Page 17 of Claimed By the Bikers
I kick off my boots and peel away my jeans, then my Wolf’s Den T-shirt. Cool air hits my heated skin, making me shiver.
In the bathroom mirror, I can see the flush spreading down my neck, the way my pupils are dilated. I look like a woman who’s been thoroughly kissed and wants more.
My hands shake as I turn on the shower, water beating against the fiberglass walls while steam starts to fog the mirror.
I step under the spray, tilting my head back as the hot water beats against my shoulders. My muscles should relax, but they don’t.
My chest still feels tight, my pulse refusing to settle.
I close my eyes and all I see is Silas—the way he pinned me against his bike, his voice low in that deep, accented growl when he said my name. My lips still feel swollen from his kiss, my skin humming with the memory of it.
My fingers drift over my own mouth, as if I can trace the shape of his kiss there.
But then Garrett’s hands flash in my mind. Steady, confident, the kind of hands that could pick me up like I weigh nothing. I imagine his palms sliding over my hips, his thumbs brushing the sensitive spots that make me gasp.
The water runs hotter, my skin prickling, but it’s not from the heat.
Then there’s Atlas. His storm-gray eyes always watch me like he’s cataloging every breath, every twitch. I imagine his grip, unyielding, holding me exactly where he wants me. His voice would be the one giving orders, deep and firm, the kind you don’t disobey.
My breath hitches.
My hand slides over my stomach, lower, my skin slick from the water. I lean against the shower wall, tilting my hips forward slightly as my fingers find that aching, desperate place that’s been throbbing since Silas’s mouth left mine.
The first touch makes me gasp.
I close my eyes and they’re all there. Garrett at my back, his breath warm against my ear. Silas is in front of me, his lips trailing heat down my throat. Atlas at my side, his hand wrapped around my wrist, guiding me, making me feel every stroke.
“God…” The word falls from my lips, swallowed by the steam.
My fingers work faster, the water slicking everything, heat rolling through my core. Every thought is of them. Three men I should stay far away from, three men I want so badly it makes me ache.
The pressure builds until I can’t hold it back. My climax crashes over me, sharp and overwhelming, my body shaking as the sound of water fills the tiny space.
I slump against the wall, my forehead pressed to the cool tile, my breathing ragged.
Steam clings to my skin as I step out of the shower, my towel wrapped loosely around me. My pulse is still unsteady, my legs weak from what I just did under the spray, but the heat in my body hasn’t eased.
The motel room is dim, the single lamp casting a soft glow over the bed.
I drop my towel on the chair, my skin still warm from the shower, my head buzzing from the kiss and from everything I’m not supposed to want.
I cross to the nightstand, opening the drawer for the small jar of pain relief balm I keep for long days. My fingers pause.
Next to the jar sits my concealed tactical knife, the handle dark and familiar. I shouldn’t be thinking about it. I shouldn’t even be looking at it.
But I do.
I lift it out, feeling the cool metal in my palm. The blade stays sheathed, locked. But the weight of it, the polished handle—it makes my pulse quicken.
It’s insane. I know it.
I pop the latch, sliding the knife free just enough to see the dark, smooth handle glint in the light. The blade stays sheathed.
Still, my pulse kicks harder.
I sink down on the edge of the bed, the cool metal handle resting against my fingertips. It’s cold at first, shocking against my overheated skin. I drag it along the inside of my thigh, feeling goose bumps rise in its wake.
I picture Silas holding it, his deep voice rumbling low as he traces it over my skin. Garrett standing just behind me, his hands firm on my hips. Atlas watching, that storm-gray gaze fixed on me like he can see every thought in my head.
