Page 5 of Her Obsessed Biker (Savage Kings MC #8)

Piper

Rock’s house is exactly what I expected from a man like him—quiet, dark, intimidating…and somehow, clean. Not sterile-clean, but deliberate. Sparse furniture. Heavy wood. Dark leather. Everything about the place feels masculine and restrained. Just like him.

I stand just inside the entryway, my arms still wrapped around his cut, because he hasn’t asked for it back and because, secretly, it feels like armor. Like protection.

“Make yourself at home,” he says quietly, then disappears down the hall without saying anything more, leaving me standing in the silence of his domain.

My heart is still galloping, my body wired from everything that’s happened tonight.

Finding my father. His rejection. The bikers who cornered me.

The way Rock stepped in like a damn avenging force.

And then the way he looked at me after, like I wasn’t just some girl who stumbled into his world, but something more. Something that mattered.

The smell hits me next—garlic, onion, something warm. I frown and step further into the house, following the trail to the kitchen doorway.

Rock is…cooking.

Not ordering out. Not opening a beer and calling it dinner. Cooking.

He stands at the stove, one hand on the pan, the other steadying a cutting board. Flames flicker beneath cast iron, and the scent of something hearty fills the kitchen.

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “You cook?”

He doesn’t look up. “You hungry or not?”

I raise a brow. “I didn’t say I wasn’t impressed.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

He shrugs one powerful shoulder. “Man’s gotta eat.”

“And here I thought you were the kind of guy who lived off whiskey and vengeance.”

That earns me a twitch of the lips. Not quite a smile, but close. “Whiskey doesn’t soak up blood like carbs do.”

My stomach flips for reasons that have nothing to do with the food.

I step into the kitchen and hover near the counter. “So…what is this?”

“Steak. Rice. Garlic butter green beans.”

“You make that sound like it’s normal, but it smells gourmet.”

“Been cooking since I was fifteen.” He flips the steak, and the sizzle makes me jump a little. “Didn’t have a mom around. Dad thought cooking was women’s work, so I taught myself. Kept me alive.”

I swallow. There’s something heavy in the air now. Something more than seasoning and oil.

“Is he still around?” I ask softly.

His jaw clenches. “No.”

“Do you—”

“No.”

Okay, no dad talk. Got it.

I reach for the green beans and start trimming them on instinct. He glances sideways but doesn’t stop me.

We work in silence for a few minutes, our elbows brushing once or twice. I feel the heat of his body beside mine. Controlled. Leashed. But still there. Thick and magnetic and impossible to ignore.

“Blaze said you were Navy,” I offer, trying again.

His hand stills on the spatula. Then he nods once. “SEAL.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t be impressed.”

“Why not?”

He turns to me, eyes darker than ever. “Because it’s not what people think. The training? Sure, it’s hell. But the missions? The things you see? The things you do?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t make you a hero. It makes you…something else.”

Something about the way he says it…the gravel in his voice, the flicker in his eyes…it makes my chest ache.

“Why’d you leave?”

“Got tired of watching good men die for men who didn’t deserve their loyalty.”

I nod slowly, words catching in my throat.

“And when I got out, I still needed something to fight for. Something to control. That’s how I ended up back here. Running a club full of broken men and trying to keep the whole damn world from imploding.”

He pauses, then tosses the spatula into the sink. “Dinner’s ready.”

He plates the food without ceremony and hands me a dish. I thank him and take it over to the small table by the window. We sit across from each other, the only sound the soft clink of forks and knives.

I take a bite and my eyes widen. “Holy shit. This is good.”

He smirks. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not what I expected from a guy who threatened to break bones less than two hours ago.”

“That offer still stands, by the way,” he says without missing a beat. “If those Sons of Decimation punks show their faces again.”

I believe him.

We eat in silence for a while, and somehow it’s not awkward. It’s…easy. Grounding. Comfortable in a way I didn’t know was possible.

After we’ve cleared the table, and he’s loaded the dishwasher, I glance at him and say, “Thank you.”

He frowns. “For what?”

“For not letting me go tonight. For feeding me. For not turning me away after what happened with…Wolf.”

He looks at me for a long beat. Then his voice drops low, husky. “You think I could’ve let you leave? After tonight?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the words dissolve.

And before I can think, breathe, move, he’s there. Towering yet warm. He raises his hands to my face, gently tilting my chin up until I’m looking at him.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the second you walked into the bar,” he says.

And then he kisses me.

God, he kisses me.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not tentative.

