Page 35 of Her Possessive Biker

Dear God.

My moan breaks free. I’ve never been so full. Never been so claimed.

He groans behind me, voice rough.

“Fucking hell, Angel.”

“More,” I whisper. “Please.”

“You sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes. I want it.”

“I’m not stopping.”

“Then don’t.”

He moves. Thrusts.

One long, hard stroke that leaves me gasping.

Then another. And another.

His rhythm is punishing. Possessive.

And perfect.

I can’t move. Can’t speak. I can only feel him driving into me, claiming me with every snap of his hips.

“This tight little pussy,” he grits. “Mine.”

His palm strikes my ass.

Once.

Twice.

It only makes me cry out more. I don’t even care. I want it. Want him.

His hands are everywhere. Gripping, guiding, marking.

His words are filth and fire.

And I take it all.

Every inch. Every thrust. Every possessive groan at my ear.

He pushes me past the edge. Once, twice, until I break around him.

And when he follows, it’s with a roar that shakes something loose in my soul.

We collapse together, tangled and spent.

And still, he holds me like he’s afraid I might vanish.

Like I’m his whole world.

Chapter 11