Page 29 of Claimed By the Bikers (Black Wolves MC #4)

ATLAS

I carry her upstairs without breaking the kiss, her legs wrapped around my waist.

Every step reminds me that she’s carrying our child, but the fierce way she kissed me downstairs proves she’s still the same woman who drove a broken bottle into a cartel soldier’s throat.

My bedroom door closes behind us with a soft click. Morning light streams through the windows, casting silver patterns across the floor, but all I can focus on is her hands working at my shirt buttons with determined fingers.

“You drive me insane,” I tell her, backing her against the wall. “Sitting on my lap like that, touching me while we’re discussing cartel threats.”

“Good. You needed reminding that I’m not some delicate flower.” She pushes my shirt off my shoulders, her palms flat against my chest. “You’ve been treating me like I might shatter.”

I cup her face, studying the determined set of her jaw, the fire that still burns in her gaze. “You’re right. I’ve been so focused on protecting you that I forgot how strong you are.”

“Show me you remember.”

I lift her easily, carrying her to the bed and setting her down gently. But when I start to undress her slowly, she grabs my wrists.

“Not like I’m fragile. Like you want me.”

So I worship her body with my mouth and hands, lips trailing down her neck, sucking at the pulse point until she gasps, her skin hot under my touch.

My fingers trace her curves, holding her lightly. I’m mindful of her body’s changes as I kiss lower, tongue circling her nipple before drawing it into my mouth, sucking softly but insistent.

She arches, moaning, “Fuck, Atlas, yes,” her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer as I switch to the other breast, my hand cupping her carefully, thumb flicking the peak.

My hand slides down her side, fingers splaying across her hip and holding her steady as I kiss a path to her stomach with featherlight care.

I spread her thighs slowly, settling between them, my breath warm against her pussy before I lick her folds.

She bucks gently. “Shit, that feels so good, don’t stop.” Her voice breaks as I circle her clit, sucking lightly, my hands gripping her thighs with controlled strength to keep her secure.

She trembles under me, legs shaking as I work her higher, fingers slipping inside her pussy and curling carefully to hit that spot, pumping slow and deep.

“Atlas—fuck, right there, it’s so intense,” she cries, her walls clenching around my fingers, her juice coating my fingers as I lick her clit faster, building her pleasure without rushing.

I hold her hips down gently, keeping her steady, light from the window highlighting the flush on her skin as she writhes, safe in my grasp.

“I need you inside me,” she pants, pulling me up, her eyes dark with want, and I position myself carefully, cock hard and throbbing as I slide into her tight heat, inch by inch.

“You’re so big, filling me perfectly,” she moans, nails raking my back lightly, her legs wrapping around me as I move with measured rhythm, careful not to jar her.

Her breaths quicken. “Harder, but slow—yes, like that, that’s amazing.”

I obey, thrusting deeper, my hand slipping between us to rub her clit in circles. She clenches tighter. Her pussy spasms as she nears the edge, her moans filling the room like music.

I kiss her neck, whispering, “Come for me,” my voice rough, holding her body secure as she shatters.

She comes apart, crying my name, her pussy pulsing around my cock, as her body quakes in my arms.

I follow, thrusting deep one last time, cum spilling hot inside her. We lie tangled, her head on my chest, my hand stroking her back softly.

“Tell me about before,” she says suddenly.

“Before what?”

“Before the military. Before Afghanistan. Before everything that made you who you are now.” She tilts her head to look at me. “You joined the Army when you were young. What were you doing for the first two decades of your life?”

I’m quiet for a moment, stunned by the question. But lying here with her, our child growing beneath my palm, I find myself wanting to share pieces of my past I’ve never told anyone.

“I grew up in a town called Millfield, about three hours south of here. Population eight hundred on a good day.” I stare at the ceiling, remembering dusty streets and the smell of hay in summer. “My father owned the local hardware store. My mother taught third grade at the elementary school.”

“Small-town life.”

“Very small. Too small for a kid who dreamed of seeing the world.” I shift slightly, settling her more comfortably against me. “I spent my childhood reading military history books, watching war movies, planning my escape to somewhere important.”

“Did you go straight to college after high school?”

“Community college. Two years studying business because my parents thought it would give me stability.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Accounting classes and marketing fundamentals while all I wanted was to do something that mattered.”

“What happened after you finished?”

“I came back home. My father had a mild heart attack right before I graduated, needed help running the store. So I moved back to Millfield, thinking it would be temporary.” I run my fingers through her hair. “Temporary became two years.”

“That must have been frustrating.”

“Two years of selling nails and paint to the same customers, listening to the same complaints about the weather, watching the same sunset over the same fields.” The memory tastes bitter even now.

“I was dying inside, but I couldn’t leave.

My father needed me. My mother worried about his health. The store was our family’s livelihood.”

She shifts against me, her hand finding mine. “Were you seeing anyone then?”

