An Excerpt from Adele Dubois's Motorcycle Heat

The woman on the sidewalk revived him like a swim upward from the cold depths of the sea.

His friends would say it was about time.

Antonio followed her on his bike, and she played along, sauntering down the street at an easy pace, smiling at him over her shoulder from time to time to let him know she accepted him there. For an instant he thought he saw a likeness to Estela in her smile, but the resemblance faded again with her profile.

He sped up for a better frontal view of her body. Scarlet lip-gloss covered her full mouth. Red and gold hoop earrings peeked from beneath her long mane of hair. A filmy red tank top stopped at her midriff, revealing a red rhinestone bellybutton ring. Antonio’s mouth watered. He wanted to drag his tongue from the hem of her blouse to the waistband of her shorts, lick a circle around the bellybutton ring, and feel her hips quiver beneath his hands.

His eyes swept up and over her again. The tank top was edged in red lace, capping the tops of her large, firm breasts and hugging her cleavage. Her nipples were hard and protruded like ripe raisins inside the light cotton fabric.

Antonio grinned. His presence excited her, and that was good.

Her straw purse swung from the hand at her side. There were no rings on her fingers. He smiled again.

Excellent.

They reached the corner, and the woman stopped to cross the street. Antonio slowed beside her. “What’s your name?” he shouted over the idle of his engine.

The woman lifted her mouth in a sly, foxy grin. “Why should I tell you?” she shouted back.

“Because I’m the man you’re going to marry,” he called out, wishing he could kick himself in the head for saying such a dumb thing out loud. If he hadn’t thought of Estela the moment before, he probably wouldn’t have said it. But the memory of his lover reminded him how close he had once come to the altar.

He shook his head like he was trying to clear it. Shouting “marriage” to the gringa on the sidewalk had sounded like a limp dick line.

Apparently the woman disagreed, because she threw her head back and laughed. The sound revealed intrigue, not scorn. Antonio relaxed.

She licked her incredible, glossy lips. “Lisa. Lisa Gibson,” she called.

The name would be tattooed on his brain forever.

Lisa.

She crossed the street at the next intersection and continued her walk. Antonio switched gears and kept pace beside her, keeping one eye out for cars, pedestrians, strollers, and roaming animals.

“Stop and talk to me!” Antonio called after her. The visit with his brother at the Naval Academy could wait.

She walked faster, teasing, as if trying to get away from him. The muscles of her trim legs moved in rhythmic time with the curve of her ass, and her high, full breasts swayed lightly as the breeze lifted her hair. She brushed stray strands from her eyes and looked over at him, clearly deciding.

“How can we get married if you won’t talk to me first?” He was into the banter now.

What the hell.

She shrugged, pretending disinterest. Her quick side-glance in his direction told him otherwise. Encouraged, Antonio followed, watching her limbs move between the breaks in the cars parked along this stretch of avenue.

He spotted a pub on the next far corner. “Want to stop for a drink?” He shouted over the hood of the sports car that blocked his view of her until she moved forward again.

She quickened her pace, keeping time with him. “Okay.”

Her mischievous smile reached all the way to her eyes, and his heart leaped. He imagined sliding his hand along her smooth inner thigh beneath a secluded table, and lifting the hem of her shorts with the tips of his fingers until they met heat.

Antonio gunned the engine, speeding up, anxious to get to the bar. But instead of keeping up with him, Lisa stopped dead on the sidewalk. Antonio twisted around in his seat just in time to see her raise her tank top over her chest and flash him her bare breasts.

The last thing he remembered before the crash was the perfect circumference of her pink, pointy nipples and the gravity-defying fullness of D-cup breasts that sucked the air from his lungs. The motorcycle seemed to take on a life of its own in that moment, with Antonio’s eyes riveted to Lisa’s magnificent tits. He sailed away between two parked cars and smacked the side of the curb with the Harley’s front tire. Man and bike moved in one continuous arc of suspended slow motion before Antonio hit the ground and the Harley turned over on the sidewalk beside him. The last words he muttered before blackness came were, “No fucking helmet.”

He opened his eyes through a haze of pain, flat on his back on the dirty sidewalk, to the most voluptuous breasts he had ever seen hovering over his face. Soft hands cradled his head. The white crescent moons lifted up and down, up, down with each breath; leaning so close he could almost touch them with the tip of his tongue. He wanted to lift his head just one more inch -- a tiny, nearly infinitesimal motion that would lead him to bliss, the place marked by the soft, round fullness of the heavy pillows skimming his nose. He strained to follow the deep, dark recess of her cleavage, lost inside the tight red tank top that stretched over nipples as taut and long as pencil erasers. He traced the areola with his eyes beneath the ultra thin cotton, and as he did, licked his lips. The sudden ache inside his jeans rivaled the bruise on his head.

© Adele duBois, May 2007
All Rights Reserved