Page 60 of Claimed By the Bikers
The afternoon just got a lot more interesting.
18
EMBER
A warm,slow stroke grazes my inner thigh, pulling me from the haze of sleep.
It’s soft at first, then firmer—a deliberate drag of fingers. My eyes flutter open, heavy with dawn, as Garrett’s hand slips beneath the hem of my panties, tracing the sensitive skin where thigh meets something more intimate.
I shift, the sheets cool against my back, and mumble, “Garrett, what?—?”
“Shh,” he murmurs, voice thick, lips brushing the inside of my thigh. His stubble prickles, a familiar scratch that sends a shiver up my spine. I catch the glint of his eyes in the dim light, dark and focused, and my breath hitches.
I don’t argue.
He tugs my panties down, the lace dragging over my hips until cool air kisses bare skin. Then his mouth is there. A soft, slick sound as his tongue presses against me, lazy but sure, like he’s savoring the first taste of morning.
My hips jerk, a gasp tearing from my throat. My fingers find his hair, thick and messy, and I grip tight, not to pull him away but to anchor myself as he moans low, the sound muffled against my skin, vibrating through me.
“Garrett—” My voice cracks. My pulse races, my breasts aching with a strange, tender weight I’ve been ignoring for days.
His hands slide up, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of my thighs, holding me open with a gentleness that contrasts with the wet, eager lap of his tongue. It’s messy, unhurried, slurping softly, then circling with a flick that makes my toes curl.
I clutch the headboard with my free hand, wood creaking under my grip.
“Oh—God—” The words spill out as my thighs tremble.
His lips close around my clit with a soft suck, a wet pop that rips a cry from my chest. “Yes!”
My body coils tighter, every nerve alight. The room narrows to this—his tongue, his hands, the ragged edge of my breathing. A fleeting wave of nausea curls in my belly, gone as fast as it came, but it’s the third morning this week. I push the thought down, lost as he licks deeper, tongue sliding in slow, deliberate strokes that make my hips buck against his hold.
“Don’t stop—” I gasp, voice hoarse, barely mine. He doesn’t. His tongue flicks faster, then slow again, teasing, drawing me to the edge. My back arches, sheets twisting beneath me, and I cry out, a raw, shuddering sound that catches in my throat. My thighs clamp around his head as I come undone, pleasure crashing through me like a wave, sharp and overwhelming. He stays with me, licking softly through each aftershock, his hands steady on my thighs, grounding me as I tremble.
I collapse, chest heaving, sweat slicking my skin. My heart pounds in my ears, my body humming. Garrett pulls back, breathing hard, his chin glistening as he crawls up beside me. His eyes meet mine, a flicker of pride in them, but also something softer—like he knows me, knowsus. He brushes a damp strand of hair from my face, his thumb lingering on my cheek.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough, a grin tugging at his lips. His mouth brushes mine, still tasting like me, and I laugh, breathless, curling into the warmth of his chest.
The sheets are a tangled mess. My body feels like it’s glowing.
“You’re going to kill me one of these days,” I tell him.
“What a way to go.”
I curl against his chest, breathing in his scent and trying to ignore the slight queasiness that’s been bothering me for the past few mornings. Probably just stress from the cartel situation, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind that keeps track of dates, keeps noting that I’m three days late, and my breasts have been more sensitive than usual.
Not thinking about that right now. Too many other things to worry about.
“Where are Atlas and Silas?”
“Atlas left early for a supplier meeting. Silas is in his forge, working on something he won’t tell us about.” Garrett’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. “We’ve got an hour before you need to be at the restaurant.”
“Good. I don’t want to move yet.”
“Neither do I.”
But eventually, reality intrudes. The restaurant won’t run itself, and Tuesday dinner shifts are always busy. I shower, dress in my usual uniform, and try to shake off the lingering unease that’s been following me around since yesterday’s revelation about those suspicious SUVs.
Atlas checked them out after we returned from the range, but whoever owned them was gone. No sign of forced entry, nothing disturbed, just the unsettling knowledge that someone had been watching us.
