Page 88 of Never Distract a Biker

Three weeks later

Scarlett’s laughter echoes faintly in my ears as we step through the tall French doors leading back into the mansion. The evening air still clings to us, a cool whisper against the warmth of her skin. I glance down at her, watching as she brushes a loose strand of hair from her face, her cheeks flushed from the walk. She marvels aloud about the size of the estate again, her voice carrying a lightness that has become rare in recent months.

“It’s like a small country,” she exclaims her tone equal parts awe and disbelief. “Do you even know every corner of it?”

I chuckle softly, the sound rumbling in my chest. “Every single one. But maybe I’ll let you keep discovering them.”

Her eyes twinkled at that, and for a brief moment, I let myself get lost in the sight of her—whole, healed, laughing. It’s a far cry from the image that has haunted me for weeks: her swollen face, the purple-black bruises marring her delicate skin, the weight of my failure etched into her fragile frame.

The bruises are gone now. The swellings and discoloration are faded, and the skin underneath blooming pink with new life. And yet, the memory lingers a phantom ache in my chest every time I look at her. I’ve been angry, furious even—not at her, but at myself. I’ve questioned my decisions, my ability to keep her safe. Seeing her hurt—seeing her endure something I couldn’t protect her from—it’s a torment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

But today, as she stands before me, vibrant and glowing, I feel a semblance of peace. Maybe I didn’t fail her completely.

“I’m heading into the shower,” Scarlett announces, breaking into my thoughts. She grabs one of my t-shirts from my walk-in closet, holding it up with a sly grin.

“Another one?” I tease, crossing my arms. “I’m going to need to buy more of those if you keep stealing them.”

She laughs, the sound warm and unguarded. “You should. They’re ridiculously comfortable.”

“Well, the earlier you get out of that one, the earlier I can have it back,” I reply taking off my clothes.

Her eyes widen, amusement flickering in their green depths. “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice tinged with mock sternness.

“Taking a shower—or a bath—with you,” I say, letting a mischievous grin spread across my face. “I’m sure the stall or bathtub is big enough for both of us.”

She cocks an eyebrow, her gaze dropping briefly. “And him?” she asks, pointing to the evidence of my arousal straining towards her.

“He’s coming too,” I reply smoothly as we walk into the bathroom.

Scarlett shakes her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “I’ve missed him,” she admits, her voice soft but edged with mischief. The sight of her undressing—each movement deliberate, almost teasing—stokes the fire already burning low in my gut.

“He was waiting for you to recover,” I murmur, my hands brushing her waist as I guide her toward the bathroom.

“Well, I have,” she whispers, her breath hitching slightly as I trail my fingers along the curve of her hip.

“Yes, you have,” I agree, slipping my hand lower, finding her already slick and ready. A low growl escapes my throat as I feel her body respond to my touch.

The bathroom is filled with the sound of running water and the warmth of steam rising to meet us. Scarlett moves ahead of me, stepping into the oversized shower stall with practiced ease. I follow her in, the heat of the water cascading over us as I press her back against the cool tiles. She gasps, her eyes locking with mine, a challenge in their emerald depths.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, my voice rough and low. It’s a truth I’ve told her countless times, but tonight, it feels heavier, more profound. “And I adore you.”

“Show me,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

And so I do. I kiss her deeply, my hands exploring every inch of her, my need for her overwhelming but tempered by the knowledge of everything she’s endured. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, and for a moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist.

The water streams down over us, warm and cleansing, but it’s her touch—her scent, her taste—that consumes me entirely. My name falls from her lips, a soft plea, and I know then that she feels it too—the connection, the unspoken bond that ties us together in ways neither of us can fully articulate.

In this moment, there are no fears, no uncertainties, no memories of bruises or pain. There is only Scarlett, alive and whole, and me, vowing silently to keep her that way.

Forever.

I caress her wet skin, my fingers tracing the curves of her body, from her slender waist to the swell of her hips. Scarlett's breath quickens as my touch ignites a fire within her. I savor the sensation of her soft skin against my palms, her responsiveness fueling my desire.

Leaning in, I capture her lips in a passionate kiss, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. Our tongues dance sensually, mirroring the rising tide of our passion. Her hands roam over my chest, exploring the contours of my muscles, as if committing my body to memory.

As the kiss deepens, I feel her body begin to sag against mine, a sign of her surrender to the building pleasure. Gently, I guide her towards the shower stool, and she sits with her legs slightly parting, inviting me to explore.

Positioning myself between her thighs, I gaze at the glistening treasure between her legs. Her pussy, already swollen and glistening with desire, beckons me to come closer. I inhale her scent, a heady scent of her unique feminine essence, filling my senses.

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