Page 25 of Her Savior Biker
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Five days,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Five days,” he agrees, his voice laced with surrender.
And standing there in his arms, with the countdown already started, I know exactly how I want to spend them.
Shannon
Theworldnarrowstothe space between us, charged and fragile. Five days. The words hang in the air, both a promise and a death sentence. It’s not enough time to build a future, but it’s more than enough to shatter my heart. A part of me, the cautious part that has kept me and Aiden alive, screams to put the walls back up, to guard against the inevitable pain. But looking at Reyes, at the raw conflict in his eyes, I know I can’t. For the first time in years, I’m not just surviving. I’m living, and I refuse to waste a single second of the time we have left.
I pull back just enough to look into his eyes—those pale gray-green depths that have haunted my dreams since the night he found us. “I meant what I said. I’ll be damned if I waste one of them.”
His hands tighten on my waist, the war happening behind his eyes. Want battles with that protective instinct that keeps trying to save me from myself.
“Shannon—”
“No.” I press my fingers to his lips, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin. “No more thinking, or being careful. I'm done pretending this isn’t exactly what we both want.”
I reach up and pull his head down to mine, kissing him with all the desperation I’ve been holding back. This time there’s no hesitation, no gentle exploration. This is hunger, pure and simple. Three years of being alone, of being afraid, of forgetting I was a woman instead of just a mother.
Reyes groans against my mouth and kisses me back like a starving man. His hands slide up my back, tangling in my braids. When he tilts my head to deepen the kiss, I melt against him completely.
“Aiden—” he starts when we break apart, both of us breathing hard.
“Is asleep.” I grab the front of his shirt, feeling the solid heat of him under my palms. “Has been for an hour. His door is closed.”
The last of his resistance crumbles. His control snaps like a wire pulled too tight.
“Hell, Shannon.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “You sure about this?”
Instead of answering, I work at the buttons of his shirt. My fingers tremble—not from fear, but from pure need. When I get the first few open and press my palm against his bare chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, he closes his eyes like I’m torturing him.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
That’s all it takes.
Reyes captures my mouth again, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. His hands are everywhere—sliding under my sweater, tracing the line of my spine, mapping every inch of skin. When his thumb brushes over my nipple through the thin lace of my bra, I arch into him with a gasp.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my throat, the reverence in his voice making my chest tight. “So perfect.”
I’m not perfect. I’m broken and scared and carrying more baggage than any man should deal with. But the way he’s looking at me, the way his hands shake as he touches me—like I’m something precious instead of damaged—makes me feel beautiful for the first time in years.
He strips my sweater off in one smooth motion, then just stares. The hunger in his eyes is so intense it makes me dizzy.
“You’re staring,” I whisper.
“Can’t help it.” His fingers trace the edge of my bra, barely touching but setting my skin on fire. “Been dreaming about this. About you.”
“Show me.”
He does. God, he does.
His mouth finds the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. When he works his way down, pressing hot kisses to my collarbone, to the swell of my breasts above the black lace, my knees nearly give out.
“Not here,” he says suddenly, pulling back. “Not against a wall.”
Before I can protest, he’s lifting me, carrying me toward the living room, and sets me down next to the couch. Instantly, we’re both moving frantically.
