ALPHA BIKER WHO CLAIMED HIS BROTHER'S MATE

18

MAYA’S POV:

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I breathed, the lie rolling off my tongue smoothly. My hands came up to rest against his chest, intending to push him away, but they just ended up curling into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re making me uncomfortable. I want you to leave. Right now.”

I had intended that to be a scream, but it came out in a small voice, almost like I meant the opposite. Because maybe I did.

But my body was a f*****g traitor. My heart was thumping a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs, so loud I was sure he could hear it. Even worse, that ache between my legs—the one I had been trying to suppress since the moment he hauled me back on deck that night—was back with a vengeance. It was making tiny, electrified jumps, wiring up my nervous system and begging for the very thing I was verbally rejecting.

It was exactly like that night. The spark. The pull. I was honestly proud of myself for not having ripped his shirt off every time we’d spoken since then. I needed him to go back to being an asshole—the cold, distant Alpha of the Iron Fang motorcycle club who treated me like a burden. I could handle that Rafe. The one who thought of me as property. He was disgusting, and I didn’t want him.

I could think with my head when he was a jerk, but right now, I was thinking entirely with my v****a. And I didn’t like what it wanted me to do.

Rafe leaned in closer, his scent filling my senses until I was lightheaded. He was so close that I felt his erection rest against my stomach. Then his lips grazed my ear again in that gravelly voice that drove me crazy every f*****g time.

“Even if you want to starve your stomach, Maya, you shouldn’t starve your p***y,” he murmured, his thumb stroking my jawline in a way that made my knees weak. “It hasn’t done anything to you. And I can treat it right. Better than anyone else ever has. Better than Jalen ever did. The fucker doesn’t know how to treat a woman, but I do.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping helplessly to his lips. They looked soft, full, and devastatingly inviting. I waited, every nerve ending screaming for him to just lean down and take what he wanted, to end this agonizing tension and drown out the noise in my head.

But he didn’t.

He smirked at me, retreating just an ounce so I’d stop breathing the air from his nostrils.

“I will never touch a woman without her permission,” he said. “I need you to say it. Tell me you want me, and I’ll treat you to a good time. One you won’t forget. Ever.”

Shame crawled down my neck, hot and stinging. He was making me say it. He was making me acknowledge the hunger I’d been trying to bury under layers of pride and anger. I glared at him for a second, my mouth opening to utter another denial, but the words died in my throat. I shut my eyes and shook my head, my pride putting up one last, pathetic fight.

Rafe didn’t argue. He simply released my jaw and took a step backward. Then another.

The loss of his scent made my body feel different. My legs began to shake, the sensation between them turning into a demanding throb. Inside, my wolf let out a pained, frustrated cry, mourning the distance and wanting nothing more than Rafe’s touch.

I looked at him—standing there, composed and waiting—and the wall inside me finally crumbled.

“I want you,” I whispered, then louder as my voice trembled with admission. “I want you to touch me.”

Rafe closed the space between us in a single stride, his massive frame pinning me back against the wall. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind my ear, his breath a scorching contrast to the cool wall at my back.

"Was that so difficult, darling?" he whispered, the gravel in his voice vibrating straight down to my toes.

Before I could even think of a retort, his hands were moving. His large, calloused palms slid up my thighs, hiking my dress up until the cool air hit my skin. I swallowed hard, my fingers curling instinctively into the muscles of his upper arms. I was caught in a whirlwind of indecision—should I throw my arms around him and pull him closer, or stay still?

He made the choice for me. His fingers bypassed the edge of my lace panties, sliding underneath to find the absolute ruin he had made of me. I gasped, my head thumping back against the wall as he discovered just how wet and ready I was.

"You are such a bad liar, darling," he murmured against my neck, sliding out his finger. Then, he shoved it in his mouth, licking his lips. "Never waste your heat. It’s a sin to keep this from me."

It made me salivate as I watched him.

Without warning, he slid two fingers inside me at once. The fullness was sudden, stretching me in a way that tore a broken whimper out of me.

"Does it hurt?" he breathed, pausing with his fingers still inside my walls.

"No," I choked out, my hips instinctively rolling forward, seeking more of that delicious friction. "No, Rafe... please."

He let out a low, dark chuckle that rumbled against my skin and began to move. His thumb found my c**t, rubbing in agonizingly perfect circles while his fingers pulsed inside me. The dual sensation was too much. Every single thing I had thought about him earlier today disappeared; this was all I wanted. I bucked my hips forward, f*****g his fingers.

My strength finally deserted me. My hands flew from his arms to his neck, wrapping around him tightly as I slumped against his chest, my body going completely weak. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, my teeth grazing his skin as a series of high, needy moans broke out of me.