Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 44

We ride the elevator down to the underground parking garage in silence. Bucky leans back against the metal handrail and watches me, his lips lifting in amusement as he studies me. I know he can tell I'm internally freaking out and failing miserably at hiding it.

I've slipped the leather jacket on but haven't been brave enough to do anything but carry the helmet. Putting it on will make it too real. He can laugh all he wants, but the idea of willingly getting on that deathtrap he calls a motorcycle is making me panic.

When the doors slide open, Bucky grabs my free hand as he walks past me, dragging me with him. It's like he knows I'm seconds away from attempting to make a run for it. He only lets go when we reach his bike and I watch as he swings his leg over and takes a seat on it.

Holy fuck.

I hadn't prepared myself for what the sight of Bucky Barnes straddling a motorcycle would do to me. I'm adding this to the list of things that need their own porn category-Bucky Barnes in a leather jacket with a sleek black bike between his thighs.

My knowledge of motorcycles is non-existent, but it looks expensive. It also looks like it'll most definitely kill me if I'm stupid enough to get on the back of it.

"Come here," Bucky says, beckoning me towards him with the crook of a finger. "I'll help you put that on."

That being the helmet I'm still holding limply in my hand. He looks entirely at ease as he sits on the bike. It's clear he knows what he's doing, but it does nothing to assuage my fears. And yet, my feet follow his command until I'm standing close enough that he can reach out, circling my wrist with his hand and pulling me closer.

Gently, he pushes the hair away from my face and over my shoulders, drawing me in for one quick kiss before taking the helmet from me and slowly pushing it down over my head. He flips the visor up for me and I watch as he adjusts the chin strap, his head down and his tongue peeking through his lips as he concentrates.

"How's that feel?" he asks.

"Surprisingly heavy," I say, moving my head from side to side to test out the weight of it. "Fits perfectly though."

"Good," he says, flashing me a smile that grows wider when I take a step back and strike a pose as though he's about to take my photo.

"How do I look?" I ask, feeling a little ridiculous until I see the heated way his eyes travel over me.

"Fucking perfect. Now quit stalling and get on," he says, patting the seat behind him.

I don't bother pretending that isn't what I've been doing. Instead, I swallow my nerves and do what he asks, throwing my leg over the bike and seating myself as comfortably as I can.

"Down there are your footpegs," he tells me and I follow where he's pointing at the small footrests. "That's where you're going to want to keep your feet. Be careful of the exhaust; it can get pretty hot."

I'm nodding my head and hanging on his every word, not wanting to miss anything. If I'm doing this, I want to do it right.

"You're gonna want to hold on to me pretty tight, okay?" He's looking at me over his shoulder and I'm continuing to nod along, not trusting myself to speak because it'll give away how scared I am.

It's only when he reaches back for my hands that I realise I've not moved to do as he asked. He does it for me, bringing my arms around his middle until my hands meet and I clasp them together.

"Tighter."

I squeeze a little harder, but resist doing what my body is screaming at me to do, which is cling to him like a koala because I'm terrified I'm going to fall off this thing as soon as it starts moving.