Page 25 of My Protective Biker

He's looking at me like he wants to memorize every detail, like every curve is exactly what he's been wanting to see.

"Jesus," he says, voice rough and low. "Look at you."

His hands follow where his eyes just were.

Up my sides to cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples in slow circles that make my knees weak.

Then down over my stomach, not rushing past it or avoiding it but touching me deliberately, his palms warm against the soft skin there.

Lower to grip my hips, his fingers digging into flesh that gives under the pressure. He pulls me against him and I can feel how hard he is through his jeans, the thick length of him pressing into my stomach.

"Get on the bed," he tells me.

I climb onto the mattress and turn to watch him strip. He pulls his t-shirt over his head slowly because of the bandaging and I get my first real look at his bare chest.

Broad and solid with a scatter of dark hair, thick arms corded with muscle, the white bandaging on his left shoulder stark against tanned skin.

His hands go to his belt and I watch him unbuckle it and shove his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

Then he's naked too and I see all of him for the first time. The defined lines of his abdomen, the V of muscle leading down to where he's hard and thick and ready, jutting up toward his stomach.

He's bigger than I expected and for a second I wonder if this is going to work.

Then he's on the bed settling between my thighs and I stop thinking about anything except the weight of him and the heat of his skin against mine.

His mouth finds my neck and he bites down hard enough to sting.

I gasp and he does it again lower, sucking the skin into his mouth and marking me deliberately. His tongue soothes each spot before he moves to the next, working his way down to my collarbone.

"Want you to see these tomorrow," he says against my skin. "Want you to remember exactly how you got them."

His hand slides between my legs and I'm already wet, slick and ready. He groans when his fingers find me.

"Christ, you're soaked."

His fingers slide through my wetness, exploring and learning.

He finds my clit and circles it with firm steady pressure and I moan, my hips rocking up into his hand seeking more. He keeps the pressure consistent and I'm already trembling, my hands gripping his shoulders.

Then his fingers slide lower and push inside me.

Two of them, thick and calloused and exactly what I need. The stretch makes me gasp and he stops immediately, letting me adjust to the intrusion.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Don't stop."

He starts moving, slow pulls almost all the way out before sliding back in deep.

The drag of his fingers inside me is intense and when he curls them and finds the spot that makes my vision go white I cry out.

"Right there," I manage. "Don't—don't stop doing that."

He doesn't. He works that spot with deliberate focus while his thumb finds my clit again, the dual sensation building fast. I'm already climbing, the pleasure coiling tighter with every movement of his hand.

"That's it," he says, watching my face. "Let me watch you fall apart."

The orgasm hits sudden and hard, ripping through me with enough force that my back arches off the bed. My inner muscles clench rhythmically around his fingers and I'm making sounds I can't control, high and desperate.