Page 27 of Her Savior Biker
I don’t want him to last. I want him as desperate as I am. I take him deeper, using my tongue and lips until he’s trembling, until his grip in my hair tightens and I know he’s close.
“Stop,” he says suddenly, pulling me away. “I need to be inside you when I come. Need to feel you around me.”
He reaches for his jeans, pulling a condom from his wallet. “Bought these after the other night,” he admits, tearing the package open. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this. About you.”
I help him roll it on. When he settles between my thighs, when I feel him hard and ready against me, my heart hammers so hard he must hear it.
“You sure?” he asks one more time, and I love him for it. Love that even now, he’s still trying to protect me.
“I’m sure.” I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I need you, Reyes. All of you.”
He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust. The stretch is intense—it’s been so long, and he’s bigger than I remembered. But the fullness, the connection, the way he fills every empty space inside me—it’s perfect.
“Fuck,” he breathes when he’s seated completely. “You feel so good, baby. So perfect.”
We move together slowly at first, relearning the rhythm. But need builds quickly, and soon we’re moving with desperate urgency. He drives into me harder, deeper, hitting spots that make me see stars.
“Yes,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. “Like that. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He fucks me like a man possessed, trying to claim every inch of me. And I meet him thrust for thrust, taking everything and demanding more.
When my second orgasm builds, it’s bigger than the first. Overwhelming. I cry out his name as it crashes through me, mybody clenching around him so tight he follows me over with a groan that sounds like a prayer.
Afterward, we lie tangled on the blankets, breathing hard. He pulls me against his chest, and his heart hammers beneath my cheek.
“Five days,” I whisper against his skin.
His arms tighten around me. “We’ll make them count.”
But even as he says it, a current of pain runs under the words. We both know five days isn’t enough. Five years wouldn’t be enough. And tomorrow, we have to start figuring out how to say goodbye.
We stay tangled together on the blankets, skin cooling in the quiet air of the safehouse. I trace lazy patterns on Reyes’s chest, following the lines of old scars with my fingertips. Each mark tells a story.
“This one?” I ask, touching a puckered scar near his left shoulder.
“Knife fight in Kandahar. Kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen, but he was fast.” His voice rumbles under my ear, deep and content. “Took three stitches without anesthetic because we were pinned down.”
“And this?” My finger finds a longer mark across his ribs.
“Bar fight in Denver. Some asshole thought he could put his hands on a waitress.” He catches my hand, bringing it to his lips. “Turns out he had friends with broken bottles.”
I lift my head to look at him. “You have a thing for protecting women in trouble.”
“Just the ones worth protecting.” His thumb brushes my knuckles. “Just you.”
The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight, but there’s something else there. Something that sounds like goodbye.
“Reyes—”
“I need to tell you something.” He sits up, pulling me with him so we’re facing each other, naked and vulnerable on the blankets. “About why Rector coming might be the right choice. Even if it kills me.”
My stomach clenches. “You want me to go.”
“No.” The word is fierce, immediate. “But Shannon, I need you to understand what staying means. What you’d be risking.”
I study his face, seeing something raw and desperate there. “What do you mean?”
“I told you about my mother. About the men she brought home.” His hands find mine, holding them steady. “What I didn’t tell you is the pattern. How it always went.”
