Page 22 of Her Possessive Biker
I roll my eyes but reach for him anyway.
I start at his chest, careful with the soap. The muscles under my hands shift with each breath he takes. His skin is warm, marked by old scars and tattoos, and I trace one along his ribs with the cloth before my fingers follow without thinking.
His eyes open, dark and steady, as he catches my hand and presses it flat to his chest.
“This,” he says quietly, “is yours.”
I can’t find words for what that does to me.So I just hold my hand there a little longer and hope he understands.
He turns off the water and wraps me in a towel, then another around my hair. I don’t know what to say, so I let him lead meback into the bedroom where the sun is just starting to stream in through the window.
“I’ll make breakfast,” he says.
The sound of eggs hitting the pan is oddly perfect. He moves as if he’s done it a hundred times. Efficient, quiet, calm. Like breakfast is part of keeping someone safe.
I find a can of cat food in a small basket tucked near the fridge and pop it open for Lucy, who hops onto the stool next to mine and gives me a judgmental stare before she eats like she hasn’t been fed in a week.
When I look over, Holt is plating the eggs and toast. He adds a few sliced strawberries on the side like he’s been doing it all his life, like he keeps fruit in his fridge for no reason until it finds one.
Then he pulls the lemon bars from the counter.
“I figured we earned these,” he says.
He cuts two squares and sets one on each of our plates. The powdered sugar melts just a little from the warmth of the eggs.
He hands me my breakfast and sits across from me with his own plate.
I take a bite. The eggs are fluffy. The toast is buttery. The lemon bar is tart and soft and sweet in a way that makes something in my chest ache.
“This is really good,” I say.
“I told you,” he says simply. “I can keep you fed.”
My cheeks flush. I don’t know why that means so much.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. Lucy hops down, satisfied. The world feels soft around the edges, like nothing bad can touch us here.
And then his phone buzzes.
Holt reaches for it, eyes narrowing as he reads. The air changes. His whole body goes still.
He sets the phone down, but his jaw stays tight.
“What is it?” I ask.
His voice is calm. Too calm.
“We need to go.”
Chapter 7
Holt
Ihadn’t planned on bringing her to The Black Crown. I’d planned to stay in the shadows. Intervene only when necessary. That was the deal I made with myself.
But that deal went up in smoke the second those bastards laid hands on her in the woods. The second I heard her scream like her soul was being torn in half.
Since then, everything’s changed.
