Page 70 of Single Mom's Bikers

I pull back slowly, every inch of me throbbing as I feel her slickness clinging to me. The stretch as I slide back inside makes her moan, a raw, desperate sound that sends shivers up my spine. I set a rhythm, slow and deep at first, each thrust sending a ripple of sensation through both of us.

“Look at me,” I murmur, cupping her face. Her eyes flutter open, glazed and heavy with desire. “You feel so fucking good, Evie. You have no idea.”

Her lips part, but no words come. Just a gasp as I roll my hips, hitting the right spot inside her that makes her go crazy.

The tension builds between us. My senses are overloaded—the wet, rhythmic sound of our bodies moving together, the way her walls grip my cock, the taste of her lips when I capture her mouth again, desperate to feel every part of her.

Her nails bite into my shoulders as she teeters on the edge. “I’m close,” she pants, her voice shaking.

“I’ve got you,” I promise, thrusting deeper, harder, the need to push her over the edge driving me wild. The way her body reacts,her thighs squeezing tighter, her back arching off the bed, is almost enough to undo me right away.

When she finally falls apart, it’s like a dam breaking. Her body tightens around me. Her cry is muffled against my shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her. I keep moving, chasing my own release, drawn in by the sheer ecstasy on her face.

“Evie,” I groan as I let go, burying myself as deep as I can. The world blurs and all that exists is her—her heat, her scent, and the way she holds me like I’m her anchor.

After, as she dozes in my arms, I study that tattoo in the moonlight. The design is professional work—expensive. Not the kind of ink a college student could afford.

Just like her other pieces tell stories, this one must too. But as I trace the scales with gentle fingers, she shifts away.

“Just hold me.” Her voice is sleepy but tense.

I pull her close, breathe in her scent, and try to ignore the secrets still between us.

My phone buzzes—probably Rick checking in. But when I check, I see it’s Skylar:“Five million views. Your gallery’s about to get very busy.”

26

CHASE

“Five point two million,”Skylar announces from her perch near my station. She’s here for a progress check, but mostly, she’s enjoying our reaction to her video’s success. “Comments are going crazy about booking appointments.”

I watch the numbers climb on her phone screen. The gallery’s email is already overwhelmed with requests, and our social media following has tripled overnight.

“Your color work is trending,” she adds, scrolling through comments. “And apparently, your arms have their own fan accounts now.”

Rick emerges from his office, grinning. “Just got another call fromInkedmagazine. They want to feature the gallery.”

“Legitimate fame at last.” I start setting up for my next client. “Tank would’ve loved this.”

The bell over the door chimes. Rose walks in, but not for another tattoo. She’s back in her usual polished look, though something’s softer about her today. Maybe it’s the way she’s smiling at her phone.

“Date day?” I guess, recognizing that particular expression.

She quickly pockets her phone. “Actually, I’m here about?—”

But Draven chooses that moment to walk in, and whatever business brought Rose here seems to evaporate. Their eyes meet, and suddenly the gallery crackles with a different kind of energy.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, moving closer.

“Err…I was just passing by and thought to stop by. Business is booming.” She gestures vaguely at the small crowd outside taking photos.

“Yeah, and it’s thanks to Chase and his talents.” Draven shifts closer. “I was about to grab lunch. Care to join?”

Watching them dance around each other almost makes me miss the dark sedan cruising past—the third time this morning.

“Our numbers are insane,” Skylar continues, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “The snake tattoo everyone glimpsed on your manager? People are obsessed.”

My hand tightens on my machine. In the corner, Evie’s shoulders tense slightly.

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