Inside The Vultures’ Den
537 Words
The Harley’s growl carried them across town and out into the dark edge of Millbrook, where neon bled against the night sky. Harper clung to Ryder, her hair whipping loose in the wind, her body thrumming with equal parts nerves and anticipation. She should have been afraid. Instead, she pressed closer, letting the vibration of the bike sink into her bones.
The compound rose ahead—rows of bikes, a low brick building alive with music, laughter, and shadows flickering through the windows. Ryder cut the engine, swung off the Harley, and turned to her.
“Come on,” he said, offering his hand.
Her pulse skipped. “Ryder…”
“You’re with me,” he promised, steady and sure.
She slid her hand into his, and he led her inside.
The noise dulled when they crossed the threshold. Pool cues stilled, cards lowered, eyes followed. Ryder never brought women here. Not ever. And yet, Harper felt the weight of every stare as he guided her across the room, his arm possessive at her waist, daring anyone to comment.
He didn’t stop until they reached the far hallway. A heavy door opened under his hand, and then they were inside his private room.
It was simple—leather, wood, shadows—but Harper hardly noticed. Ryder had her pressed against the door before it even clicked shut. His mouth was on hers, fierce and hungry, his hands roaming her body like he couldn’t get enough.
Her breath broke against his lips. “Ryder—”
“You don’t get it,” he rasped, his voice rough as gravel. “I don’t bring women here. This is mine. My space. My brothers’ space. And I’m putting you in it. You know what that means?”
Her chest rose and fell, her mind screaming warnings, but her body already answered. “It means I’m yours.”
“Damn right.”
He kissed her again, harder, lifting her off her feet. She gasped as he carried her to the bed, dropping her onto the rumpled sheets with a strength that made her heart race. His weight pressed her down, heat and muscle and leather, his mouth trailing from her lips to her throat.
She arched against him, a moan slipping free when his teeth grazed her skin. His hand slid under her skirt, rough palm on soft skin, possessive, steady.
“Mine,” Ryder growled against her neck, biting gently. “Every inch of you. Mine.”
Her resistance melted. Fingers fisting in his vest, she pulled him closer, whispering the word that sealed it: “Yours.”
The room faded. The world outside—the gossip, the whispers, the danger—none of it mattered. All she knew was the heat of Ryder Lawson consuming her, the fire racing through her veins, the way she let go of every rule she’d ever lived by.
For once, she wasn’t the careful teacher. She wasn’t Millbrook’s good girl. She was just a woman, letting herself burn in the arms of a man who had never let anyone in before.
And as Ryder claimed her in the one place no other woman had ever been, Harper knew there was no going back.
- Writer
