity. So she just reveled in the sensations.
And with the steady speed they now maintained, Sonya discovered that motorcycles aren’t considered sexy just because they’re dangerous and let you hold on to a big stud while you ride.
They’re sexy because their vibrations hit a woman right…
…there. Oh my God, if we don’t stop soon, I’m going to come. I can’t believe it.
Sonya had drifted into a trance. The stimulation had crept up on her until it lulled her into a state of heightened arousal.
But now she realized the bike was trembling in such a way that she was nearing orgasm.
What could she do?
Her legs were wrapped around an incredible machine. Her butt was pressed against the vibrating seat.
She squirmed around. She tried to raise her butt a bit. But there wasn’t room to move, and at such an insane speed, it was frightening to try.
Plus, she didn’t want to alarm Dmitri by wiggling around too much. If he even flinched at that speed, they could be splattered across the asphalt in a millisecond.
But what if she screamed out uncontrollably in pleasure? He might drive the bike right off the bridge.
Maybe the roar of the engine and whipping of the wind would hide her cries.
She could only hope.
Dmitri couldn’t possibly feel her rapid breathing as her breasts pressed against his back, could he?
Sonya tried to stop herself from coming.
What is it guys say they do to hold off orgasm? Think of baseball? Sonya thought, frantically.
Oh wait, buff guys in tight clothing, balls, sticks… that’s not helping.
She tried squeezing the muscles deep inside her abdomen, slowing her breathing, then holding her breath.
Women just don’t have good techniques to delay an orgasm. There’s rarely a reason to, and they have trouble finding a guy who even lasts long enough to give them one.
It just seemed wrong to come while she was squeezing this sexy man - at least without him knowing it. And if he realized what was happening…
…it would be so embarrassing, how could I show my face after that? I’ll have to jump off the bike and run away as soon as he stops.
As she fought her arousal, she continued to hurtle toward climax. It almost seemed like fighting it was making it worse - which is to say, was making it better.
Soon Sonya reached the point of ecstasy at which a woman no longer cares about anything else but pleasure and intimacy with her lover.
The point at which she will say naughty things she’d otherwise never think of saying. The point at which she will beg her lover to finish inside of her, even it’s risky.
She decided to go for it, to just relax and let it happen.
Errererrrrssh!
The bike screeched to a halt.
Sonya opened her eyes, raised the tinted visor of the helmet and looked around. The steel blue water of the bay glistened with small white-capped waves on both sides of her.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Dmitri’s fresh sweat mixing with the salty sea air.
Her skin was warm and dry under the afternoon sun. She felt like she was in the true Florida and not just those boring suburbs she’d always lived in, far from the shore - or at least they seemed far from the shore.
The pair waited at a stoplight at the end of the bridge. The bike was still humming beneath Sonya’s butt, yet not quite hard enough to complete what it had started.
This bike is a tease, sort of like the guy driving it, she thought, though she was relieved not to have embarrassed herself.
After all, she could get pretty wet down there when she had an orgasm, and with light blue denim on…
Vrooommmm!
They were off again.
Sonya worried once more about what was happening below. She was concerned both that she would come and that she wouldn’t come.
Why didn’t this man just take her home and fuck her properly, or bring her to a motel, a restaurant bathroom, somewhere?
Traffic was congested as they worked their way across St. Petersburg, Pinellas Park, and Seminole.
Sonya could feel Dmitri’s sweat soaking through his shirt as she kept her grip on his stomach. She left the visor up so she could enjoy his scent as they rode, the side of the helmet pressed against his back.
She felt fantastic, except that she was now thirsty and hungry. But not just for water and food, she was also starving for a bite of the muscular man in her arms.
Eventually, they broke free of stop-and-go traffic, pulling out onto to Highway 699, aka Gulf Blvd., which runs along the beach.
Sonya didn’t get out to the white sandy beaches of the Gulf of Mexico often, though she lived fairly close. She didn’t even recognize where she was.
It was Indian Rocks Beach, one of many little towns dotted along the coast.
They went south again, passing crab shacks and surf shops, seafood grills and dive shops. The waves were bigger here and the water was a vibrant blue, pure and tropical, not like the polluted bay.
Sometimes there was water all around, as the road ran down a strip of land, a harbor and mansions on one side, endless ocean on the other.
They cruised past Indian Shores and Barefoot Beach, Sunset Reef and the Redington Long Pier, Madeira Beach and Treasure Island, past lavish resorts and lush green wildlife sanctuaries.
Sonya had never been this far down the coast. This was were tourists came or were local rich people went for weekend getaways, or to do whatever rich people do.
She’d never even heard of the spectacular hotel she suddenly saw. It was colossal, like an ancient German castle.
But it seemed more welcoming than that, because it was painted pastel pink with maroon rooftops and a chalk-white trim, which glimmered in the sunlight.
The building had terraced levels, spires, and arched windows above courtyards decorated with manicured gardens and flowing fountains.
She felt like she was in another country, another world. Rocketing around on this fantastical machine with a strange man, and now pulling into the parking lot of a hotel the likes of which she never imagined existed so close to the humble and mundane neighborhoods of North Tampa.
I was just hoping for a cheap motel, but this will do, Sonya thought as she raised her eyebrows.
Dmitri drove through the parking lot to the entrance of the hotel, stopped, turned off the bike and tossed his keys to a valet.
“Okay, you can get off now. Are you stuck to the seat? I know it’s hot, maybe it melted.” He laughed his roaring laugh.
It was the sincere, joyful laugh that makes it not so obnoxious for someone to laugh at their own jokes, even their own bad jokes.
He has no idea how close I came to getting this seat all sticky.
Or does he? Maybe that’s exactly what he meant. Oh God, no… Sonya thought as she lightly smacked Dmitri on the back for his teasing comment.
She hopped down from the bike, slid the helmet off, and felt the ocean breeze blowing against her hair, which was wet and matted to her head around her forehead and temples.
She tried to brush it out with her fingers, but it was a hopeless mess. So she twisted it into a sloppy ponytail and dug into her purse for a scrunchie.
She couldn’t find one. So she gave up, and her hair fell down in tangles and knots.
“Are you hungry?” Dmitri asked as he took Sonya by the arm and led her into the lobby.
“Yeah, sure. We’re going to eat?”
“Obviously. Did you think we came to Don Cesar to get a room? You bad girl…” he said with a grin.
“Don Cesar, that’s what it’s called?
He rolled his eyes.
“No, it’s called the Motel 8.”
She slapped him again, this time on the arm. It was like slapping a brick wall, even though he wasn’t flexing.
Dmitri reached up, collected her hair together with one hand, and gave it a long, firm tug while staring deep into Sonya’s eyes. She felt like her hair was attached to her spine and her spine was sending streaks of pleasure throughout her body.
He let go of her hair, letting it fall back into a tangled web, as he broke their mutual gaze and looked forward again.