It’s fire and steel and the softest devastation I’ve ever known.

His mouth claims mine, and I fall into it like it’s the only solid thing in my life. His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and I swear the floor shifts beneath me. Like gravity bends for this. For us.

And then he’s lifting me, his big hands gripping my hips and setting me on the table with zero effort. The cool surface hits the backs of my thighs, and then he’s stepping between my legs, crowding me in, claiming space like it’s his birthright.

His mouth crashes back onto mine, and this time there’s nothing tentative about it.

It’s fire.

Dark. Demanding. Delicious.

His tongue sweeps in to taste me, sliding against mine in slow, deliberate strokes that make my toes curl.

I moan into his mouth, unable to help it, and his answering growl vibrates through my whole body.

The kiss turns frantic, greedy, like we’re both starving.

Like we’ve waited too long and now the dam’s finally breaking.

His hands skim up under my shirt, fingers splaying across my lower back, dragging me closer to the edge of the table. His heat is everywhere, between my thighs, on my skin, in my lungs.

“Rock…” I whisper, my breath hitching.

“Say it again.”

“Rock,” I repeat, sounding more desperate this time.

His mouth trails down, brushing hot kisses along my jaw, then lower to the curve of my neck. He bites. Not hard. Just enough to leave heat blooming under the skin. I gasp and cling tighter to his shoulders, nails digging into muscle.

“Fuck,” he mutters against my throat. “You taste so sweet. You smell like heaven and trouble and fuck me if I care about either.”

His words slide down my spine like warm whiskey, igniting everything in their path.

“I want to touch you,” he says, raising his eyes to mine even as his hand hovers above the zipper of my jeans.

He seems to be asking for permission or making a declaration. Or both.

I nod, my breath hitching as he unzips me and starts to tug down my jeans. I raise my hips, a little too eagerly, and then my legs are bare and the jeans are tossed aside. And my underwear is next.

And then he drops to his knees.

Just like that.

Drops to his knees in front of me like a man worshipping at an altar.

I stare down at him, breathless, thighs trembling slightly.

He grips my knees and pushes them apart, exposing my damp core.

I should be nervous, embarrassed…but I’m too far gone for either.

He doesn’t give me a second to doubt or catch my breath.

He just stares, dark eyes fixed between my thighs like he’s been waiting his whole damn life for this.

“Fuck, Piper,” he mutters, voice gravel-rough and reverent all at once. “Look at you. So goddamn perfect.”

I suck in a sharp breath, chest rising fast, my legs threatening to close from the intensity of his gaze. But he doesn’t let them.

He grips my thighs, strong fingers pressing into my skin, spreading me wider. Holding me open. His grip is possessive. Claiming. Like he already considers me his.

Then he lowers his mouth to me and all rational thoughts leave my head. The first swipe of his tongue sends lightning up my spine. I gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily. I grab his shoulders, needing something to hold on to, because holy hell…I’m not ready for the way he devours me.

His tongue circles my clit, licking slowly and deeply, savoring every inch, every gasp, every twitch. There’s nothing shy or hesitant about it. It’s filthy and intense.

His beard scrapes against the sensitive skin of my thighs as he sucks me into his mouth, tongue circling my clit with maddening precision. I cry out, head falling back, the pleasure hitting me fast and hard. I try to squirm, but his grip tightens, locking me in place.

“Don’t run from it, baby,” he rasps, the vibration of his lips against my folds intensifying the pleasure rushing through my veins. “Take it. Let me give it to you.”

And then he does.

Over and over, with relentless, hungry strokes of his tongue that push me higher until I’m shaking, panting, clinging to him like I’ll fall apart if I let go.

“Oh God…Rock…” I choke out, the pressure building fast, too fast.

“That’s it, baby. Let go for me.”

I break with a cry as an orgasm ripples through me like wildfire, scorching and sweet, leaving my body limp and twitching. My vision goes white, my thighs clamping around his head, and he groans like he loves it.

But he’s not done.

Not even close.

He pulls back only long enough to trail kisses up my belly, lifting my shirt as he goes. Then one thick finger slides between my folds, slick from my release, and he presses it slowly, gently inside me.

He suddenly goes still, his brows furrowing as he raises a questioning glance to me.

“Wait…” His voice drops an octave. “You—are you a virgin?”

I can’t speak. I just nod, lips parted, body still trembling in the aftermath of what he just did to me.

His expression shuts down, his eyes unreadable. My heart sinks and I grip the table tighter, bracing myself for the second rejection of the night.