Page 27 of Claimed By the Bikers
He’s right. Whatever happens in this room, whoever I am when I leave it, there will be no going back to the woman who walked into Wolf Pike six weeks ago. That version of me died the moment I stopped fighting.
This version? This version wants to see what happens when three dangerous men decide to keep what they’ve caught.
Atlas moves first, his hands framing my face as his mouth crashes down on mine. I taste blood from his split lip, metallic and warm, proof of our earlier struggle. But now instead of fighting, I’m kissing him back with desperate hunger.
When we break apart, I’m breathless and aching. Garrett’s hands are already on my waist, pulling me back against his solid chest, while Silas moves to stand in front of me.
“Our turn to learn the truth about you,” Silas murmurs, his fingers trailing along the lapels of Atlas’s jacket. “Every beautiful, lying inch.”
The jacket slides off my shoulders and puddles on the floor, leaving me in nothing but cotton panties that do nothing to hide how much I want this. Want them.
“Perfect,” Garrett growls against my neck. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”
His mouth finds the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder while Silas’s hands map the curve of my waist. Atlas watches from a few feet away, those storm-gray eyes taking in every reaction, every shiver, every desperate sound I make.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.
“Please what?” Atlas asks softly.
“I don’t know. I just…please.”
“She’s asking us to claim her,” Silas translates, his accent thicker than usual. “To make her ours.”
“Is that what you want?” Garrett asks, his hands stilling on my skin. “To be ours?”
I close my eyes, the last of my resistance crumbling. “Yes.”
“Say it properly,” Atlas commands. “Tell us what you want.”
“I want…” I take a shaky breath. “I want you to claim me. All of you. I want to be yours.”
Atlas doesn’t move at first. His dark gaze stays locked on mine, weighing my words, letting the silence stretch just long enoughfor my pulse to stumble. Then his mouth curves—not in a smile, but in something sharper.
“Knees.”
The word is quiet but absolute.
My body reacts before my mind catches up. I sink down in front of them, the plush rug brushing my knees. From here they seem impossibly tall, all raw power and control, the air thick with their heat.
Garrett’s belt comes loose first. The slow pull of leather through metal is almost indecent. Then Silas. Then Atlas. The sound fills the room, deliberate and slow, each motion a promise of what’s coming.
I tip my head back. All three men are watching me like I’m exactly where I belong.
Atlas steps forward just enough for his shadow to fall over me. “Look at that. Our fed on her knees. Right where she should be.”
Garrett’s low chuckle rumbles above me. “Bet this wasn’t in your FBI training, Agent.” The way he says it feels like a taunt.
Silas tilts his head, voice deep and smooth. “She doesn’t look like she’s complaining.”
My pulse hammers. My hands twitch at my sides, but Atlas shakes his head once.
“Hands behind your back,” he orders.
I obey, lacing my fingers behind me. The position pulls my shoulders back, my chest rising with each uneven breath.
Garrett’s smirk deepens. “Good girl. Knows how to follow orders.”
Silas’s gaze tracks every movement, heavy and assessing. “She’s ours now.”
