Page 33 of Her Obsessed Biker
My heart thunders as I haul myself out of Lake Willowmere, water dripping off me in sheets. My muscles ache, my lungs burning like lava, but it’s worth every stroke.
Three years. Three wins.
Competing in the challenge that I once entered as a ruse has now become tradition.
I straighten, pushing my wet hair out of my face, and the cheers blur into background noise. Because the only thing I see—the only thing I ever want to see—is him.
My Rock.
He’s leaning against his bike at the finish line, arms folded over his cut, a slow, smug smile tugging at his lips. That proud, cocky glint in his eyes has never changed. Neither has the way he looks at me like I’m his religion.
My man. My partner. My home.
I jog toward him, and by the time I reach him, he’s already got a towel waiting. I barely have time to laugh before he wraps me up in it and pulls me into his chest, big arms locking tightly around me like always.
“You’re a damn fish, kitty,” he mutters against my wet hair. “A hot little waterlogged menace.”
“And you love it.” I grin, tilting my face up to his.
“Every fucking inch of you,” he says, his voice low and raw as he presses a kiss to my temple. “And don’t think I’m letting you outta my sight tonight. Winner or not, you’re mine.”
Three years, and he still makes my knees weak.
Sometimes I catch my reflection in the mirror, my eyes radiating a joy that shines from within, and I ask myself—how did I manage to get here?
I never thought it was possible to be this…happy.
Jackson Ridge didn’t just change my life. It gave me one.
I’m no longer a lost girl chasing shadows. I’m Piper Johnston now. Grizz’s daughter in blood and spirit. Rock’s woman in every sense of the word.
The Black Crown is home now. Behind the bar, Red barks orders and throws a beer at Diego, who catches it one-handed without looking up from the security feed. Grizz is in the back, probably yelling at some poor prospect to mop the floors. He still grumbles like a bear and drinks like he’s pickling himself, but he calls me kiddo now. He’s the one who taught me to ride a ’67 Harley, cursing the whole time like it was a test of his patience.
We’re not perfect, but we’re family.
Diego watches me like I’m carrying diamonds in my pockets, and Red hugs me so tight it cracks my ribs. Which, in Red’s language, meansI love you, don’t screw this up.
And the club? They’ve become my brothers. My rowdy, overprotective, cigar-smoking, patch-wearing brothers. There’s no safer place on earth than with the Savage Kings MC.
But no matter what…Rock is the center of my world.
He always will be.
After a quick goodbye to a few club members, I climb onto Rock’s bike and we head home. The ride up the hill is quiet. Just the rumble of the Harley beneath us, the wind in my wet hair, and the sound of our breaths syncing like they always do.
Our cabin sits tucked in the woods overlooking Lake Willowmere. Rock built it with his own hands. He said a woman like me deserves a place built to last. A place no one can ever take away. A place safe enough for all the parts I used to hide.
Inside, everything smells like pine and leather. Warm, earthy, familiar. I tore off my boots at the door and Rock disappears into the kitchen, already reaching for two beers. I glance at him over my shoulder as I head for the bedroom.
“Running off already, kitty?” he calls out, his voice laced with lazy humor.
“You know I don’t run,” I toss back with a smirk.
Inside our bedroom, I peel off my damp clothes and step into the lingerie I’ve barely managed to hide from Rock since it arrived last week. My stomach tightens with anticipation. I look deliciously inappropriate, the black lace hugging my body likea second skin. Its satin bows and sheer panels leave almost nothing to the imagination.
I smile at myself in the mirror. Oh, how I’ve changed from the naive girl who arrived at Jackson Ridge three years ago. Now, I’m a woman who revels in her sexuality. Wanton and wild.
I pad barefoot out to the living room and lean against the doorframe.
