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By (user no longer on site) OP
34 weeks ago
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The night was heavy with the smell of dust and grass, their small roadside tent lit only by the glow of a lantern. She lay against him, half-asleep, when the deep growl of an engine broke the quiet.
A motorbike rolled up, headlight cutting across the canvas. The rider killed the engine, pulled off his helmet, and strode over with a confident grin. Leather clung to his body, his eyes catching theirs like a spark.
“Mind if I crash here a while?” he asked, voice low, teasing.
Something unspoken passed between the couple. She bit her lip; he shifted, intrigued. A nod was all it took.
Inside the tent, the space was suddenly small, body heat thick in the air. The rider’s hands were rough, certain—unzipping, sliding fabric away. She gasped when his mouth found hers, then shuddered as her partner’s hands joined in, tugging at her hips.
Clothes tangled at their feet. The rider’s chest pressed hot against her back while her partner kissed her deeply, the three of them moving in rhythm, breathless and hungry. She moaned as the men’s hands brushed against each other across her skin, neither pulling away, both surrendering to the heat.
Bodies pressed closer, every movement desperate and raw in the cramped tent. Fingers, mouths, and skin collided in a tangle of sweat and shivering pleasure, until the night dissolved into nothing but gasps and the rough slide of bodies.
When it was over, they collapsed in a heap, their breaths ragged, the smell of sex and leather hanging in the air. The rider smirked in the dim light.
“Hell of a roadside stop,” he murmured.
No one disagreed. |
