Page 18 of Her Possessive Biker
His mouth takes mine again, deep and consuming. There’s no hesitation now, no teasing. It’s heat and need, raw and hungry, and I open for him like I was made to.
He kisses like he touches—with purpose. His hand cradles the back of my head, the other sliding down my waist, steady and warm and everywhere. When his palm finds my bare thigh, he groans into my mouth like he’s the one coming undone.
“You feel this?” he whispers against my lips, dragging his fingers slowly along my skin. “This pussy is mine now.”
My breath hitches. “Yours.”
His forehead presses to mine again. “Say it louder.”
“My pussy is yours, Holt.”
He growls, low and rough like gravel, and his mouth moves to my throat. He kisses, licks, nips, and I arch beneath him without thinking. My body is no longer mine. It answers only to him. Heat coils low in my belly as his mouth travels down, over the swell of my breast, tongue teasing over my nipple until I cry out and clutch his shoulders.
“So sensitive,” he murmurs, voice thick with something close to reverence. “You gonna come apart on me before I’m even inside you, Angel?”
I want to answer, but I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.
He kisses lower. Past my ribs. My stomach. Down to where I’m already aching.
“Tell me if this is too much,” he says.
Then his mouth is on me.
I cry out, high and broken, my hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands. Holt moans into me like the taste of my pussy is a reward for every dark mission, every fight, every lonely night. He licks and sucks, slow at first, then with that same unrelenting intensity that’s wrapped around me since the second we met.
“You’re sweet,” he growls. “Fucking perfect.”
My thighs tremble. My hips lift off the bed. Pleasure builds so fast I can’t brace for it. And when it breaks—
Itshattersme.
I gasp his name, voice breaking, and he doesn’t stop until I’m twitching, overwhelmed, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes from the sheer force of it.
He pulls back, beard damp, eyes dark with pride and possession.
“Never had a man do that for you either, did you?” he rasps.
I shake my head, breathless. “No one ever…”
He smirks, wicked and soft all at once. “Damn right they didn’t.”
“I want you,” I whisper. “Inside. Now.”
“You’re going to have to breathe through this,” he says, climbing back over me. “But I’ll go slow. You tell me the second you need me to stop.”
I nod, heart pounding. He strokes my cheek. Kisses my temple. Kisses my throat. My shoulder. Lower. Everywhere.
When I feel him press against me, I tense.
“Eyes on me,” he says, gaze locked to mine. “You can take me. You were made for this. For me.”
I breathe. I trust him. I relax my legs and wrap them around his waist.
He pushes in slowly—inch by inch—his forehead pressed to mine, his jaw clenched tight like it’s taking every ounce of control he’s got not to drive in all the way.
I feel the sting. The stretch. It’s sharp, but it’s not unbearable.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Just a little more.”
