Page 16 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Like your phoenix?”

“That’s one option.” I reach for a fresh sheet, needing to show her. When I start sketching, she moves behind me, watching over my shoulder.

Her breath warms my neck as I work. Quick strokes capture what I see—flowers bursting from broken chains, becoming birds in flight. Freedom in ink.

“The birds could wrap here.” I touch her shoulder, showing the design’s flow. “Following your natural lines.”

“And here?” Her fingers find mine and guide them lower, tracing where art would meet skin.

The room seems to be still. I can feel her pulse race beneath my fingers.

I trace the design on paper, showing her how the birds would flow across her skin. She leans closer to see the detail, and her perfume hits me like a punch to the gut.

“The shading here”—I touch the paper—“would help hide the old letters completely.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.” There’s something in her voice that makes my pulse kick up. Like maybe she’s not just talking about the tattoo.

I shouldn’t say anything. But the way she’s looking at me, the heat of her so close—fuck it. I’m tired of pretending I don’t watch her every chance I get.

“Hard not to when the canvas is so interesting.” I meet her eyes, letting her see the hunger I’ve been hiding.

“The canvas?” She sounds slightly shocked.

“Yes.” I press on. “The view’s been pretty compelling lately.” The words come out rough. “Especially through certain windows.”

She stills but doesn’t pull away. “It was you.”

“Disappointed?”

“No.” Her laugh is soft. “God, no. I wondered who was watching.”

Christ. She knew. All those nights, every slow tease of clothing—she knew someone was there. The thought makes my blood run hot.

To hell with professionalism. To hell with boundaries. I’ve watched her too long, wanted her too much.

“Could make that view more interesting.” My thumb traces circles on her hip. “Add a larger audience.”

Her eyebrow rises. “What do you mean?”

“My brothers.” The words come out rough. “They’d appreciate the show as much as I do.”

I expect her to pull away, to be offended. Instead, heat flares in her eyes. “All three of you?”

Jesus Christ. The image of her performing for all of us hits me like a freight train. My cock hardens instantly.

“That what you want, sweetheart? All of us watching?”

“Yeahhh…yes.” She breathes the word against my mouth.

I’m done holding back. My lips crash into hers, swallowing her gasp. Her hands fist in my shirt as I walk her backward until she hits my desk. She doesn’t seem to care, just spreads her thighs so I can step between them.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. The shape of her pussy pressed against me makes me groan. My hands find her breasts, and the sound she makes should be illegal.

She arches, gasping. “Chase?—”

A door slams somewhere in the gallery. We break apart, breathing hard.

“Yo, Chase!” Zane’s voice carries down the hall. “You still here?”

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