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Introducing Paris
May. 21st, 2004 11:59 pmParis stood by the side of his bed looking wistfully down at Sophie. They had both known when they got together that it couldn’t last, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to miss her. Plans had been made long before Paris had arrived on the scene, plans he would never have dreamed of trying to talk her out of. A year out to work with Marc in the family business, then on to England to explore for a few months before starting Uni there in September. She left in a few days, and he had decided it was time for him to go, for now, anyway.
Sophie hugged the pillow he’d nudged in her direction when he’d got up earlier, making the occasional snuffling noise as she snuggled into it. Neither of them had wanted a heavy good bye scene this morning, they had said their goodbyes the previous night ……
There had been perfect tension in her thighs, gripping his hips just right. Perfect tension in her abs, holding her close and still against him, hands resting on his thighs, ready to slip around him when the speed threatened to tear her from him. He knew that she didn’t seek to hold him back, to stop him, she wanted him to let go, to take them to the limit, not held back by laws, by rules, by regulations; here and now, they didn’t exist.
The world flew past, and she pressed even closer, moulding herself against his back, urging him to take them higher. They came up fast on a car on the road in front of them, the only other vehicle for miles. They didn’t slow, approaching at the speed of light, swerving out to overtake, and swerving back in, hips tilting to match the dip of the bike, a heat in the pit of his stomach, and laughter bubbling up from deep inside.
They had arrived back at the lodge in the dark, falling into bed, making love until they fell asleep in each other’s arms, warm and sated.
He kissed her gently on the cheek so as not to wake her, and closed the door behind him, as he made his way downstairs to pick up the stuff he had packed the day before. He strode into the breakfast room, knowing that Marc would be waiting for him. The dark-haired biker pulled him into a bear hug.
“You coming back next season?” Marc asked his most popular tour leader. Paris was the last to go, and there was always a chance that he would find something else to do, and not make it back. Marc hated to lose a good leader.
“Yeah, why not? Most enjoyable job I’ve had in a while!”
“What about that movie you were in?”
“Ah, that was only a couple of weeks, and I didn’t actually have any lines. But this … what’s not to love?”
He had stumbled across the Motorcycle tour company early in the season, or rather they had stumbled across him. Stranded by the side of the road, about to start walking away from his Kawasaki ZRX1100 in search of help, he had heard the roar of bike engines approaching. He had been so relieved when Marc had pulled over, and happened to have the one Allen key missing from his kit, the one he needed to drain the dirt out of the carbs that had caused the Zorx to come to a dead stop in the first place.
Marc had suggested he tag along with the tour to their next stop, so they could check the bike over properly. Before the night was out, Paris had taken up the offer of a job, and spent the summer leading bike tours all over the South Island. Now the season had been over for a month, and with Sophie leaving, he felt he should move on, find something to do over the winter. And lately, he had felt a pull back to Wellington.
He pulled on his jacket, and they walked out into a crisp autumn morning, Marc carrying his saddle bags. He pulled on his jacket and secured the bags and spare lid, before hugging Marc again, giving more reassurances that he would be back later in the year.
“Tell Sophie ... tell her I said bye.”
Marc nodded. Paris turned the key in the ignition, and the Zorx roared into life, a sound that never failed to send a shiver running down his spine. He pulled his helmet on, mounted up, and pulled away with a final wave over his shoulder, opened the bike up, and took off.
Headed for Wellington.
Sophie hugged the pillow he’d nudged in her direction when he’d got up earlier, making the occasional snuffling noise as she snuggled into it. Neither of them had wanted a heavy good bye scene this morning, they had said their goodbyes the previous night ……
There had been perfect tension in her thighs, gripping his hips just right. Perfect tension in her abs, holding her close and still against him, hands resting on his thighs, ready to slip around him when the speed threatened to tear her from him. He knew that she didn’t seek to hold him back, to stop him, she wanted him to let go, to take them to the limit, not held back by laws, by rules, by regulations; here and now, they didn’t exist.
The world flew past, and she pressed even closer, moulding herself against his back, urging him to take them higher. They came up fast on a car on the road in front of them, the only other vehicle for miles. They didn’t slow, approaching at the speed of light, swerving out to overtake, and swerving back in, hips tilting to match the dip of the bike, a heat in the pit of his stomach, and laughter bubbling up from deep inside.
They had arrived back at the lodge in the dark, falling into bed, making love until they fell asleep in each other’s arms, warm and sated.
He kissed her gently on the cheek so as not to wake her, and closed the door behind him, as he made his way downstairs to pick up the stuff he had packed the day before. He strode into the breakfast room, knowing that Marc would be waiting for him. The dark-haired biker pulled him into a bear hug.
“You coming back next season?” Marc asked his most popular tour leader. Paris was the last to go, and there was always a chance that he would find something else to do, and not make it back. Marc hated to lose a good leader.
“Yeah, why not? Most enjoyable job I’ve had in a while!”
“What about that movie you were in?”
“Ah, that was only a couple of weeks, and I didn’t actually have any lines. But this … what’s not to love?”
He had stumbled across the Motorcycle tour company early in the season, or rather they had stumbled across him. Stranded by the side of the road, about to start walking away from his Kawasaki ZRX1100 in search of help, he had heard the roar of bike engines approaching. He had been so relieved when Marc had pulled over, and happened to have the one Allen key missing from his kit, the one he needed to drain the dirt out of the carbs that had caused the Zorx to come to a dead stop in the first place.
Marc had suggested he tag along with the tour to their next stop, so they could check the bike over properly. Before the night was out, Paris had taken up the offer of a job, and spent the summer leading bike tours all over the South Island. Now the season had been over for a month, and with Sophie leaving, he felt he should move on, find something to do over the winter. And lately, he had felt a pull back to Wellington.
He pulled on his jacket, and they walked out into a crisp autumn morning, Marc carrying his saddle bags. He pulled on his jacket and secured the bags and spare lid, before hugging Marc again, giving more reassurances that he would be back later in the year.
“Tell Sophie ... tell her I said bye.”
Marc nodded. Paris turned the key in the ignition, and the Zorx roared into life, a sound that never failed to send a shiver running down his spine. He pulled his helmet on, mounted up, and pulled away with a final wave over his shoulder, opened the bike up, and took off.
Headed for Wellington.
