Page 18 of Her Savior Biker
I kiss down her throat, tasting the salt on her skin, her pulse hammering under my lips. When I find that spot where her neck meets her shoulder, she arches into me with a soft moan that goes straight to my dick.
“You sure about this?” I ask, even as my hands slide under her sweater, finding warm skin and the edge of her bra.
“Stop asking me that.” Her fingers are already at the buttons of my shirt. When her palms hit my chest, I nearly lose it. “I know what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“You.” Her hands slide to my belt, and I have to grab her wrists to stop her. “I want you to make me forget everything but your name.”
Hell. The need in her voice, the way she’s looking at me like I’m something she’s been waiting for her whole life—it undoes me.
I strip her sweater off, then pause just to look at her. She’s wearing simple black lace, but on her, it looks like sin wrapped in silk. A delicate sheen has surfaced on her warm brown skin, and when she reaches for me again, I don’t stop her.
She pushes my shirt off my shoulders, running her hands over my chest, my arms, like she’s memorizing me. When her fingers find the scars from old fights, she doesn’t flinch. Just traces them gently, like they’re part of a map she wants to learn by heart.
“Beautiful,” she whispers, and I almost laugh because the word has never been applied to me.
I show her beautiful. I worship every inch of skin I can reach—her throat, her shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts above the lace. When I unhook her bra and finally get my mouth on her, she throws her head back with a cry that makes my blood burn.
She’s responsive, eager. When I slide my hand between her thighs, she’s already wet for me, and the knowledge that I did this to her nearly brings me to my knees.
“Please,” she gasps, hips rocking against my hand. “Reyes, please—”
I give her what she needs. My fingers find her, circling and teasing until she’s trembling, making these soft, desperate sounds that drive me wild. When I slide one finger inside her, then two, she clenches around me so tight I see stars.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur against her ear. “Let go for me.”
She comes apart in my arms, beautiful and perfect and mine. I hold her through it, her pulse beating around my fingers, her breath whispering my name.
When she finally comes down, she looks at me with dark, satisfied eyes and reaches for my belt.
“More,” she demands.
Her fingers work at the buckle. Watching her take what she wants is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. When she gets the leather free and starts on my jeans, when her knuckles brush against me, my control starts fraying.
“Shannon—”
“I want you,” she says, looking up at me as she works my zipper down. “All of you.”
When her fingers find the waistband of my boxers and start to push them down, reality crashes into me. If she frees me, if she gets her hands on me, I won’t be able to stop.
I catch her wrists. “Wait.”
“Why?” She’s breathing hard, skin slick with a light sheen, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Because if you touch me like that, I won’t be able to hold back.”
Her smile is pure sin. “Maybe I don’t want you to hold back.”
“I know you don’t. But somebody’s got to be the adult in the room.”
The words are out before I can stop them. The heat dies in her eyes, replaced by a flash of hurt.
“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair, hating myself. “Shannon, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” She reaches for her sweater. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing. You think I’m being childish.”
“No.” I grab her hands, making her look at me. “That came out wrong. What I meant is, it’s too soon. We need to slow down.”
