Page 15 of Her Possessive Biker
“Then why?”
I pull my wallet from my back pocket. Flip it open. There, behind my license and spare cash, is a weathered photo. Edges curling. Colors faded.
Red curls. Freckles. A girl smiling into the sun.
“I kept this with me through the end of the mission,” I say, voice thick. “You kept me breathing when everything else wanted me dead.”
She stares at the picture. Her lips part.
“You were never just a mission,” I murmur. “You were my light. My anchor.My reason to make it home.”
The silence is thick.
Then her fingers brush the edge of the photo, soft like she’s afraid to disturb it.
“You were my angel,” I say. “You still are.”
She looks up. And this time, her eyes aren’t angry.
They’re blazing.
I step closer. My hands hover at her waist. She doesn’t pull back.
“You’re mine to protect,” I say again, softer this time. “But not because I have to.”
“Then why?” she whispers.
“Because I want to. Because I need to. Because I don’t think I could stop if I tried.”
She sways toward me.
“Cassie,” I warn, voice gravel and need. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Her hand curls around the front of my shirt.
“I think I do.”
That’s all it takes.
My mouth crashes onto hers, hands catching her hips like they belong to me—because they do. She melts into me, sweet and fierce, fingers curling into my shirt like she’s starving and I’m the only thing that’ll ever feed her.
The kiss is brutal. Messy.Real. Everything I’ve kept buried under lock and chain comes tearing loose.
And still—still—I pull back first. Just barely. My forehead presses to hers, breath coming fast.
“This changes everything,” I rasp.
She nods. “I know.”
“You’re mine now. There’s no turning back.”
Her breath hitches. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
I snap.
