My Alphas Are Bikers

Chapter 3: The Kiss Was Desperate

—Nitasha’s POV—

I wasn't heading to the garage.

That's what I kept telling myself—time and time again—each statement a falsehood I gulped down like ice, sharp and bitter as I crept down the stairwell in silence. My hoodie was up over my chin, the bottom hem flicking over the tops of my thighs as I hurried along, my sneakers softly whispering over the wet stone of the dormitory steps. Midnight had swallowed the campus whole, cloaking the buildings in a velvet hush broken only by the wind, cutting through the bare trees like a blade. It stung the skin beneath my clothes, sharp and knowing, like it could smell the wrongness in the air—like it was trying to warn me.

Turn back. You’re not ready. You’re not going to come back the same. I ignored it.

My breathing was shallow. My fingers curled. I reminded myself that I didn’t need to see him. This was about getting answers—finding clarity—not about him. Not about how his voice still echoed deep inside me, filling places I hadn’t even known were there.

Not the way he spoke my name like it was a secret only he understood.

Enzo's name reverberated in my head like a curse. Like a fever. Like a door creaking open to a room I had never realized I'd been locked out of until he came through it. Two days. That's all it was. Two days since he gazed at me like I was his. Since he uttered mine—one word, hard and absolute—and somehow everything shifted.

I couldn't think. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't breathe properly without picturing him looming too near, his gaze tracing over me like flames devouring their way across paper. I felt… being watched. Stalked. Not with fear, not really. It felt more like anticipation—a charged stillness, like the breath held just before lightning strikes, the hush before a scream.

The garage lay far beyond the main stretch of campus, past the training fields and gym, a squat concrete structure wedged between leafless trees and a sagging chain-link fence. The path there was empty, silent. Even the lamps seemed dimmed, casting everything in a deep, blue-black haze, like the remnants of a forgotten dream. I told myself it would be locked. That I’d try the door, find it sealed tight, and walk away with at least a shred of dignity intact.

But the steel door stood slightly open, and I slipped inside.

The heat hit first—dense and unexpected, thick with scent: oil and worn leather, smoke, and something wilder beneath it all. Something breathing. It was a man's room, full of metal and grime, vibrating with pent-up aggression. Flickering overhead lights hung above like ancient lanterns, casting golden waves across the concrete. In a line along the back wall, a group of black motorcycles huddled in the darkness like dozing panthers, their bodies shining with chrome that glinted like teeth in the dark.

Enzo was standing without a shirt.

Leaning over the open entrails of a dismantled bicycle, arms greased and slick, his hands deep in the knotted blackness of the engine. His back was a sculpted weapon, all rippled muscle and tensed power, curving and twisting with every movement. Ink mapped his skin in twisted tales—runes, wolves, barbed chains that curled across his shoulder and down his spine like a threat. Or perhaps a map. A catalog of all he'd endured.

I couldn't budge. Couldn't think beyond the thunder in my ears, the way my breath caught behind my ribs. I should have left. Should have turned on a heel and vanished before—

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" His words slammed like a match to stone. He didn't even glance up. Just wiped his hands on a stained rag as if he had all the time in the world, as if he'd known I'd be standing there before I did.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. "I want answers," I said, attempting to sound strong, steady. But my voice cracked like glass underfoot, the tremor giving me away.

That's when he turned. And I knew—knew—I was in trouble.

God, he was gorgeous the way wolves are gorgeous—wild and merciless, constructed of rough edges and unattainable elegance. His jaw was a knife, his mouth carved out of sin, and his eyes… they were silver and lightning, shining from within like something inhuman peered through them. He regarded me as if he saw everything. And desired everything.

"You're not prepared for them," he told me flatly, as if it was a given, not an insult.

"I didn't travel all the way here for riddles." I clenched my fists behind my back. "What's happening to me? Why do I feel this way around you?" My voice was stronger now, firmer. But beneath, I was trembling.

Something flashed behind his eyes, hunger and regret. A tempest repressed by a thread. He took three long steps toward me and stopped short of reaching out and touching me. Close enough that the air between us sizzled like a spark of electricity.

"Because your wolf is waking up." The words didn't compute. At first.

"…My what?"

He didn't wince. Didn't grin. "You think it's just chemistry?" he said, his voice falling into something deep and charged. “You think I haven’t been fighting this since the moment we met? You have no idea what I’ve been holding back.”

He closed in then, so near I could feel the warmth of him in my marrow. His breath tickled my cheek, gentle and burning all at once.

"Each time you're around me, I must chain my wolf," he whispered. "I must put the piece of me that wishes to mark you beneath. Mark you. Here. Now. In front of the entire damn world."

The words hit me like a bolt of lightning to the vertebrae. I stepped back, throat constricting with fear—but my flight was stopped. My spine struck something hard and unyielding. A locker? A workbench? I had no idea. Couldn't think beyond the flush of heat through me, the thudding in my blood.

"You're crazy," I gasped.

His arms rose slowly, crossing on either side of me—not touching, but enclosing me in.

"Perhaps," he whispered. "But I am not alone in losing control."

I resented the fact that he was correct. The air between us was a thunderhead about to erupt. Each breath was too boisterous, each moment thinned to tautness with expectation. His nose brushed the hollow of my throat, sending a shiver rippling through me.

"You smell like wildfire and first snow," he whispered, almost in awe. "No one smells like that."

I didn't get it. Any of it. But something inside me did. Deep within me. Bone deep. Like something ancient and dormant in me was beginning to awaken.

"Enzo…" I spoke his name involuntarily. As if it had been dragged from my lungs without my say-so.

And that was it. He growled—a low, raw sound, one that rumbled up from the bottom of his chest.

His hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could catch my breath, his lips crashed into mine in a kiss that was both wild and intoxicating. At first, his mouth moved over mine with a teasing softness, the faintest brush of his lips sending sparks through my veins. Then, with a low growl, he nipped at my lower lip—just hard enough to make me gasp.

The sound only seemed to urge him on. I melted into him, parting my lips in silent surrender, and he didn’t hesitate. His tongue swept into my mouth, hot and demanding, tangling with mine in a rhythm that was desperate yet perfectly synchronized. Every stroke, every flick, sent waves of heat pooling low in my stomach. Our kiss deepened, tongues sliding and twisting in a feverish dance—neither of us willing to pull away, both lost in the raw hunger between us.

My fingers traced the hard planes of his chest, slick with sweat, every ridge and scar a testament to battles fought and endured. I couldn’t stop touching him—didn’t want to. His kiss consumed me, stealing my breath, my thoughts, until there was nothing but the heat of his mouth and the hammering of my pulse. When we finally broke apart, gasping and wrecked, he didn’t retreat. Instead, he pressed his forehead to mine, his ragged breaths mingling with mine, as if this fragile thing between us—this raw, trembling something—might dissolve if we dared to let go.

"I'm not safe for you," he whispered, the words trembling slightly, as if they'd cost him something to utter.

He paused and looked at me.

“But I’d burn down this whole f**king world to keep you.”