Her Older Biker - Page 5

I don’t know how long she weeps in my arms, but before I know it, it’s morning. Bright sunlight spills through the window and warms my skin. I blink sleepily and look down at Emma, who lays full-length on top of me, snuggling into my chest like a pillow. I tighten my arms around her and lean down to inhale the fragrance of her hair. She smells like wicked temptation.

“Mmm,” she says, and looks up at me, blinking sleepily in the light. She looks so beautiful and inviting that I can’t resist the urge to touch my lips to hers. She scoots up a little higher on my chest to get closer, and we stay like that for a couple of minutes, exchanging gentle, languid kisses. It’s easy and natural, and unhurried like we have all the time in the world. And maybe we do, I think.

Finally, she slides off of me and sits up with a short laugh, brushing her wild hair out of her face. My gaze strays to the blush on her cheeks and swollen lips.

“I need a shower,” she says. “And to brush my teeth.”

I gesture down the hall. “Guest bathroom is the first door on the right. Towels in the cabinet. Do you need any shampoo or conditioner?”

Help washing your back?I think. My dick thickens as I picture her wet and naked in my shower, suds dripping down her satiny skin.

She shakes her head. “I think I’m good. Thank you so much.”

I sit on my couch for a long moment after she jumps up and heads to the bathroom.

Something’s brewing between us. And I might be a big, tough biker, but something tells me that when it comes to Emma, my gut tells me that I’m in for the ride of my life.

Chapter 3

Emma

I can’t remember the last time that I wanted to looknicefor someone. Until today, that is, standing in front of the mirror and using my meager supply of makeup and my curling iron to give my cheeks a light flush and coax my thick, straight hair into waves that cascade down my back.

The tools at my disposal are limited, but still, I’m happy with the result. Warden has been busy all day with club business, but I’ll see him when I go in soon for my shift at Saint C’s. And I want him unable to tear his eyes away.

I walk back into the tidy little guest room, where my bags lay neatly organized on the bed—where I was supposed to sleep last night, but never made it. I have a few minutes until I need to leave, so I sink down onto the bed and kick back to relax for a few minutes. I send a quick text to my old art mentor, Leah, and let her know that I’m safe and working.

Tossing the phone aside, I lean back into the pillows. My mind wanders to the way Warden’s arms felt around me, the soft brush of his lips against mine and the play of his hard muscles under his tattooed bronze skin. He’s incredible, I think. And damn fine. He smells like leather—leather and something woodsy underneath.

There group home didn’t afford me a lot of privacy, and it’s strange to sit in the silence of Warden’s apartment and not have to worry about interruption as I unbutton my skinny jeans and slide them over my hips before I walk my fingers down the curve of my belly and into my panties. I imagine that it’s Warden’s fingers gently teasing my clit, and when my free hand rucks my t-shirt up to pinch and roll a nipple, I pretend that Warden’s teeth and tongue are responsible for the wild sensations that rocket through me.

I circle a finger around my entrance and gently dip it inside, and I’m unable to stop the soft moan that escapes me. Considering the size of the rest of him, Warden probably has an enormous dick. My back arches and I shiver as I think of him between my legs, thrusting in and out.

Dominating me.

Owningme.

I come with a gasp. Harder than I’ve ever come before in my life, thanks to my fantasies of Warden. My pussy flutters around my thrusting fingers, and I flop back into the pillows, breathing hard while my heart rate slows again.

Even the guest bed smells like him, I realize with a groan. I may need to go in for another round.

The bar is quiet when I arrive an hour later, just a few patrons lounging at tables and the soft thumps and clacks of pool players at the table. Warden stands behind the bar, wiping glasses. His dark, serious face lights up with a wide grin when he sees me, and he motions at a bar stool.

“Sit,” he orders. “How do you like your burgers?”

“I—what?” I ask, confused.

“Your burgers,” he repeated. “I’m not going to let you start your shift until you sit and eat some dinner. How do you like your burgers?”

Something unfurls in my belly—something warm—as I think about my answer. I’ve gone so long without anybody asking me what I want, and lately without enough to eat at all, that it throws me for a loop when this man gives me choices.

“Medium,” I finally say. “With swiss cheese and onions, no pickles. Barbecue sauce, not ketchup.”

“Fries or onion rings?”

“Neither,” I reply firmly. “I like a side salad. Caesar, if you have it.”

Warden grabs a little notepad and scribbles on it quickly, then rips the sheet off the top and hands it to Caroline, who stands watching the whole exchange with a smirk on her face.