Page 36 of Claimed By the Bikers
“Two weeks,” I say quietly, pocketing the device. “Two weeks of sharing our home, our beds, our lives. And this is what you do with that trust?”
“It’s not what you think?—”
“Isn’t it?” I close the distance between us until she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “Because it looks like our little houseguest was about to report on tonight’s shipment. Looks like all that sweet compliance was just an act while you waited for the right moment to stab us in the back.”
Color flares in her cheeks, and I can see the moment she decides to fight rather than flee. “You kidnapped me. You forced me to live with you, to sleep in your bed, to pretend I’m your willing girlfriend. What did you expect?”
“I expected you to be smarter than this.” My hand shoots out, gripping her chin and forcing her to hold my gaze. “I expected you to realize that running isn’t an option anymore!”
“I’m not your property!”
My thumb strokes across her lower lip, and I feel the shiver that runs through her despite her defiant words. “Your body seems to think otherwise, Natalie. You’re leaning into my touch instead of pulling away.”
She jerks her head back, breaking contact. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” I grab her wrist, pressing her palm flat against my chest. “Feel that? That’s what betrayal does to a man. That’swhat it feels like to trust someone who’s planning to destroy everything you’ve built.”
Her hand tries to pull away, but I hold it firm against my heartbeat. I want her to feel the anger, the hurt, the raw fury that comes from believing someone might actually choose us only to discover it was all performance.
“I never asked for this,” she whispers. “I never asked to be torn between my job and…and whatever this is.”
“No, you didn’t ask for it. But you have it anyway. And now you get to live with the consequences of trying to throw it away.”
Before she can respond, I’m moving. My hands grip her waist, lifting her off the ground and carrying her toward the large oak tree where she hid the phone. She struggles briefly, but not with the desperate panic of someone truly afraid. More like someone who knows she’s about to be punished and isn’t sure she wants to stop it.
“Atlas, wait?—”
“No more waiting.” I press her back against the rough bark, caging her in with my arms. “No more games, no more pretending. You want me to remind you what happens when you try to betray us? Let me show you.”
My mouth crashes down on hers, hard and claiming and completely without mercy.
When she tries to turn her head away, I follow, deepening the kiss until she’s gasping against my lips.
“You’re mine,” I growl against her mouth. “All of ours. That doesn’t change because you get scared and try to run.”
“I’m not—” She breaks off when my hands find the hem of her shirt, pushing it up to expose the smooth skin of her stomach. “We can’t do this here. Someone might see.”
“Let them see.” My fingers work at the button of her jeans, popping it open. “Let them see exactly what happens to women who think they can play games with the Bishop brothers.”
She laughs softly, a sound that’s half-nervous, half-excited, and it’s all the permission I need. I unzip her jeans with a slow, deliberate motion. She doesn’t stop me; instead, she helps, shimmying her hips to let the denim slide down her thighs, pooling around her ankles. The scrap of cotton she calls underwear follows, and the sight of her exposed skin in the open air sends a jolt through me.
“Atlas,” she says, her voice a mix of plea and invitation. She steps closer, her hands finding my shoulders, fingers digging in as she presses herself against me. “Don’t make me wait.”
Her eagerness fuels my own, but the anger still lingers, a sharp edge to my desire. I spin her around, guiding her hands to the rough bark of the oak tree. She doesn’t resist, pressing her palms flat against the trunk, arching her back to push her hips toward me. The sight of her, willing and wanton, nearly undoes me.
Her body remembers what her mind is trying to deny. Remembers how good it feels to belong to us, to be claimed and protected and thoroughly possessed.
I work at my belt, freeing myself with hands that shake slightly from anger and arousal. “Two weeks I’ve watched you bloom under our attention. Watched you laugh at Garrett’s terrible jokes, watched you blush when Silas speaks French in your ear, watched you come apart in our hands like you were made for it.”
“Stop talking,” she breathes, pressing her forehead against the bark.
“And now you want to throw all of that away for what? A job that sees you as expendable? An agency that sent you here knowing you might not come home?” I position myself behind her, letting her feel exactly how much her betrayal affects me. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. I think you need a reminder of what you’d be giving up.”
I enter her in one hard thrust, and the sound she makes is pure sin. Her body welcomes me despite everything, slick and ready like she’s been thinking about this as much as I have. Like the adrenaline of almost getting caught has turned her on as much as it has me.
“Fuck, yes!” she gasps, hands scrambling for purchase against the tree. “Atlas?—”
“That’s right. Say my name.” I set a punishing rhythm, claiming her with every stroke. “Say the name of the man who’s going to make sure you never even think about running again.”
