Page 19 of Her Possessive Biker
When he’s fully inside me, he stays still. Breathing hard. His arms tremble slightly with restraint.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
I nod, clinging to him. “It’s… a lot.”
“I know, Angel.” He kisses my cheek. “You let me know when you’re ready.”
It takes a few seconds. I adjust. The burn fades, replaced by an aching fullness that makes my breath catch.
I shift my hips. “I’m ready.”
He draws back, slowly, then slides in again.
And again.
And again.
The rhythm builds, gentle at first. Careful. But each thrust drags a new sound out of me. Each time he fills me, the stretch starts to feel good. Better than good. Sparks light up my spine. My nerves ignite.
I moan—loud, desperate—and his bodyshudders.
“Angel,” he rasps. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”
He moves faster, deeper, his weight pinning me to the bed in all the best ways. The way he moves inside me feels like a prayer, like a promise, like a man finding his home.
“I’ve wanted this,” he growls, lips at my throat, “for so damn long.”
“Ohh,” I gasp, arching into him.
His mouth finds mine again, and this time it’s slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to crawl inside my soul.
And when I feel that second wave build, faster than the first, harder, he knows.
“Let go for me,” he grits. “Come for me, Angel.”
I do.
Harder than before.
My whole body tightens around him, and he snaps.
His rhythm breaks. He drives in deep, one final thrust, and groans my name as he comes—head buried in my neck, arms locked around me like he’ll never let go.
The world stills.
All I hear is the thunder of our breathing and the beat of his heart against mine.
He doesn’t move for a long time.
Neither do I.
Eventually, he lifts his head, brushes sweat-soaked hair from my face, and kisses me once more. Soft this time. Tender. Full of everything he doesn’t say.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I smile. “Yeah.”
He pulls the blanket over us. His arms wrap around me again. And I swear I’ve never felt morehisthan I do right now.
