Page 27 of Her Outlaw Biker
It isn’t the cabin or the woods or the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the background. It’s her. It’s this.
I don’t ever want to wake up.
But I do.
I open my eyes slowly, the dream slipping away like smoke, soft and warm, leaving its scent behind in my chest. I blink into the dim early light and the first thing I see is Clover, propped up on one elbow, watching me like she’s been doing it a while.
Her fingers trace slow patterns on my chest, her golden hair messy from sleep, lips curved into a soft, knowing smile.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice still thick with sleep.
She leans in, brushes her nose against mine. “You were smiling in your sleep.”
“Was I?”
She nods. “Must’ve been a good dream.”
“It was,” I say, lifting a hand to her cheek. “It was, in fact, a great dream.”
I pull her down into a kiss, slow and sweet, like I’ve got nowhere else to be, like the world can wait a little longer. Maybe it can.
Her body fits perfectly against mine, bare skin against bare skin, warmth curling between us like an unspoken promise. She hums into my mouth, one leg sliding between mine.
My hand glides down her back, savoring the soft curve of her hips, savoring the feel of her so close after the night we had. My muscles ache in all the right ways, and my body remembers every inch of hers.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times, like our bodies wrote the instructions for how to fit, how to need, how towant. It’s lazy and affectionate, the kind of intimacy that doesn’t rush.
But even with her lips on mine, I can feel something shift. She’s here, but not all here…
When I pull back, her eyes are softer…but they’re guarded. Distant.
“You okay?” I ask, brushing my thumb along her jaw.
She nods, but I can see it. She’s not. Not entirely. There’s a storm swirling behind those pretty emerald eyes. I slide my arm around her waist, tugging her closer until she’s tucked against me. Her skin is warm, bare, and soft. A flush creeps up her neck, and I smirk.
“Last night wasn’t too much for you, was it?” I tease, lowering my voice against her ear.
She lets out a breathy laugh, burying her face in my chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm. That’s not a no.”
We fall into a moment of quiet. Her fingers trace absent lines along my ribs, but that tension hasn’t left her body. I can feel it.
“You thinking about your dad?” I ask.
She pulls back just enough to look at me. “No,” she says softly. “I mean…I know he’s okay. You told me he is, and I believe you.”
I nod, rubbing a hand down her back. “He is. I pulled strings with an old contact in northern Utah. Got your dad on a safe route out of the state—no MC eyes on it. He’s in a quiet little town now, out near a Navajo reserve. Friend of mine owes me, keeps him off the grid and in rehab at the best facility. He’s gota burner with one line only—you can talk to him whenever you want.”
Her eyes well up with emotion. “Thank you so much. I don’t…” She trails off, blinking back her tears. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Clover. You’re mine to love and protect.”
She presses her palm over my heart, like she’s trying to feel how steady it is. “I wasn’t worried about my dad, though,” she whispers.
My brow furrows. “Then what is it?”
“You.” Her voice trembles. “I was so scared last night. I kept picturing what could happen to you, what if you didn’t come back. And even now…it’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like you’ll just leave one day and…disappear.”
