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I nod, unable to speak. I want him more than anything I've ever wanted. He's been so closed off, so distant, but now he was finally here with me. I feel like I'm dreaming.
He moves his hand between my legs. "Liam," I gasp out, my voice low and husky. "Please."
He doesn't need any more encouragement. He unzips my jeans and slides them down my legs as I step out of them. His hands gently trail up the length of my legs. He slides his fingers inside me, and I let out a sharp intake of breath. His fingers move inside me, teasing and pleasuring me in a way that makes my whole body come alive. I run my hands through his hair, holding him close as I feel myself begin to drift closer and closer to the edge.
His fingers move faster, causing me to groan loudly. I'm getting so close. I can feel it. I don't want this to end.
Liam leans in, and I kiss him deeply. His cock is pressed against my core, and I know he wants me just as much as I want him. I break the kiss, my eyes locked on his, my voice thick with desire.
"Liam," I whisper, "please, I want you inside me."
He doesn't hesitate and unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans, releasing his throbbing cock. He moves between my legs, sliding inside me in one smooth, swift motion. I cry out, feeling his length fill me up completely. He's so big, so perfect.
He starts to move in and out of me in a rhythm that's both tender and fierce. I can feel every inch of him inside me, driving me wild. He starts to move faster, pounding into me with a ferocity that's both exciting and overwhelming. I feel myself building towards something more intense than I've ever experienced before.
I feel my body tense up, and I know I'm close. I arch my back, moaning his name as I fall apart around him. He follows me over the edge, filling me with his seed.
As our kiss breaks, a stunned silence envelops us. I have just had the most intense, and overwhelming sexual experience of my young life. My heart pounds against my ribcage, echoing in the hushed room. I can still feel the warmth of Liam’s lips, the pressure of his hands, now retreating from my waist.
He steps back, a shadow crossing his face, as if he's just come back to reality. The air between us crackles with the unspoken realization of what we’ve just done. I can see a war raging behind his eyes – a battle between what he feels and what he believes he should do.
His voice, when he finally speaks, is rough and strained. "This… this can’t happen again, Emma." He looks away as he speaks, as if it's too difficult to face me now. "It’s too risky – for both of us."
I nod, even though I want to tell him he’s wrong. That it was too late, that something has already changed. But the words get lost, tangled up in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.
The moment is shattered by the sound of distant laughter and voices drifting towards us from the main area of the club. It’s a jarring reminder of the world beyond this secluded room – a world where I'm a journalist, and he's a member of a motorcycle club. A world where what just happened between us is a complication neither one of us can afford.
Liam quickly composes himself, adjusting his jacket as if to put back on his armor. He moves to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. For a fleeting second, I think he might say something more, but he doesn’t. Without another word or glance, he steps out, leaving me alone with my conflicted emotions.
I take a moment to steady my breathing, to try and quiet the swirling thoughts in my head. What doesthismean for my article, for the story I came here to find? With shaky legs, I make my way to the door, stepping back into the club's main hall. The sounds and sights of the club hit me like a wave, so normal and yet so foreign now. As I blend into the crowd, the only thing I know for certain is that both my assignment and my life had just become infinitely more complicated.
1
EMMA
3weeks earlier.
I try to tune out the buzz of the newsroom as I fixate on the newspaper headline:'Local MC Spreads Love to Orphanage on Valentine's Day'
The word'orphans'resonates with me, stirring a deeply personal connection.
With determination, I approach my editor’s office. The urgency within me is palpable. begin without preamble as I enter, “This story, about the Angel Riders MC, I have a personal angle on it. I grew up in an orphanage. This is more than just a piece to me.”
My editor pauses, considering my words. “Emma, this could be just a feel-good piece. Why take it on?”
I meet his gaze squarely. “Because I understand what this gesture means to those kids. It's a story that deserves more than just surface-level attention.”
The words spill out of me, more forceful than I had intended. "I was one of those kids once. I know what it's like to grow up in an orphanage, wondering if anyone out there cares about you." My voice softens, "This story... it's personal. I need to tell it."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Alright, Emma. It's yours. But remember, we need a good angle. Human interest, something that tugs at the heartstrings."
A surge of gratitude washes over me. "Thank you. You won't regret it," I promise, already turning towards the door, my mind racing with possibilities.
As I step back into the cacophony of the newsroom, a sense of purpose fills me. This wasn’t just another assignment for me. It's a journey back to a part of myself I thought I'd left behind. And I'm ready to face it head-on.
Back at my desk, the clamor of the newsroom fades into the background as I dive into research. The Angel Riders MC, a name that conjures images of leather jackets and roaring engines, now linked with acts of unexpected kindness. My screen fills with articles, forum posts, and photos, painting a picture of a club wrapped in contradiction.
I click through photo after photo – bikers with tattoos and tough expressions, juxtaposed with images of them handing out toys and books to wide-eyed kids. Each picture tells a story, but the full narrative feels just out of reach.
