Page 38 of Claimed By the Bikers
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Silas goes completely still, while Garrett’s hands clench into fists at his sides.
“Is that so?” Silas asks quietly.
“It is. But don’t worry. I think she understands the situation much better now.” I look down at Ember, who’s staring at the floor like she wishes it would swallow her. “Don’t you, sweetheart?”
She nods without looking up.
“Good. Then we don’t need to discuss it further.” I guide her toward the stairs. “We’ll be in my room. Try not to disturb us for the next few hours.”
12
EMBER
Atlas’s handsframe my face as he backs me against his bedroom door, the wood solid and unyielding behind me. His storm-gray eyes burn with something that’s equal parts anger and possession, and I can still taste him on my lips from what happened at the racetrack.
“Strip,” he commands, voice rough with barely controlled need.
My fingers shake as I reach for the hem of my shirt, but not from fear. From the adrenaline of being caught, of being claimed so thoroughly against that tree, of knowing that Garrett and Silas are downstairs, understanding exactly what transpired between us.
The Wolf’s Den T-shirt hits the floor, followed by my bra. Atlas’s eyes track every inch of exposed skin like he’s memorizing it, like he’s cataloging what belongs to him.
“All of it,” he growls when I hesitate.
My jeans and underwear join the growing pile of clothes, leaving me naked under his hungry gaze. The afternoon sun streams through his windows, highlighting every mark he left on myskin at the track—the bite mark on my shoulder, the fingerprint bruises on my hips.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, running one finger along my collarbone. “Even when you’re trying to betray us, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Atlas—”
“No talking.” His mouth crashes down on mine, swallowing whatever excuse I was about to offer. “You had your chance to explain at the track. Now you just get to feel what it means to belong to us.”
He lifts me easily, carrying me to his massive bed and dropping me onto the dark sheets. I bounce once before he’s covering me, his fully clothed body pinning me to the mattress.
“This is what you were trying to throw away,” he says against my throat, teeth scraping sensitive skin. “This is what you almost lost.”
His hands map every curve, every hollow, relearning my body like he’s afraid I might disappear. When his mouth follows the path his fingers traced, I arch beneath him, already desperate for more.
“Please,” I gasp when he takes one nipple between his teeth.
“Please, what? Please stop? Please let you go back to your federal handlers?” His tongue soothes the sting, then moves to give the other breast the same treatment. “Or please remind you why you stopped wanting to leave?”
I don’t answer because I can’t. Because the truth is too complicated, too dangerous to voice. The truth is that I don’tknow what I want anymore, only that I need him to keep touching me.
He takes his time, worshipping every inch of my skin until I’m trembling beneath him. When he finally strips out of his own clothes, I nearly weep with relief at the feeling of his naked skin against mine, the weight of him settling between my thighs, the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.
He sets a rhythm that’s both punishment and worship, reminding me with every thrust what I almost gave up. When I’m close to falling apart, he slows down, building me back up again until I’m begging.
“Don’t ever try to leave us again,” he demands, voice strained with his own need.
“I won’t,” I promise, though I’m not sure if it’s the truth or just what he needs to hear.
When he finally lets me come, it’s with his name on my lips and his eyes burning into mine. He follows me over the edge, filling me with heat and possession and something that feels dangerously close to love.
One week later, I’m walking through downtown Wolf Pike, taking advantage of a rare moment when all three men are occupied elsewhere. Atlas is at the storage facility handling a delivery, Silas is working late in his forge, and Garrett is covering the dinner shift at the restaurant.
Perfect timing. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for days, watching their schedules, looking for a window when I could slip away unnoticed.
I make my way to the small park near the elementary school, where children’s laughter echoes from the playground even as the sun starts to set. Families pack up picnic dinners while teenagers claim the swings, and I blend into the background like any other local enjoying the evening air.
