Page 10 of Her Outlaw Biker (Vanishing With the Rebel #2)

Ghost

I’m dreaming.

But it’s not the usual kind. No gunfire. No blood. No echo of my past sins.

This dream feels like something out of another life—someone else’s, maybe, or a version of mine I lost a long time ago.

We’re at a wooden table, worn but sturdy. There’s a half-eaten pie in the center, laughter echoing off the walls. My mom’s wiping her hands on a dish towel, rolling her eyes at my dad’s terrible joke. My grandfather chuckles, shaking his head like he’s heard it a thousand times before.

And then there’s Clover.

She’s across from me, barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of those soft sundresses I never knew I liked until I saw her in one. She’s laughing, full and unrestrained, a sound that makes something deep in my chest settle. She looks over at me, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with joy.

Home.

That’s what this is.

It isn’t the cabin or the woods or the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the background. It’s her. It’s this.

I don’t ever want to wake up.

But I do.

I open my eyes slowly, the dream slipping away like smoke, soft and warm, leaving its scent behind in my chest. I blink into the dim early light and the first thing I see is Clover, propped up on one elbow, watching me like she’s been doing it a while.

Her fingers trace slow patterns on my chest, her golden hair messy from sleep, lips curved into a soft, knowing smile.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice still thick with sleep.

She leans in, brushes her nose against mine. “You were smiling in your sleep.”

“Was I?”

She nods. “Must’ve been a good dream.”

“It was,” I say, lifting a hand to her cheek. “It was, in fact, a great dream.”

I pull her down into a kiss, slow and sweet, like I’ve got nowhere else to be, like the world can wait a little longer. Maybe it can.

Her body fits perfectly against mine, bare skin against bare skin, warmth curling between us like an unspoken promise. She hums into my mouth, one leg sliding between mine.

My hand glides down her back, savoring the soft curve of her hips, savoring the feel of her so close after the night we had. My muscles ache in all the right ways, and my body remembers every inch of hers.

We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times, like our bodies wrote the instructions for how to fit, how to need, how to want. It’s lazy and affectionate, the kind of intimacy that doesn’t rush.

But even with her lips on mine, I can feel something shift. She’s here, but not all here…

When I pull back, her eyes are softer…but they’re guarded. Distant.

“You okay?” I ask, brushing my thumb along her jaw.

She nods, but I can see it. She’s not. Not entirely. There’s a storm swirling behind those pretty emerald eyes. I slide my arm around her waist, tugging her closer until she’s tucked against me. Her skin is warm, bare, and soft. A flush creeps up her neck, and I smirk.

“Last night wasn’t too much for you, was it?” I tease, lowering my voice against her ear.

She lets out a breathy laugh, burying her face in my chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm. That’s not a no.”

We fall into a moment of quiet. Her fingers trace absent lines along my ribs, but that tension hasn’t left her body. I can feel it.

“You thinking about your dad?” I ask.

She pulls back just enough to look at me. “No,” she says softly. “I mean…I know he’s okay. You told me he is, and I believe you.”

I nod, rubbing a hand down her back. “He is. I pulled strings with an old contact in northern Utah. Got your dad on a safe route out of the state—no MC eyes on it. He’s in a quiet little town now, out near a Navajo reserve.

Friend of mine owes me, keeps him off the grid and in rehab at the best facility.

He’s got a burner with one line only—you can talk to him whenever you want. ”

Her eyes well up with emotion. “Thank you so much. I don’t…” She trails off, blinking back her tears. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Clover. You’re mine to love and protect.”

She presses her palm over my heart, like she’s trying to feel how steady it is. “I wasn’t worried about my dad, though,” she whispers.

My brow furrows. “Then what is it?”

“You.” Her voice trembles. “I was so scared last night. I kept picturing what could happen to you, what if you didn’t come back. And even now…it’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like you’ll just leave one day and…disappear.”

I sit up slightly, cupping her face with both hands. “Hey. Look at me.”

She does, her eyes glassy and vulnerable and fierce all at once.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “I swear to you, Clover. I’m done with that life. No more jobs, no more running. No more near-death missions. I made it out. For good this time.”

She bites her lip. “But what if they come for you again?”

“They won’t. I burned the bridge clean. Anyone left standing knows better than to follow me.”

She brushes her thumb over my lips. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “I didn’t have a reason before. I was just drifting, doing what I was trained to do, living like a damn ghost while waiting to die.” My voice drops to a gravelly whisper. “But now I’ve got you. And I’ll be damned if I ever leave you wondering where I am or if I’m coming back.”

Her breath catches, and I pull her closer.

“I’ve got plans,” I murmur. “Real ones. There’s a patch of land waiting for us up in Montana, surrounded by trees and nothing else. I can build something there. A home. Solar panels, well water, satellite comms. Off-grid, safe, ours. I want that life with you, Clover.”

Her eyes glisten. “You mean it?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

She kisses me, soft and slow, like she’s tasting a future. And for the first time in years, it feels like I’ve got one. Her eyes search mine for a beat, her fingers curling lightly into my chest like she’s bracing for something deeper.

“I want more than just survival, Jack.” she says quietly.

My mouth drops open at the sound of that name I haven’t used in so long. Coming from her lips, it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. And it makes sense—I’m not a ghost anymore. Don’t want to be.

