Page 84 of Claimed By the Bikers

“They’retryingto come for you,” Silas corrects. “There’s a difference.”

“No.”

“Ember—” Atlas starts.

I cross the room in three quick steps and climb onto his lap before he can finish the sentence. His hands automatically move to steady me, and I can feel his surprise in the way his muscles tense.

“I said no.” I frame his face with my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I’m not hiding. I’m not running. I’m not letting some cartel soldiers scare me into acting like a chicken.”

“You’re pregnant?—”

I silence him with a kiss, slow and deliberate, letting my tongue tease his lower lip until his breath hitches. When I pull back, his storm-gray eyes are darker.

“I’m pregnant,” I agree, letting my hands slide down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under my palms. “Not disabled. Not helpless.”

My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one while I hold his gaze. “I killed their soldier. I protected innocent people. I faced down federal agents.” Another button opens. “I chose you over everything else in my life.”

“Ember…” His voice is rougher now, and I can feel the effect I’m having on him.

“I’m not afraid of them,” I whisper against his ear, letting my hands explore the warm skin I’ve exposed. “I’m not afraid of anything, as long as I have you.”

Atlas tries to speak, but the words seem to stick in his throat as I trail my lips along his neck. His hands grip my hips tighter.

“We should… Tomorrow we can…” He clears his throat, trying again. “Let’s continue this conversation tomorrow?—”

“Really?” Silas interrupts from across the room, sounding amused despite everything. “You two are just going to fuck in the middle of chaos?”

Atlas doesn’t look away from me, his hands already sliding under my shirt. “I don’t want any disturbances,” he says firmly, his mouth finding mine again.

26

ATLAS

I carryher 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.