Page 63 of Single Mom's Bikers

In the soft lamplight, I take my time undressing her. The T-shirt slides up slowly, revealing ink I’ve memorized but never fully understood. Each piece tells a story she keeps close.

“Tell me about this one.” I trace the small star on her hip, the first tattoo I noticed through my window that night.

“My first.” She shivers under my touch. “Eighteen and stupid, thinking a tattoo meant freedom.”

I press a kiss to the mark. “And this one?” My fingers find the vine pattern curling up her ribs.

Her breath catches. “After Daisy. Needed something beautiful to look at.”

She’s bare now, perfect in the dim light. I could spend hours just studying her skin, the way the ink flows over curves, marking moments in her life.

“Your turn,” she murmurs, tugging at my shirt. Her hands are sure as she undresses me, but something in her expression looks almost vulnerable.

When I’m naked too, I lay her back against the pillows. Start at her collarbone, where my phoenix covers her ex-husband’s name. Work my way down, learning her body’s languages.

Her nipples harden under my tongue while my fingers trace the constellation on her forearm. “These stars mean something.”

“Protection.” She arches when I suck harder. “For my girls.”

I take my time with her breasts, loving how responsive she is. When my hand slides between her thighs, she’s already wet.

“Please,” she gasps as I circle her clit. “I fucking need you now, Chase.”

“Not yet.” I kiss down her stomach, following ink patterns until I reach her core. The first taste of her makes us both moan.

I learn her body like I learn her tattoos—carefully, reverently. My tongue works her clit while my fingers curve inside. Her hands tangle in my hair, guiding me where she needs me most.

When she comes the first time, I don’t stop until she pulls me up for a desperate kiss.

I slide into her slowly, savoring how perfectly she takes me. Her legs wrap around my waist. There’s no space for escape now.

“Tell me about this one.” I trace the snake design on her arm, the one she never discusses. “Please?”

She tenses slightly before relaxing. “Not tonight.”

“Okay, love,” I tell her, then begin to focus all my energy on making her feel good and showing her she’s safe with me. When she comes again, I follow immediately, overwhelmed by how right she feels.

After, I hold her close while our breathing steadies. My fingers find that snake tattoo again, wondering about its story. I don’t know all her stories yet.

“Want to know what I’m thinking about right now?” I ask, pressing her closer.

“Yeah…tell me.”

“I’m just wondering about you. About all the pieces that made you who you are.”

She’s quiet for so long that I think she’s fallen asleep. Then, “Some pieces are better left in the past.”

“Even the ones marked on your skin?”

“Especially those.” But she kisses me softly, taking the sting from her words. “Tonight’s not for old stories. It’s for making new ones, Chase.”

“I’m thirsty,” I tell her.

“Me too.”

We’re naked as we head downstairs. We drink the water in silence, but she’s looking at me in a way that says she’s not satisfied yet—sexually.

She guides me to her sofa in the living room, and we both cuddle on the cotton material.

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