“Rebecca Miller. Doctor’s daughter, smart as hell, wanted to marry me and raise babies in the house where I grew up.” I feel Ember’s fingers tighten slightly. “Beautiful woman. Kind. Everything a twenty-year-old guy should want.”

“But you didn’t want that?”

“Every time I looked at her, I saw my whole life planned out. Take over the hardware store, have kids, become another face at church on Sundays complaining about property taxes.” I press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Rebecca could see me getting more restless every month. She knew I was going to leave eventually.”

“So what made you finally do it?”

“September 11th.”

She goes completely still against me.

“I was in the store when the planes hit. Watched it happen on the little TV my father kept behind the counter for slow days.” The images are still sharp in my memory—smoke and flames and people jumping from windows. “Rebecca came by that afternoon, found me staring at the screen.”

“What did you say to her?”

“That I was joining the Army. That I couldn’t sit in Colorado selling screws and washers while the country was at war.” I stroke her arm, feeling goose bumps rise under my touch. “She cried. Said I was throwing away everything good for some romantic notion of heroism.”

“Do you think she was right?”

“Maybe. But I couldn’t stay another day knowing there were people fighting and dying while I worried about inventory orders.” I shift to look at her directly. “My father was furious. Said I was being selfish, chasing fantasies instead of accepting reality.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Hardest conversation of my life. But I left anyway. Drove to the recruitment office in Denver, signed up for Infantry, and never looked back.” I trace the line of her jaw with my fingertip. “Best decision I ever made, even with everything that happened later.”

“Do you ever think about what might have been? If you’d stayed?”

“Sometimes. Rebecca married a lawyer two years later. Has three kids now, runs the local PTA.” I meet her eyes. “But I wouldn’t be here with you. Wouldn’t have Garrett and Silas as brothers. Wouldn’t have this life we’ve built together.”

“Any regrets?”

“None. Every choice, every mistake, every victory—it all brought me to you.” I roll her beneath me, settling between her thighs. “This moment, this life, this family we’re creating.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a kiss that tastes like promises and new beginnings. When we break apart, she’s smiling.

“I’m glad you left that hardware store.”

“So am I.”

“Atlas?” Her voice is soft after a few minutes of silence.

“Mmm?”

“What exactly aren’t you telling me about the cartel situation?”

I go still, hoping she won’t notice the way my muscles tense. But this is Ember, sharp as a blade, impossible to fool even when I want to protect her from the truth.

“What makes you think I’m not telling you everything?”

“Because you got that phone call yesterday, the one you took in your office with the door closed. Garrett has been checking the weapons inventory twice a day instead of his usual weekly schedule. Silas has been working late in his forge, and the sound through the walls isn’t his normal metalwork.”

She sits up, pulling the sheet around herself, green eyes fixed on my face with uncomfortable intensity. “He’s making knives, isn’t he? Combat knives.”

There’s no point denying it. She knows too much.

“We first got intelligence a week ago about Los Serpientes planning an attack.” I sit up as well, running a hand through my hair. “They want to eliminate our entire operation.”

“What? And you kept this from me for an entire week? Wait, let me guess. If I hadn’t walked in on you earlier, I never would have found out, right?”

The betrayal in her tone nearly breaks me.

“I’m sorry, Ember. There really is nothing you can do. The baby—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, enough with the baby! What’s the plan?”

“You’re leaving Wolf Pike.”

“No.”

“Ember—”

“No.” She pulls her hand free. “I’m not running while you and your brothers fight for our home.”

“You’re pregnant. This isn’t just about you anymore.”

“Exactly. This is about our child’s future. About the family we’re building. About the community we’re part of.” She stands, wrapping the sheet around herself. “I’m not letting some cartel soldiers drive me away from the life I chose.”

“They specifically want you dead. You killed one of their own.”

“And if I run, what message does that send? That we can be intimidated? That threatening pregnant women is an effective tactic?” She shakes her head. “I won’t give them that victory.”

“This isn’t about victory or messages. This is about keeping you and our baby alive.”

“Our baby will be safer in a world where we don’t back down from bullies.” Her green eyes blaze with the same fire I saw when she destroyed her FBI badge. “I can fight. I can protect myself and our child.”

“Not against twenty cartel soldiers.”

“Not alone. But with you, with Garrett and Silas, with the community that’s accepted me as family?” She moves closer, placing her hand over my heart. “Together we can face anything.”

She may be the death of me.

I sigh. “If you stay, you follow orders. No heroics, no unnecessary risks.”

“Agreed.”

“You stay in whatever defensive position we assign you. No arguing about tactics in the middle of a firefight.”

“Understood.”

“And if things go bad, if we tell you to run, you run. No debate, no looking back.”

She hesitates at this last condition.

“For the baby,” I add quietly.

Finally, she nods. “For the baby.”

“I love you,” I tell her, words I don’t say often enough.

“I love you too.”

“No matter what happens—”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” she insists. “We’re going to win this fight, raise this baby, and build the life we’ve been planning.”