One Night With The Biker

Chapter 7

RATED 18!!!

Summer’s POV

“You’ve been asking questions all evening.”

“And you’ve been dodging half of them.”

“I have.”

“Doesn’t that get exhausting?”

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

“Not when the questions are interesting.”

I folded my arms.

“So… am I interesting?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at me.

Really looked at me.

“You’ve been through something today.”

That wasn’t the answer I’d expected.

“I can tell.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t have to.”

We reached the office door, but instead of opening it immediately, he leaned one shoulder against the frame.

“You walked in carrying something heavier than your purse.”

I let out a small laugh.

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“I’m observant.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

His eyes stayed on mine.

“You smiled tonight.”

“I did.”

“But every time you thought no one was looking…”

My smile faded without my permission.

“…it disappeared.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“I know.”

“I just…”

I looked down at the oversized shirt I was still wearing.

“I had a terrible day.”

“I know.”

“I was supposed to be going home with someone.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“He chose someone else.”

The words sounded smaller out loud.

“I watched him kiss her.”

The hallway suddenly felt very quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

No pity.

No dramatic speech.

Just two words.

They somehow meant more than a paragraph would have.

I laughed softly.

“You know what’s embarrassing?”

“What?”

“I’ve spent the whole evening talking to a man whose face I haven’t even seen.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

“I know.”

I shook my head.

“I should probably have better judgment.”

“Probably.”

“But…”

I smiled.

“…you haven’t given me a reason to leave.”

For the first time all night, his smile reached his eyes completely.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

He opened the door to another room, holding it for me.

I stepped inside, and he followed a moment later, leaving the door slightly ajar.

The room felt even quieter than the first.

Outside, the muffled sound of music drifted through the walls.

Inside…

Just us.

I wandered toward the bookshelf, pretending to study the framed photographs.

“You don’t talk much.”

“I talk when I have something worth saying.”

“So you’re saying I don’t deserve the words?”

His laugh was low.

“I’m saying you ask enough questions for both of us.”

I turned to face him.

“You know…”

“What?”

“I still don’t know your name.”

“You know what everyone calls me.”

“I want the one your mother gave you.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“And why is that?”

I shrugged, trying to appear casual.

“Because I’d rather remember you as a person than a title.”

Something changed in his expression.

Softened.

“You’ve been thinking about me already?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Maybe.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“‘Maybe’?”

I groaned, covering my face with one hand.

“There goes the whiskey talking again.”

“I was wondering when we’d blame the whiskey.”

“It’s convenient.”

“It certainly is.”

I laughed, lowering my hand.

“You know…”

“What?”

“I don’t usually flirt with strangers.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So what changed?”

I met his eyes.

“I got my heart broken this morning.”

The smile faded from his face.

“And then…”

I took a slow breath.

“…I met someone who spent the entire evening making me feel… seen.”

Silence settled between us.

Not awkward.

Just full.

He took one slow step closer.

Not enough to invade my space.

Just enough that I could see the tiny flecks of color in his eyes beneath the mask.

“You deserve better than someone who made you feel replaceable.”

His voice was so quiet I almost missed it.

“And you’re saying that because…?”

“Because it’s true.”

Another step.

Still giving me every opportunity to move away.

I didn’t.

Instead, I found myself smiling.

“I should probably stop blaming the whiskey.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

I looked up at him.

“…I’m starting to think I’d have wanted to come back here even if I’d never had that first drink.”

For the first time that night, he looked momentarily caught off guard.

Then, very gently, he reached up and brushed an escaped strand of hair behind my ear.

His fingers lingered for only a heartbeat.

“If I kiss you,” he said quietly, “I want it to be because you want me to. Not because you’re hurt. Not because you’re angry. And definitely not because of whiskey.”

My heart stumbled.

I searched his eyes.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who claims not to talk much.”

A smile curved his lips.

“Only the important ones.”

I closed the small distance between us, rising onto my toes just enough that our foreheads almost touched.

“The answer,” I whispered, “is yes.”

His hand gently cupped my cheek.

He gave me one last moment to change my mind.

I didn’t.

His lips met mine in a slow, tender kiss that felt nothing like revenge and everything like the beginning of something I hadn’t expected to find that night.

The kiss deepened almost immediately.

