The Shoreditch rooftop party had left my ears ringing with synth-pop and my heels aching on the cold London pavement. Standing beneath the amber glow of a flickering streetlamp, I shivered in my vintage emerald slip dress, wondering why I ever thought thin silk was practical for October. My breath formed little white clouds in the midnight air while the chatter of the party drifted down from five storeys above.
That was when Soren appeared beside the kerb, wheeling a cream-coloured 1960s Vespa that looked like it belonged in an old Roman cinema classic. We had only spoken twice upstairs over warm gin and tonics, mostly about rare vinyl and brutalist architecture, yet his steady gaze had followed me all evening.
He wasn't the typical East London creative; he had a quiet, watchful intensity, silver-rimmed spectacles perched on a crooked nose, and hands stained faintly with espresso and mechanical grease.
I felt a sudden, delicious flutter in my stomach as he held out a battered leather helmet.
"You look like a girl who has completely given up on the Night Tube, Tessa," he said in a masterful tone, his voice low and gravelly against the distant hum of traffic.
"Is my desperation that obvious?" I whimpered coquettishly, biting my lower lip as I stepped closer to the gleaming chrome bodywork.
He didn't answer with words, just offered a slow, knowing smile that made the autumn chill vanish completely.
I took the helmet from his hands, the worn lining still faintly warm, and slipped it over my head with perhaps a bit too much eager haste.
My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the metal chin strap, trying to look effortless and cosmopolitan under his heavy, dark-eyed scrutiny. Instead, I managed to trap a thick lock of my blonde curls right inside the stubborn metal teeth of the buckle.
"Oh, bother," I breathed, tugging awkwardly at the strap and only making the tangle tighter against my throat. The metal pinched the delicate skin beneath my jaw, refusing to budge no matter how frantically I fiddled with the catch.
I stood there completely helpless, trapped by my own hair and blushing fiercely under the visored shadow.
Soren stepped off the kerb, closing the distance between us until I could smell the cedarwood and rain on his heavy woollen coat. "Hold still, little bird," he murmured in a commanding whisper, brushing my clumsy hands aside with his warm, calloused knuckles. My breath caught in my chest as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin just beneath my ear. He didn't rush the task at all, taking his time with a deliberate, teasing precision that made my knees feel decidedly unsteady.
Every tiny tug on my curls sent a sharp, pleasant shiver straight down my spine, leaving me staring directly at the top button of his charcoal shirt. He worked the trapped strands free with an agonisingly gentle touch, his thumb lingering against the pulse point hammering wildly at my jawline. I tilted my chin up instinctively, feeling both terribly naive and wickedly curious about what he might do if I didn't look away.
The metal clasp finally clicked into place with a sound that felt remarkably like a lock turning.
Instead of stepping back, Soren slid both of his large, warm hands down to rest heavily upon my bare shoulders. The weight of his palms felt possessive, pinning me softly in place while his thumb traced the fragile line of my collarbone through the thin emerald silk. He looked down at me through his spectacles with an expression that was entirely unreadable yet deeply intoxicating.
"You’ll need to hold on tight around my waist," he instructed in a velvety, unyielding murmur, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
I could only nod, my voice completely deserting me as he swung his leg over the leather saddle and kicked the vintage engine to life.
Climbing onto the pillion seat in a bias-cut slip dress required a rather provocative hitching of silk around my thighs. I caught Soren watching the manoeuvre in the round chrome wing mirror, his eyes darkening with a flash of quiet amusement before I settled behind him. The two-stroke engine purred beneath us, sending a steady, rhythmic vibration straight through the vintage leather.
Tentatively at first, I slipped my arms around the rough wool of his coat, resting my palms flat against the firm plains of his stomach. I tried to leave a polite, respectable inch of air between us, still clinging to a shred of my usual shyness.
He immediately reached down with one gloved hand and pulled my wrists tighter until my chest was pressed flush against his spine.
