Page 107 of Dirty Salvation

Fucking asshole, Rider shook his head with a slight grin, knowing Preacher he probably did.

As for Rider, he’d done enough eye-fucking, he waited until she glanced his way and gestured her over.

Motioning with two fingers. He saw her brow arch. So fucking royally it made him hard. An untapped laugh rumbled deep in Rider’s chest.Look at her,he thought, with her chin held high, the spark of defiance in her pale eyes, so strong, and so still so unsure of their new relationship.

The two aspects of Zara in constant battle with her every action. But that pull and tug made her what she was now, what years of hardship had molded her to be. He was enjoying seeing her emerge into herself again, one feisty bite at a time.

And what she was, here and right now, always, was his.

Only his.

If it took Rider a lifetime to convince his old lady, then that's what he'd do.

Old lady. It felt right.

He wanted her on the back of his bike being his club queen. And maybe more one day.

She called what they weredating friendsshe wouldn't accept anything else because she was damaged, in her words. He deserved more, she'd told him one heated night when he was still slicked with sex sweat.

He’d fuck friends right off her tongue. Nofriendhad ever been on his cock so much, his Icy needed to drop that fucking opinion already.

Fuck that. Rider deserved his old lady.

Zara was his goddamn old lady whether she liked it or not.

She could continue to tell him she was broken and unworthy of him and he'd want her.

Crave her.

Need her.

Want to fuck her every goddamn minute of the night.

Funny that Rider warned his men about addictions, to stay off the drugs, keep the booze down to a dull roar, and here he was, fully fledged, inducted into the addiction hall of fame.

His drug was five foot three and glaring at him.

The beat of her heart matched rhythm with his, as he caught her wrist soon as she was close enough, dragging her forward to bump into his body.

Delicate. Blonde. A fucking Amazonian of a woman.

He'd witnessed as days went by her backbone rebuild itself, her confidence grew. And with each passing day when she understood, there was no fists coming at her from his club members she became a little bitsassier.

And she had some humor on her, dry. Funny as shit.

A shadow of her former self he'd brought home with him.

But that part of Zara he’d once known was gone. The sweet virgin he'd...shit, he couldn't think of how he'd spoiled her dirty, or his dick would take all the blood supply and he needed to think.

She wasn't the same girl. But then he was not the same guy, either. They were enjoying getting to each other as they were now.

He'd been a jerk to her, letting her think he didn't want to see her again. Truth was, and he could admit it now, with age came wisdom and the courage to admit wrongs, he'd been knocked off his goddamn boots that night. Sex was out of this world and he'd felt too much for her all at once. Arranged for her to see him with whatshername's mouth locked around his cock.

Stupid fucking asshat.

She was never going to let him forget that screw-up. He didn't know then what she'd mean to him. He just had an inkling and it scared the fuck out of him. No doubt about it his cock loved her then and now, more now he’d dirtied her. It just so happened his heart was in on the action now, too.

A hard-worn biker with dirty and bad under his belt was feeling love.