My grin gets bigger and bigger as she continues, “I want to live. Really live…with you. Not just hiding in cabins or fixing bikes in the middle of the night.” She hesitates, eyes shimmering with hope.

“I want a future. A home. Maybe a porch swing. Kids that look like both of us. And…maybe a few cats.”

I blink. “Cats?”

She giggles, and the sound curls around my ribs like a damn tether. “Yes, cats. The scrappy ones no one else wants.”

“You don’t strike me as a cat person, Clover.”

“I’m full of surprises,” she says, nudging me with her foot. “Be serious.”

“I am.” I shift closer, tucking a golden strand of hair behind her ear. “You really see all that? With me?”

Her expression softens, all the fire and sweetness of her poured into a single look. “Yeah. I do.”

I take a deep breath and cup her face, my thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

“Then that’s what we’ll have,” I say, my voice low and fierce. “A porch swing, scrappy cats, and wild little kids with your sweetness and my bad attitude.”

She laughs through the tears that slip down her cheeks, and before she can say another word, I lean in and kiss her, deep and slow, like I’m sealing a promise with my mouth.

When I finally pull back, our foreheads rest together, our breaths tangled.

“I want it all too,” I murmur. “Every bit of it. A real life. With you.”

I feel her smile as she kisses me back, but the moment shifts. The kiss turns hungrier, her hands sliding up my chest, her thighs brushing mine beneath the covers. The tension in her body is not nervous, but electric, like she’s been holding back.

So have I. And now, I don’t want to hold back a goddamn thing.

I roll her beneath me, watching her eyes go wide as I settle between her legs. The sheet slips from her body, baring her to me completely. The sun rays filtering in from the slightly parted curtains kiss every inch of her bare skin, flushed cheeks, parted lips.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

I drag my knuckles down her side, just watching her breathe.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” I murmur.

“Then show me.”

Her challenge hits me like a match to gasoline.

I dip my head and kiss down her neck, slow and reverent.

Her fingers twist into my hair, tugging as I trace her collarbone, then the swell of her breast. Her breath catches when I circle her nipple with my tongue, and I smile against her skin when she arches up to me, already trembling.

“I love how sensitive you are,” I rasp. “Like your body’s begging for me.”

“Jack…” Her voice is a plea and a warning. Her legs fall open in invitation, hips rocking up against me. She’s so ready, hot and wet and shaking beneath me.

“Say it again, baby.” I kiss down her stomach, savoring the way she squirms and tries to chase my mouth. “Say my name.”

“Jack, please,” she begs.

I grin, rewarding her by swiping my tongue over her clit and making her gasp so loud it punches right into my chest. She’s panting now, thighs trembling, clutching at the sheets as I take my time.

I taste every inch of her, not stopping until she’s crying my name, again and again, voice cracking as she falls apart on my tongue.

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

I slide a finger inside her. She buckles, letting out a breathy moan, her hot, slick walls gripping my finger tight. I hear myself growl like a fucking beast, my hips flexing as if my cock is buried inside her instead of thrusting against her thigh.

Fuck.

I force breath into my lungs, doing my best to relax. I stroke her, sliding a second finger inside her, stretching her. “Soon, my cock is going to be inside you, little bird, stroking you just like this.”

She shivers, her body stretching taut. I gather her body’s moisture, then withdraw my fingers and rub the silky wetness over her clit, the little pink bud swollen from my touch. Then I penetrate her again, sliding my fingers in and out, taking care to catch her clit with each deep stroke.

Her fingers dig into my back, her breath coming out in ragged pants as I keep up the rhythm. Her face is turned against my chest, her eyes squeezed shut, her body tight with tension that seems to arc through her and into me, shooting straight to my groin.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I say, my words coming out in urgent whispers as I flick her nipples with my tongue, unable to keep my mouth off her. My cock is so hard it aches. “I want to fuck you so bad it hurts.”

She gasps, seeming to hold her breath as the tension inside her peaks and shatters. She comes with a shaky sigh, her inner muscles clenching around my fingers, a look of excruciating pleasure on her beautiful face.

I ride through it with her, keeping my rhythm steady, trying to make her pleasure last. I trail kisses over her breasts, her throat, her lips, as the quaking inside her slowly fades.

And then finally, I move up and slide into her, slow and deep and maddening. She moans my name, arms wrapping tight around my shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

I thrust once, long and deliberate, and she whimpers, her forehead pressing to mine.

“Look at me,” I demand, voice guttural. “I want to see you.”

Her eyes lock with mine, wide and glistening with lust, pleasure and something else—something warm and beautiful.

“I love you, Jack,” she whispers, breathless.

“I love you too, my little bird.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, but I cut it off with a kiss, one that turns bruising, desperate. Our bodies fall into a rhythm, hips grinding, sweat slicking our skin. The world falls away, and it’s just her. Her moans. Her touch. Her everything.

She clenches around me and cries out, shattering all over again. I follow seconds later, groaning against her neck, emptying every piece of myself into her.

When I collapse beside her, heart pounding, she curls into me without a word. Her skin’s still flushed, her fingers tracing lazy circles over my chest. I pull her close, fisting my hand in her hair as I kiss her temple.

“I mean it,” I whisper. “You’re my reason now. My whole damn life.”

She doesn’t say anything back. She doesn’t have to. She’s already given me everything.