"Tighter than that, Tessa," he called back over his shoulder, his voice laced with a teasing authority that brooked no argument.
Without waiting for me to adjust, he twisted the throttle and pulled out into the empty, glistening streets of East London. The sudden acceleration threw me forward, forcing me to bury my face between his shoulder blades and cling to him with everything I had. My heart hammered against his back, and I was fairly certain he could feel every frantic beat through his coat.
As we banked around the corner towards the river, the city blurred into streaks of neon sodium light and wet tarmac. Leaning chest-first against the broad, solid wall of Soren’s back turned the cold midnight ride into pure, intoxicating sensory surrender. I closed my eyes behind the visor, breathing in the heady scent of his wool coat, damp leather, and the spicy undertone of his skin.
Every bump in the cobbled road pressed my body more intimately against the lean muscle of his frame.
My knees gripped the sides of his hips for balance, the thin silk of my dress fluttering wildly in the slipstream while the cold air kissed my calves. I could feel the deep, steady expansion of his ribs every time he breathed, and the subtle flexing of his stomach muscles beneath my linked fingers. Being entirely at the mercy of his steering, his speed, and his balance made my head spin with a delicious, dizzying vulnerability.
Gently, almost experimentally, I let my fingers splay wider across his lower ribs, revelling in the heat radiating through his shirt. Instead of pulling away, Soren leaned back slightly into my embrace, silently encouraging my wandering grip as we flew through the dark.
We were gliding down a quiet, tree-lined avenue near Regent's Canal when the Vespa’s rhythmic purr suddenly faltered into a series of dramatic, sputtering coughs. The chassis shuddered beneath us—a sharp, erratic vibration that made me gasp and tighten my hold around Soren’s waist even further
With a final, pathetic wheeze from the exhaust pipe, the engine died completely, leaving us coasting in sudden, eerie silence under a canopy of plane trees. "Tell me that’s part of the vintage charm," I murmured against his shoulder, my voice muffled and breathless in the sudden stillness.
Soren let out a rich, chest-rumbling laugh that vibrated right through my collarbone before he smoothly guided the coasting scooter onto the leaf-strewn pavement. "Italian engineering is notoriously temperamental around pretty girls," he replied in a dry, amused drawl as he kicked down the heavy metal stand.
Despite the mechanical failure, I found myself wildly reluctant to unlace my fingers from his waist and give up his warmth.
When I finally slid off the leather seat, my legs felt like spun sugar, and the canal path around us was completely deserted. The only sound was the gentle lapping of dark water against the stone bank and the rustle of autumn leaves.
Soren turned to face me, reaching up to unbuckle my helmet with the same slow, deliberate care he had used outside the party. He lifted the heavy shell off my head and set it on the handlebars, before using both hands to gently shake out my crushed curls. "There she is," he said softly, his expression shifting from stoic driver to something far warmer and more intimate in the dim moonlight.
He pulled out his phone, tapped a few buttons for a roadside recovery service, and then shoved the device back into his pocket with a careless shrug.
"Ninety minutes," he announced, leaning back against the curved flank of the Vespa and patting the leather seat beside his hip.
Instead of minding the delay, a bubble of pure, giddy delight rose in my chest as I stepped back into his personal space. "Ninety minutes stranded in the dark with a virtual stranger?" I teased, tilting my head coquettishly while hugging my bare arms against the damp canal breeze.
"Hardly strangers now, Tessa," he countered in a husky tone, catching my wrist and tugging me gently between his outstretched legs to shield me from the wind. "You’ve practically counted my ribs for the last three miles, and I didn't hear a single complaint."
Standing trapped between his knees as he leaned against the scooter, the banter between us quickly shifted from lighthearted jokes to something much heavier. We talked about why we’d both hated the noisy party upstairs, how he restored broken clocks and engines for a living, and how I often felt slightly adrift in the city. He listened with a quiet intensity that made me feel like the only woman in the postcode, his thumbs absently tracing slow circles on the inside of my wrists.