What started as gentle pressure turned hungry, his mouth opening against mine, tongue sliding in to taste me like he’d been waiting for permission all evening. I moaned softly into him, my hands fisting in the front of his shirt. He tasted like whiskey and heat, and the way his fingers threaded through my hair to tilt my head just right made my knees feel unsteady.

He walked me backward until my hips bumped the edge of a heavy wooden desk. Papers scattered. Neither of us cared. His body pressed into mine, solid, warm, the hard line of his erection already evident through his pants. I rocked against it instinctively, earning a low growl from deep in his throat.

“Summer,” he murmured against my lips, saying my name like it mattered. His hands slid down my sides, gripping my waist, then lower to cup my ass and lift me onto the desk. The oversized shirt I was still wearing rode up my thighs as I parted my legs to let him step between them.

I reached for the edge of his mask, but he caught my wrist gently.

“Leave it,” he said, voice rough. “Tonight is about you feeling good. Not about faces.”

I nodded, too turned on to argue. Instead, I tugged at the buttons of his shirt. They came undone one by one under my impatient fingers until I could push the fabric open and run my palms over his chest, firm muscle, warm skin, the faint trail of hair leading down his stomach. He shrugged the shirt off completely, letting it drop to the floor.

My hands explored lower, tracing the waistband of his pants. He kissed me again, harder this time, while his fingers worked the buttons of the oversized shirt I wore. It fell open, revealing my bra and the curve of my breasts. He pulled back just enough to look, eyes darkening behind the mask.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. One hand cupped my breast through the lace, thumb brushing over my n****e until it peaked. I arched into his touch with a gasp. He leaned down, kissing along my collarbone, then lower, tugging the bra cup down so he could take my n****e into his mouth, hot, wet suction that sent sparks straight between my legs.

I whimpered, threading my fingers through his hair. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention while his free hand slipped under the hem of the shirt and between my thighs. His fingers stroked over my panties, finding the growing wet spot there.

“Already so wet for me,” he said against my skin, voice low and pleased. He pushed the fabric aside and slid two fingers along my slick folds, circling my c**t before dipping inside me. I cried out softly, hips rolling to meet his hand. He pumped slowly, curling his fingers just right, thumb pressing steady circles on my c**t until my thighs started to tremble.

“Please,” I breathed. “I need you.”

He straightened, kissing me deeply again as he worked my panties down my legs. I kicked them off along with my shoes. The shirt hung open on my shoulders; he left it there, like he liked the way it framed my body. His hands went to his belt next. I watched, breathing hard, as he freed his c**k, thick, hard, the head already glistening. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him throb in my grip.

He groaned. “Condom. Wallet. Back pocket.”

I retrieved it quickly, tearing the packet open with my teeth. He rolled it on, then gripped my hips and pulled me to the very edge of the desk. The blunt head of his c**k nudged my entrance, sliding through my wetness.

“Look at me,” he said.

I did. Even with the mask, his eyes held mine, intense, focused, like I was the only thing in the world.

He pushed inside me in one slow, steady thrust, stretching me open. I gasped at the fullness, nails digging into his shoulders. He paused, buried to the hilt, letting me adjust.

Then he started moving, deep, rolling strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside me. The desk creaked beneath us. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper.

“f**k, you feel incredible,” he growled, picking up pace. One hand braced on the desk, the other gripping my ass, angling me so every thrust ground against my c**t.

Pleasure coiled tight and fast in my belly. I was moaning openly now, the sounds echoing in the quiet room along with the wet slap of skin on skin.

He reached between us, rubbing my c**t in tight circles while he f****d me harder. “Come for me, Summer. Let me feel it.”

The orgasm crashed over me suddenly, sharp, overwhelming waves that made my walls clench around him. I cried out, back arching, vision blurring. He didn’t stop, thrusting through it, drawing it out until I was shaking.

He followed moments later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he came. His forehead pressed to mine, breaths mingling.

We stayed like that for a long minute, hearts pounding, bodies slick with sweat. He kissed me softly, once, twice, then carefully pulled out. He disposed of the condom in a nearby trash bin, then helped me down from the desk on unsteady legs.

I expected awkwardness. Instead, he pulled me into his arms, holding me against his bare chest. His hand stroked down my back in slow, soothing passes.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“More than okay,” I whispered, smiling against his skin. “That was… exactly what I needed.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through me. “Good. Because the night’s still young… if you want to stay.”

I tilted my head up to look at him. “I do.”

And for the first time since that awful morning, the weight I’d been carrying felt lighter. Much lighter.