Claimed By My Ex's Biker Brother

Chapter 10

Haven’s POV

“We should stop,” Major whispered, his forehead still resting against mine.

I stared into his eyes, trying to find a reason to step away from him. Yet there was no reason strong enough to make my feet move.

“Do you want to stop?” I asked again, my voice barely louder than the music around us.

His jaw tightened. He looked away for a second before returning his eyes to mine. “No.”

The honesty in his answer sent a strange warmth through my chest. “Then don't.”

His eyes searched mine. “Haven…”

“I know what I'm doing,” I whispered, even though a part of me wasn't sure I did.

He lifted his hand and slowly touched my cheek. The gentleness of it almost broke something inside me. Alden had made me feel unwanted, replaceable and foolish. But Major was looking at me as though I was the only person standing in this crowded room.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them, Major was watching me.

“Come with me,” he said.

My heart skipped. “Where?”

“Somewhere we can talk without fifty people listening.”

I almost laughed while tagging along with him, who held my hand as if scared that I would vanish if he let me be.

We drifted away from the party floor of the club. The bass still thumped through the walls, but the narrow side hallway we’d ended up in was darker, quieter, the air thicker.

People passed occasionally, laughing, heading to the bathrooms or the smoking area, but for a few seconds it felt like the party had left us alone.

I didn’t even remember what we were talking about anymore. All I focused on was how close he was standing, the heat of his body, the way his eyes kept dropping to my mouth.

My pulse raced; I felt it in my throat.

Every time his fingers brushed my cheek, it sent a little jolt straight through me.

I kept telling myself to pull back and drag us back into the crowd, but my body refused, as though it had a mind of its own. I wanted him closer so that his hands were on me. And he must have seen it on my face.

The next second, his palm was sliding along my waist, guiding me a little further into a shadowed corner near the emergency exit.

My back met the cool wall. His body followed, hovering over mine and pinning me there as if wanting to crush me.

The sudden contact made my breath catch.

Then came his voice, low, almost a warning. “Haven,” he said.

But before I could answer, his lips came crashing into mine.

The kiss was nothing like careful. It was hungry and desperate. His tongue slid against mine, and I made a soft, broken sound I couldn’t hold back.

Heat flooded me so fast my knees went weak. His hands were everywhere at once; one sliding up under the hem of my shirt, the other cupping the side of my neck, thumb wagging deeper into my mouth and leaving me almost breathless.

I arched into him without thinking. The hard line of his c**k pressed against my lower belly, and a helpless little whimper escaped me.

God, I was already wet. I felt it, the slick heat between my thighs, my inner pants cold from how soaked it was. Every shift of his body made the fabric drag against my c**t, and it was driving me insane.

His fingers slipped to my pelvis, and he pulled down my trousers in one move. He then found the edge of my panties and pushed them aside. The first brush of his fingertips over my bare, swollen folds made me gasp into his mouth, and he groaned as the feel of me wrecked him.

“f**k, you’re soaked,” he muttered against my lips.

I could only nod, hips rolling forward, chasing more of that touch. He gave it to me—two fingers brushed my dampness, circling my entrance, then pushing inside in one slow, deliberate thrust.

My head fell back against the wall. A shaky moan tore out of me. He curled those fingers just right, rubbing that perfect spot while his thumb found my c**t and pressed.

The hallway could have been full of people, and I wouldn’t have cared. All I felt was him: the stretch of his fingers, the heat of his mouth on my throat, the way his body caged me in like he never planned to let me go.

Pleasure coiled tight and fast in my lower belly. I was already close, embarrassingly close, just from his hand and the rough sound of his breathing against my skin.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, voice wrecked. “Please—”

He didn’t. He f****d me with his fingers harder, deeper, the wet sound of it filthy and perfect in the relative quiet. His mouth found mine again, swallowing the desperate little moans I couldn’t stop making.

When the orgasm hit, it slammed through me so hard my legs almost gave out. I clenched around his fingers, shaking, clinging to his shoulders while wave after wave of pleasure ripped me apart.

He kept working me through it until I was trembling. Then he pulled his hand free, brought his fingers to his mouth, and licked them clean while staring straight into my eyes.

The sight of it made my c**t retract.

I reached for his belt with clumsy, urgent hands. He helped me, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough.

His c**k sprang free. It was thick, hard, the cap already slick. I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked once, then twice.

He hissed through his teeth. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice rough with need.

I did, and he yanked my trousers down below my knees, dragged my panties down to my thighs, and then the blunt head of his c**k pressed against me.

One strong hand gripped my hip. The other braced beside my head on the wall. He pushed in slowly at first, letting me feel every inch as he stretched me open.

Then he started moving. Hard, deep thrusts that forced the air from my lungs. Each one dragged against every sensitive place inside me. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the hallway. I pushed back to meet him, needing more, needing it harder. His hand slid around to my front. He found my c**t again and began rubbing tight circles there.

I was gone. Completely lost in the raw, overwhelming pleasure, until contraction hit my lower belly.

I came with a broken cry. My yoni held him so tightly he cursed and drove into me even harder.

He followed a few thrusts later, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a low, guttural groan.

We stayed locked together for several long seconds, both breathing hard, his forehead pressed to the back of my neck. His hand was still splayed over my stomach, holding me against him like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Eventually he eased out. I felt the slow slide of him leaving me.

My legs were shaky. My whole body trembled.

He helped me fix my clothes, right from my panties to my loosened brassiere.

When I turned to face him, his eyes were dark, still hungry, but softer now.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

The club noise seemed louder again and reality was already trying to creep back in.

I reached up, touched his jaw, and kissed him once more, but slower this time. Then I stepped back, my heart still hammering, my body still aching for his touch.

“We should… go back,” I managed to say in a low tone.

He nodded, but the look he gave me made my mouth gather saliva once again.