Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

“A friend.”
I put my hands on his waist, but his body shot up and then
came down hard, sparking the motor to life, and I didn’t need
him to tell me what to do. I wrapped my arms around him, and
put my head down behind his back, but I was nervous as hell.
I’d never ridden on a motorcycle before.
“Don’t let go,” he ordered me.
Yeah, like, duh.
I tucked my feet up on the footrests and squeezed him tight
as we shot off, kicking up gears and picking up pace.
I whimpered, but I didn’t think he heard it.
This was faster than the car. Or maybe it was because I
could feel the wind.
He veered left, turning around the square, and the bike
leaned so far, I thought we’d tip over.
“Can you slow down a little bit?” I yelled. “Please?”
But once we rounded the corner, he sped off, shooting to
warp speed, and I yelped, locking my arms around his body
and squeezing him between my thighs.
“I don’t feel…” I laughed for good measure, “Like really
secure. Slow down!”
But he didn’t. He veered right, then left, then right again,
the weight of our bodies feeling like too much as we tipped
from side to side.
There was a dip, my stomach vaulted up and down, and we
shot up a steep hill, and I gasped, holding him tighter.
We raced over the top of the hill, leaving the ground and
picking up air as we flew over the hump and to the ground
again. My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt like I was on a
ride I couldn’t control and didn’t have time to think, and even
if I could, I couldn’t stop what was happening. My body
rushed with heat and energy, terror swelled in my throat, and I
couldn’t figure out if I wanted to laugh, puke, or scream.