Page 5 of Her Possessive Biker (Savage Kings MC #2)
Cassie
H e carries me down the hall, every step a promise, a threat, a vow. I feel the tension coiled in his chest, the heat in his skin. When we reach the bedroom, he doesn’t pause. He kicks the door open, crosses the threshold like he owns the night, and sets me down on the bed— roughly. Possessively.
Like I’m his. Because I am.
I sit there, breathing fast, heart pounding as he straightens and looks down at me like he could devour me whole.
“Off,” he growls, eyes locked on my T-shirt.
I blink. “What?”
“Clothes, Angel. Take them off.”
My breath hitches, heat rushing up my spine. But my fingers move. Slowly, I grab the hem of the shirt. My heart slams against my ribs as I pull it over my head and let it fall to the floor.
He freezes.
The air between us thickens as his eyes drag over me, my bare chest rising and falling with each breath, my skin prickling under the weight of his stare. He doesn’t reach for me.
Not yet.
“Bra?” he asks, voice low and full of gravel.
I nod once. “Yes.”
He steps closer, fingers brushing my sides before unhooking the clasp. The straps slide down my arms. The bra falls.
His growl is low. Hungry.
He kneels in front of me, hands finding the waistband of my leggings.
“Wait,” I whisper, pulse pounding.
He stills instantly. “You tell me to stop, and I stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I say, cheeks burning. “I’ve just… never done this before.”
His eyes sharpen, flicking up to mine. “Cass.”
I swallow. “I’m a virgin.”
Silence. And then, that growl again— rougher this time. His hands stay gentle, but his voice is anything but.
“You sure you want it to be me?”
“Yes.” I breathe. “I only want you.”
He exhales like the breath’s been punched out of him.
“Then I’ll go slow,” he says, voice thick with restraint. “I’ll go careful. I’ll worship you, Angel. But I need you to tell me if anything hurts. You got me?”
I nod, eyes wide.
“No. Say it.”
“I’ve got you.”
His lips brush mine. “Good girl.”
And then he moves again.
He peels my leggings down inch by inch, kissing my knees, the inside of my thighs, the curve of my hip. His fingers trail heat across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Then, slowly, reverently, he slides my panties down. They whisper past my thighs and fall to the floor.
When I’m bare beneath him, he just looks.
And I swear he stops breathing.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re… everything .”
My cheeks flush, but I don’t shy away. Not from him.
He straightens, gaze raking over every inch of me. Then he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
His jeans follow. Then his underwear.
Every inch of him is cut from fire and fury and want.
He’s massive. Hard. Mine.
I don’t even have time to be nervous. Because all I can feel is him. His presence, his heat, the gravity of what we’re about to do.
He climbs over me slowly, muscles bunching under bronzed skin. One arm plants beside my head, the other brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he murmurs.
I shiver. “Promise?”
His mouth crashes back to mine in answer.
And this time… he doesn’t stop.
His mouth takes mine again, deep and consuming. There’s no hesitation now, no teasing. It’s heat and need, raw and hungry, and I open for him like I was made to.
He kisses like he touches—with purpose. His hand cradles the back of my head, the other sliding down my waist, steady and warm and everywhere. When his palm finds my bare thigh, he groans into my mouth like he’s the one coming undone.
“You feel this?” he whispers against my lips, dragging his fingers slowly along my skin. “This pussy is mine now.”
My breath hitches. “Yours.”
His forehead presses to mine again. “Say it louder.”
“My pussy is yours, Holt.”
He growls, low and rough like gravel, and his mouth moves to my throat.
He kisses, licks, nips, and I arch beneath him without thinking.
My body is no longer mine. It answers only to him.
Heat coils low in my belly as his mouth travels down, over the swell of my breast, tongue teasing over my nipple until I cry out and clutch his shoulders.
“So sensitive,” he murmurs, voice thick with something close to reverence. “You gonna come apart on me before I’m even inside you, Angel?”
I want to answer, but I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.
He kisses lower. Past my ribs. My stomach. Down to where I’m already aching.
“Tell me if this is too much,” he says.
Then his mouth is on me.
I cry out, high and broken, my hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands.
Holt moans into me like the taste of my pussy is a reward for every dark mission, every fight, every lonely night.
He licks and sucks, slow at first, then with that same unrelenting intensity that’s wrapped around me since the second we met.
“You’re sweet,” he growls. “Fucking perfect.”
My thighs tremble. My hips lift off the bed. Pleasure builds so fast I can’t brace for it. And when it breaks—
It shatters me.
I gasp his name, voice breaking, and he doesn’t stop until I’m twitching, overwhelmed, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes from the sheer force of it.
He pulls back, beard damp, eyes dark with pride and possession.
“Never had a man do that for you either, did you?” he rasps.
I shake my head, breathless. “No one ever…”
He smirks, wicked and soft all at once. “Damn right they didn’t.”
“I want you,” I whisper. “Inside. Now.”
“You’re going to have to breathe through this,” he says, climbing back over me. “But I’ll go slow. You tell me the second you need me to stop.”
I nod, heart pounding. He strokes my cheek. Kisses my temple. Kisses my throat. My shoulder. Lower. Everywhere.
When I feel him press against me, I tense.
“Eyes on me,” he says, gaze locked to mine. “You can take me. You were made for this. For me.”
I breathe. I trust him. I relax my legs and wrap them around his waist.
He pushes in slowly—inch by inch—his forehead pressed to mine, his jaw clenched tight like it’s taking every ounce of control he’s got not to drive in all the way.
I feel the sting. The stretch. It’s sharp, but it’s not unbearable.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Just a little more.”
When he’s fully inside me, he stays still. Breathing hard. His arms tremble slightly with restraint.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
I nod, clinging to him. “It’s… a lot.”
“I know, Angel.” He kisses my cheek. “You let me know when you’re ready.”
It takes a few seconds. I adjust. The burn fades, replaced by an aching fullness that makes my breath catch.
I shift my hips. “I’m ready.”
He draws back, slowly, then slides in again.
And again.
And again.
The rhythm builds, gentle at first. Careful. But each thrust drags a new sound out of me. Each time he fills me, the stretch starts to feel good. Better than good. Sparks light up my spine. My nerves ignite.
I moan—loud, desperate—and his body shudders .
“Angel,” he rasps. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”
He moves faster, deeper, his weight pinning me to the bed in all the best ways. The way he moves inside me feels like a prayer, like a promise, like a man finding his home.
“I’ve wanted this,” he growls, lips at my throat, “for so damn long.”
“Ohh,” I gasp, arching into him.
His mouth finds mine again, and this time it’s slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to crawl inside my soul.
And when I feel that second wave build, faster than the first, harder, he knows.
“Let go for me,” he grits. “Come for me, Angel.”
I do.
Harder than before.
My whole body tightens around him, and he snaps.
His rhythm breaks. He drives in deep, one final thrust, and groans my name as he comes—head buried in my neck, arms locked around me like he’ll never let go.
The world stills.
All I hear is the thunder of our breathing and the beat of his heart against mine.
He doesn’t move for a long time.
Neither do I.
Eventually, he lifts his head, brushes sweat-soaked hair from my face, and kisses me once more. Soft this time. Tender. Full of everything he doesn’t say.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I smile. “Yeah.”
He pulls the blanket over us. His arms wrap around me again. And I swear I’ve never felt more his than I do right now.
Safe. Claimed. Wanted.
Maybe even loved.