My Four Biker Stepbrothers

Chapter 4: Stay Still for me, Emma

[Emma POV]

The night was endless. Music thumped off the walls of the clubhouse, but I was not listening. My heart was heavy with sadness and anger, my mind a storm of questions about my mother, these men who called themselves my stepbrothers, this world that was a prison shrouded in darkness.

I stepped outside to get some air. The cold night hugged my skin, filling my lungs with the scent of gasoline and smoke. The roar of bikes rode and sped on the distant road, fading into the chirp of crickets. I could almost think, for a split second, that I was still in the countryside, standing at the window waiting for my mother to call me in for dinner. But the pain in my chest kept me from forgetting—she was gone. And the world I’d stepped into was one that didn’t let go once it had its claws in you.

The sound of shouting snapped me from my thoughts.

I turned the corner of the clubhouse, heart leaping into throat. Shadows move fast, three men, giant and bulky, holding a person up against the wall. I figured it was just another fight between bikers, something in this cruel world. But then I saw the flash of a familiar leather jacket.

It was Maddox, the scarred and quiet one. He was surrounded, punches thrown, his back against the brick wall as he fought off the attackers.

"Stop!" I shouted before I could catch myself, my legs moving of their own accord.

One of the men reached for a broken bottle, raised it high. My body stiffened, fear sweeping over me, if that glass touched him, if it cut.....

But Maddox charged like a storm. His arm shot out, twisting the attacker's wrist so that the bottle bounced off the ground with a rattle. His second punch landed on a jaw, and the crack of breaking bone in the dead of night echoed through the air. The other two charged towards him, but he stood firm. He fought like a man who had spent his life living and bleeding among violence.

By the time the dust settled, the three men lay groaning on the ground, and Maddox stood above them, chest heaving, blood dripping from a cut along his cheek. His knuckles were raw, split open.

I rushed forward before fear could stop me. “You’re hurt...”

He glanced at me, eyes dark and unreadable, his scar catching the moonlight. “I’m fine.”

"You're bleeding," I barked, reaching for him. My fingers brushed his hand, and I felt the rough heat of his skin, the tremble of restrained pain. My stomach knotted. "Come inside. Let me...let me take care of this."

For one beat, he didn't answer. His gaze pinned me, unyielding and icy, as if he couldn't decide whether to push me away or pulled me into a kiss. Then, without saying anything, he followed me.

I stepped inside and saw a first-aid kit tucked behind the bar. My fingers trembled as I wet a cloth, leading him to sit. He obeyed me silently, his massive body falling into the seat. He did not flinch as I put the damp cloth on the blood on his face, although his eyes fixed on me throughout.

"You have to be more careful," I breathed, my hands trembling as I pressed the cloth over his wound. "What if...if they had killed you?"

He smiled, his lips twisting up in a curve that wasn't quite a smile. "Then I wouldn't be such a good protector, would I?"

I gulped, my throat dry. The term protector wrapped itself around me like an armor, something I had not felt since my mother's arms. My chest ached, my eyes burning as I gazed at him. "Why did you fight them at all? Why not just leave?"

He leaned forward, so close I could see every nuance of the scar that cut across his face, every speck of shadow in his eyes. His voice was low and rumbling and real. "Because they were talking about you."

I caught my breath. "Me?"

His jaw clenched. "They said you were weak. That you would last no more than a week in this world. That you were just another pretty toy to be broken." His hand shot up, encircling my wrist, holding me as I tensed at his touch. "I do not let people talk about what is mine."

My heart thudded in my ears. 'Mine?' The word branded itself onto me, sinful and forbidden, but it lit a fire deep within my chest that I couldn't ignore.

"Maddox…," I whispered, but the rest of the words tangled in my throat.

His gaze dropped to my lips, then up again, before settling in my eyes. The air between us was thick, thick with something indescribable. My fingers were still against his skin, and he was close.....too close.

The world outside receded. There was nothing but him, his scarred face, his brusque hands, his steady eyes. My breath caught as he came forward, slow, inexorable, until his lips touched mine in the lightest, shortest caress, like a question, like a warning.

He waited for a moment before claiming my lips in a heated battle. I moaned as he held the back of my head and tried to push his tongue inside my mouth. I clung to him, desperate for any bit of warmth, any bit of contact. I slid my hands beneath his shirt, my fingertips brushing his abs. I was afraid to find out how strong he really was. How much weight he carried inside him. What exactly he needed. His kiss deepened as he grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. I was lost. So lost in that moment.

He lifted me off my feet so quickly that a wave of dizziness hit me, turning my stomach, as he carried me to his room. He broke our kiss, breathless and desperate, then began trailing kisses down my neck. I squirmed in his strong arms.

"Can you stay still for me, Emma?" he demanded and I moaned in the response of his question.

"Answer me, Emma," he said again, nibbling at my neck. "I'll reward you for every answer you give me." His lips trailed lower, kissing my collarbone, "just tell me where to go and I will."

His mouth found my lips again, my n*****s hardening, and I arched into his touch. The want for him inside me burned, my hunger fueled by days of emptiness. My p***y throbbed at his request and I desperately rubbed it against his thigh to calm it down. As always when my desire flared, I had no control.

"Do you want me to f**k you?" he asked. "I can make it good for you....do you trust me?"

"Yes," I moaned, arching up, wanting him even though I knew what was coming next. I wanted him to hurt me. I craved him. Needed him. "I want you to take this pain away from me...."