Throttled (Dirty Air 1)

I roll my eyes. Anyone will say that to get me on the back of a contraption.

He steps toward me, wearing down my defenses. He talks low and slow to me like I’m a scared dog in an alleyway.

I push my lower lip out and cross my arms, not above pouting to get my way. If it works on my parents, then it could work on Noah.

But he doesn’t take the bait. I need to work on my delivery because it sucks.

“Don’t make me carry you onto it. I’ve driven motorcycles since I was thirteen. I’m still alive.” He waves down his body, bringing my attention to his leather jacket and dark jeans. His outfit screams bad boy in every good kind of way. Instead of making me feel better, he distracts me with his tight-fitting shirt, which accentuates his firm muscles.

How does he make casual look so good?

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That’s illegal! Who in their right mind would let a child on a motorbike?” Did anyone ever watch over him as a kid?

He chuckles, not bothering to address my comment. Instead, he grabs a black helmet from the seat and puts it on my head, adjusting the straps to fit my chin. I’d consider it a lovely gesture if my heart wasn’t in my throat at the moment.

I wasn’t exactly expecting this when he told me to wear jeans and a comfortable top earlier.

“You’re one hard date to please,” he grumbles.

I’d rather not have my body splayed across a street like roadkill.

“Have you even been on a real date? Usually normal people go to a restaurant, have dinner, and end it all with a kiss. Stay within the comfort zone.” I paint a picture for him since he seems like a visual kind of guy.

His chest rumbles with laughter. “I’ve dated before, but I’m far from normal. Why wine and dine you? I’m going to get what I want anyway.” He waggles his brows.

Well, excuse me. I can’t ignore the pang of jealousy when he mentions other dates. For once, his arrogant attitude wears on me.

Who does he think he is? Sex with me is not a given because I am not one of his bimbos. I don’t hand that shit out like Halloween candy.

“That’s one of the worst things a first date has ever told me.”

Another hand tugs through his hair as he sighs. He may be sharp on the racetrack, but his people skills suck. I withhold the temptation to stick my tongue out at him because it’ll encourage him more.

“It gets cold with the wind. Take my jacket.” He slides the leather jacket off his back and passes it to me. The moment I put it on, a smell that’s distinctly his with a hint of leather surrounds me. It calms me down a teensy bit.

“Please do this for me? It’ll be fun, I promise. If you hate it, I’ll park the bike and order us an Uber.”

His sincerity does me in. I accept my fate and walk up to the spaceship.

It’s one date.

I sigh. “All right. Because you asked nicely.”

/> He gives me a wicked grin.

I’m so screwed.

Five minutes later, we speed down one of Baku’s seaside streets. The smell of the ocean relaxes me as the city lights blur past us. Lucky for him, I don’t suffer from motion sickness because this bike hits maximum speeds. I grip onto Noah’s waist for dear life as tires tear across the pavement. My hands accidentally brush up against his abs, and I casually run a finger across them, interested in counting the ridges. He laughs at my failed attempt to be subtle. The rumbling sensation of the motorbike beneath my ass and touching his abs is turning me on.

Did he plan this on purpose? My body presses up against him and my arms wrap around him, leaving no space. Even my legs plaster tightly against his to make sure I don’t fall off. If it wasn’t risky, I’d wrap them around him as an extra safety precaution. The whole situation comes across as intimate despite my bubbling anxiety.

Everything feels different with only Noah and me. No press, no friends, no distractions. We strip away all the extra stuff getting in the way of us spending alone time together.

He streams music through a pair of speakers, making the whole experience much more enjoyable than I thought. Ocean mist hits my face as we get closer to the beach, and I love every second of it. I won’t admit it to his face though because he gets to gloat enough as it is.

Noah eventually pulls the bike into a secluded area by the shore. I hop off, anxious to break our physical connection. My chest tightens at the scene in front of us.

A couple of lanterns outline a picnic area, looking unexpectedly romantic.