She trembled slightly as she approached him, glistening in the sunlight, tall and proud. It had been so long. He looked strong and dependable, as he always had done but she had to be the strong one. In control, running the show.
That first grip, the feeling so familiar even though she had consciously pushed the memories away and he was solid against her. Taking a deep breath she whispered
“Let’s go, big feller.” And they were off, madly, crazily, rushing it. She only fumbled once, her crippled foot getting in the way. He could have thrown her to the floor so easily if he weren’t being tolerant. He just gave a throaty chuckle and let her get her footing again.
Deliberately, she slowed the pace. This was fabulous. So many almost-gone, longed for emotions flooded through her as he responded to the slightest grip or slacken of her right hand. Shifting her weight infinitesimally and he moved with her, the perfect Dom/sub, near-telepathy of the ideally-matched couple. Keeping it as slow as possible while staying in perfect balance with each other, she reached her left hand down to stroke him. This was her only love.
He stayed obedient to her wishes, controlled and steady but she felt him quivering between her thighs, an extension of her own body, like another limb that moved to her own brain impulses and she knew that he wanted to go, let rip, let the ending be glorious. So she gave him his way and they screamed to a halt as it finished.
The tears streaming down her face were only from the wind, of course they were, it had been months since she rode her motorbike. With the characteristic ruffling of her hair, she bent forward to kiss him and whisper.
“Thank you, beloved. That was wonderful.”