Page 21 of Her Possessive Biker
I lean down and kiss him. He meets me and the kiss is deep and warm and almost reverent. His hands travel up to the small of my back. He strokes the base of my spine and I shiver. I ride him slow and steady until my thighs tremble.
He sits up, brings our chests together, and moves with me so my effort is shared. He holds the back of my neck and kisses me again and again, softer, then harder, then soft again, like he is mapping out how to speak to me without words.
The heat gathers fast. I try to chase it and I lose it and then find it again. He feels it happen and adjusts the angle of my hips with strong hands and a rough breath against my mouth. Suddenly every slide hits that place inside me that makes my thoughts scatter like birds.
“Good girl,” he says. “That is it. Take it. Take all of it.”
I let go. My nails press into his shoulders and I come with my forehead against his, breath breaking and voice gone. He curses softly and follows me under, pulling me down tight while his whole body locks. I feel the shudder take him and it makes me feel powerful and small and safe all at once.
We fall back to the pillows in a tangle of limbs, hearts racing. He keeps me close and rolls onto his side so I am tucked into him like a secret. I breathe and try to come back to myself. He strokes my hair back from my face with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
“You okay?” he asks again. He never gets tired of asking. I never get tired of hearing it.
“Better than okay,” I say. “I am… perfect.”
He smiles. A real one. It softens him, makes him human in a way that steals my breath. He kisses my temple, then the corner of my mouth.
“Shower,” he says. “Then food. You need water too.”
“Bossy,” I murmur. My voice comes out lighter than it feels. My whole body hums. Not from want, but from this strange, unfamiliar thing that feels like care.
“Get used to it,” he says.
He gets up first and offers his hand. I take it. My legs are shaky, but his hand is steady. When I sway, his arms are already around me, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing.
I don’t argue. I just hold on.
The bathroom is warm, full of steam and the scent of eucalyptus and soap. He sets me gently on the edge of the counter and turns on the water. He tests the temperature twice, like he’s making sure it won’t touch me wrong. Then he steps under the spray and reaches for me.
The moment I step in, he turns me so my back rests to his chest, my spine fitting neatly along his. His arms curve around my waist. The water pours down, hot and comforting, and for a moment we are still.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmurs.
“It doesn’t,” I say quietly. “It just feels like I have a body again.”
He makes a sound in his chest that’s almost a laugh. Then he reaches for the shampoo.
He lathers it between his palms and works it through my hair with slow, sure fingers. He massages the back of my scalp until my eyes drift closed. Then he guides me under the spray to rinse, the water cascading over my face and neck.
His touch is careful. Gentle. And when his thumbs pass near the marks on my wrist, he stills.
I feel him look.
“Does that hurt?”
“Only if you press.”
He lifts my wrist to his mouth. Presses a kiss to the skin. Not a heated one. Not lust. Just care.
He finishes quickly, rinses me off, then hands me the washcloth.
He hands me the cloth.
“Your pace,” he says. “Or I’ll end up washing you all over again.”
I raise a brow. “That a threat or a promise?”
His mouth tilts, and he steps back under the spray. “Yes.”
