Page 79 of Baby for the Bikers

It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

I roll to my side, reaching for the drawer in my nightstand. There, tucked in the back corner, is the black lace I took fromher apartment all those weeks ago. I’ve kept it, a secret token of desire I couldn’t admit to my brothers.

The fabric is soft against my skin as I wrap it around my cock, imagining it’s her—her hand, her mouth, her body gripping me tight. I stroke slowly at first, savoring the fantasy, building the pressure deliberately.

Rowan spread beneath me, her eyes dark with desire as I push inside her.

Rowan on her knees, taking me into her mouth with eager hunger.

Rowan between me and my brothers, surrounded by our hands, our bodies, completely and utterly ours.

The image hits me hard—so vivid, so real, it feels like she’s right here in front of me.

My grip tightens around the lace, and I stroke harder, faster now, the memory of her pleas building in my mind.

The thought of her screaming our names in unison as we ruin her makes my heart race. I see her in the middle of us, trembling and completely overwhelmed, her body arched, desperate for every touch, every inch.

I imagine filling her throat, her mouth wrapping around my cock as I lose control. My brothers taking the same from her—each of us in turn, until she’s nothing but a broken mess of moans, her body trembling under the weight of our demand.

The fantasy is almost too much.

But I need it. I need to feel her, to have her just like that. Surrounded by us.

I grit my teeth, moving faster now, feeling the pressure building inside me.

The sound of her moaning for us—each of us, simultaneously, her body pressing back against us, giving in to the pleasure. She wants us all. She needs us all. I can feel it.

The sensation of her tight warmth, the thought of her completely at our mercy, floods me with a primal need. My hand moves faster as the image of Rowan—all of her, all of us, wrapped together—drives me to the edge, my pulse pounding in my ears.

I close my eyes, imagining her panting beneath me, my brothers pushing into her on either side, each of us feeling the raw, untamed need to take her completely—to make her ours in every sense.

The pressure snaps.

I come with a low, guttural groan, my release pouring out of me, hot and overwhelming as I grip the lace even tighter. Her name is a whisper on my lips, the sound of it hanging heavy in the air.

For several minutes afterward, I lie there panting, waiting for guilt or shame to surface. Instead, I feel only certainty. However unconventional, however complicated, this is right. She belongs with us. All of us.

33

ROWAN

Last night’sfantasy replays in my mind as I lie in the guest bed. I shouldn’t have touched myself in their house. But after fleeing my apartment, after the terror of those text messages from Dad promising he’d find me, I needed something to ground me.

So I closed my eyes and let myself imagine.

It started with Ryder—always Ryder first in my fantasies. His intensity, his silent control. The way he’d pin me down and force me to take what he gives. Then Maddox joining, his playful smile turning wicked as his hands would find places Ryder hadn’t claimed yet. Finally Brick, watching first, then taking charge, orchestrating us all with that natural authority that makes my knees weak.

All three of them. Around me. Inside me. Taking turns and taking me together.

It’s a fantasy I’ve had before, though I’d never admit it aloud. Too taboo. Too much like admitting I’m greedy, selfish, wanting too much. But in the quiet of their guest room, with fear pulsing through my veins alongside desire, I let myself imagine all of it.

I came with their names on my lips, shame and satisfaction mingling as I caught my breath. What kind of woman dreams of three men at once? What kind of woman runs to those same men when danger comes calling?

The kind who’s been running for months.

The kind who’s tired of denying what she wants.

I tossed and turned in bed after that, every creak in the unfamiliar house making me jolt awake. Dad’s voice ringing in my ears. At some point, exhaustion won out, dragging me into fitful dreams where I was either running from my father or running toward three men who somehow promised safety.

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