Page 24 of My Protective Biker

I'm stronger now. More certain of who I am and what I can handle. I know where my boundaries are and how to enforce them and the difference between losing myself and choosing to build something with someone else.

Being with Roan won't make me smaller. It will make me more myself because he sees me clearly and wants exactly what he sees.

I want this. I want him. I want to wake up in his bed and show up when things go wrong and build something real with someone who's honest about what it costs and what it gives.

I make my choice.

I grab a towel off the rack and dry myself quickly, my skin still damp and warm from the shower. Walk into his bedroom wrapped in just the towel, and make a decision.

I open the top drawer and pull out the first t-shirt I find, plain gray cotton that's soft and worn from years of washing. Pull it on over my head and it hangs to mid-thigh, the fabric thin enough that I can see the outline of my body through it.

The neck is stretched out and it smells like him, motor oil and clean soap and something that's just Roan.

I drop the towel and leave everything else on the floor. Walk barefoot down the hallway toward the kitchen with my pulse beating hard and my skin still warm from the shower.

I'm absolutely certain.

He's sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee cup in front of him and when I walk through the doorway he looks up.

His whole body goes still. His eyes track over me slowly, taking in the wet hair and the thin t-shirt and the fact that I'm clearly not wearing anything underneath it.

I watch his jaw tighten and his hands grip the edge of the table and the want that crosses his face is so raw it makes my breath catch.

I stop in the doorway and look at him looking at me.

"I'm in," I tell him. "I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you."

The relief that floods his expression is immediate and devastating. Then he's moving, standing and crossing to me in three long strides.

His hands come up to frame my face and his mouth comes down on mine and the kiss is hard and hungry and entirely without restraint.

He kisses me like he's been holding back and now that he has permission he's letting everything loose.

His tongue slides against mine and his hands drop from my face to my waist, gripping me through the thin cotton and pulling me flush against him.

I can feel him already hard against my stomach and the knowledge sends heat flooding straight between my legs.

His hands slide under the t-shirt and find bare skin. He makes a rough sound low in his chest when he realizes I'm completely naked underneath and his fingers dig into my hips hard enough that I know I'll have marks tomorrow.

"Bedroom," he says against my mouth. "Right now."

I start walking backward and he comes with me, our mouths still fused together. I'm trying to navigate while kissing him and I misjudge the hallway, my shoulder hitting the doorframe hard enough to hurt.

He catches me immediately, one hand coming up to steady me while the other stays locked on my hip.

We make it to the bedroom and he kicks the door closed behind us with enough force that it slams.

Then his hands are everywhere, sliding up under the shirt to cup my breasts, his palms rough and warm against sensitive skin.

He thumbs my nipples and I arch into the touch, making a sound that's somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

He pulls the shirt up and over my head in one smooth motion and suddenly I'm standing in front of him completely naked in the morning light streaming through the window.

For half a second the old instinct surfaces, the impulse to cover myself or apologize for taking up space. But then I see how he's looking at me and that impulse dies completely.

His eyes move over my body with deliberate slowness.

My breasts, full and heavy with pale pink nipples already tight from want. My soft stomach that curves out from my ribcage. My wide hips and thick thighs.