Page 17 of Her Possessive Biker
He stills instantly. “You tell me to stop, and I stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I say, cheeks burning. “I’ve just… never done this before.”
His eyes sharpen, flicking up to mine. “Cass.”
I swallow. “I’m a virgin.”
Silence. And then, that growl again—rougherthis time. His hands stay gentle, but his voice is anything but.
“You sure you want it to be me?”
“Yes.” I breathe. “I only want you.”
He exhales like the breath’s been punched out of him.
“Then I’ll go slow,” he says, voice thick with restraint. “I’ll go careful. I’ll worship you, Angel. But I need you to tell me if anything hurts. You got me?”
I nod, eyes wide.
“No. Say it.”
“I’ve got you.”
His lips brush mine. “Good girl.”
And then he moves again.
He peels my leggings down inch by inch, kissing my knees, the inside of my thighs, the curve of my hip. His fingers trail heat across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Then, slowly, reverently, he slides my panties down. They whisper past my thighs and fall to the floor.
When I’m bare beneath him, he just looks.
And I swear he stops breathing.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re…everything.”
My cheeks flush, but I don’t shy away. Not from him.
He straightens, gaze raking over every inch of me. Then he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
His jeans follow. Then his underwear.
Every inch of him is cut from fire and fury and want.
He’smassive.Hard.Mine.
I don’t even have time to be nervous. Because all I can feel is him. His presence, his heat, the gravity of what we’re about to do.
He climbs over me slowly, muscles bunching under bronzed skin. One arm plants beside my head, the other brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he murmurs.
I shiver. “Promise?”
His mouth crashes back to mine in answer.
And this time…he doesn’t stop.
