Marked By the Possessive Biker
A few months ago we danced.
We flirted.
I’ve never wanted a woman more.
But she was too young for me.
Too unguarded.
Wide-eyed college girls with curves for days don’t end up with possessive bikers that have blood on their hands.
Somehow I found the strength to push her away.
Now she’s back, walking into my tattoo shop and asking another man to put his mark on her skin.
Over my dead body.
She gets inked, it’ll be by my hand or no ones.
My bad boy biker rep might not match with her sunshine.
But I know we belong together, so this time I’m not letting her go.
This time I’m claiming her. Mine. Forever.