I was falling for his quiet magnetism with a speed that was frankly terrifying.
"You’re trembling," Soren noted softly, though we both knew the autumn chill wasn't the sole culprit anymore. Without taking his eyes off mine, he unbuttoned his heavy wool coat and pulled the lapels wide, wrapping the warm fabric entirely around my back to cocoon me against his chest.
"Better?" he asked, his voice dropping to a sultry, gravelly rasp just inches from my parted lips. "Much," I breathed, looking up through my lashes as his gaze dropped unmistakably to my mouth. He lingered there with a silent hunger that made my stomach dip, the air inside the shared coat growing rapidly warm and heady.
The playful air evaporated completely, replaced by a thick, electric tension that seemed to drown out the distant sound of the city. Soren’s hands didn't stay on the lapels of his coat; they slipped inside the warm lining, his palms sliding smoothly over the thin emerald silk covering my waist. I gasped softly as his rough, warm fingers traced the curve of my spine, pulling my lower body flush against the firm line of his thighs.
His touch was bold and unhurried, exploring the dip of my lower back with a captivating sense of ownership.
Feeling emboldened by the shadows of the canal trees, I let my own hands wander up the firm expanse of his chest, sliding beneath his collar to feel the heat of his neck. "You have very distracting hands, Soren," I whispered breathlessly, arching slightly into his palm as his thumb brushed the sensitive side of my ribcage.
"You haven't seen anything yet, sweet girl," he murmured in a commanding, low tone, gripping my hips and lifting me effortlessly onto the leather seat of the Vespa. Suddenly, my eyes were level with his, and my silk skirt rode up slightly over my knees as he stepped closer between them.
Perched on the narrow leather saddle, I was completely captivated as he crowded in, his hands resting warmly against the silk at my knees. The contrast of his cool, calloused fingers through the thin fabric against my warm skin made me let out a tiny, involuntary whimper that seemed to undo his last thread of restraint. He buried one hand deep into my blonde curls, tilting my head back to expose the long, pale line of my throat to the cool night air.
His lips brushed the frantic pulse at the base of my neck, not quite a kiss, but a devastating promise.
My fingers tangled desperately in the front of his charcoal shirt, pulling him closer as his other hand slid slowly along my waist, drawing me right to the edge of the seat. "Tell me if I’m moving too fast, Tessa," he murmured against my jaw, his breath hot and ragged as his thumb traced the delicate lace trim along my neckline.
"Don't you dare stop," I pleaded in a trembling, needy voice, closing my eyes as his mouth finally hovered a fraction of a millimetre from mine. The anticipation was so sharp it felt almost unbearable, every nerve ending focused entirely on the warmth of his breath.
Just as his lips brushed the corner of my mouth and his hand tightened possessively on my waist, a blinding flash of amber light swept across the dark trees. The harsh, diesel rumble of a heavy recovery lorry echoed down the narrow cobblestone lane, its headlights cutting straight through our private shadow. Soren froze against me, letting out a low, frustrated groan into the crook of my neck while keeping his broad shoulders shielded in front of me to block the glare.
His hand remained firmly anchored at my hip, refusing to retreat even as the lorry brakes hissed loudly at the kerb.
Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes blazing behind his spectacles with a mixture of wicked amusement and unfinished business as he looked at my flushed cheeks. He reached down and smoothed my emerald skirt back over my knees, though his fingers lingered with one last, provocative squeeze against my calf before he stepped back.
My skin still burned where his palm had branded me through the thin silk, my pulse fluttering erratically against my ribs. Looking between the unhurried recovery driver stepping down into the cold mist and Soren’s tall, unyielding shadow, a sudden, wicked curiosity took hold.
As he turned to pocket the brass keys, my fingers lightly grazed his wrist, letting my intention linger in the chilly night air like an unspoken dare. The broken Vespa could wait under the amber glow of the tow truck, because neither of us... was planning on going home... alone... tonight.
