Page 18 of Her Obsessed Biker
Damn, it must be true.
The realization knocks the breath out of me.
“I—I’m sorry,” I mutter, shaking my head. “It’s just…”
She nods, clearing her throat slightly. “I didn’t care much for the boys at my school, and I guess I never met anyone worth it,” she says softly, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “No one that made me want it.”
Christ.
My jaw clenches. I rake a hand through my hair and step back like distance will help. Like putting space between us will somehow put out the wildfire raging inside my chest.
It doesn’t.
She’s too much. Too sweet. Too fucking good.
And I’m already too far gone.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs under her breath.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I growl, hating how small she looks now. Hating that even for a second, she thought I was mad at her. “I just…didn’t expect that. That’s all.”
She lifts her head, and God, the look in her eyes shreds something inside me. Hope and fear and trust are all tangled up in her gorgeous blue eyes.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Piper.”
Her blush deepens. “I know. But I want to.”
I flinch like the words strike me. Because I believe her. And because I don’t deserve them.
Not after everything I’ve done. Not after all the blood on my hands. Not after the men I’ve buried, the sins I carry. My soul is black and scarred, and she’s this light…this goddamn flame that I should stay the hell away from.
But she reaches out anyway, soft hands cupping my jaw, her thumbs brushing across the stubble like I’m something she wants to hold on to.
Like I’m worth something.
“Rock…” she whispers.
And that’s it.
That’s the fucking breaking point.
I crash my mouth down on hers with a growl, taking what’s already mine. Her lips open for me like a prayer, and I claim her slowly at first, then deeper, rougher. I bury my hands in her hair, pulling her to me, kissing her until we both forget how to breathe.
She moans into my mouth, a soft and helpless sound that nearly undoes me.
“Wrap your legs around me,” I mutter against her lips, and she does instinctively.
One arm under her thighs, the other braced at her back, I lift her easily, her warm body pressed against mine, her scent all over me. She smells like cinnamon and sugar and goddamn sin.
I carry her through the hallway, loving how perfectly she fits in my arms. Her legs are wrapped around my waist, arms looped around my shoulders, face buried in my neck like she can’t get close enough. The bedroom door swings open with a quiet nudge of my boot.
I walk us to the edge of the bed and ease her down slowly, watching as she reclines on the mattress, her hair fanned across my pillow like spun gold.
She looks up at me, her gorgeous blue eyes full of trust. And desire. There’s no missing the dark cloud of desire in her eyes.
“You really wanna do this, baby?” I ask, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. “There’s no rush, you know.”
She nods, reaching up to tug at my shirt. “I want this. I want you.”
