Page 23 of The Biker and the Single Mom

We sit like this sometimes—touching, being. After years of fighting for every moment of peace, the simple act of existing together feels revolutionary.

"Never thought I'd have this," he says quietly, his fingers moving against my skin.

I shift to look at him. "Have what?"

"This. Family. Someone to come home to." His jaw works. "Someone who wants me to come home."

"Doc—"

"I was good at being alone." His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. "I convinced myself it was better that way. Safer. That I was too broken for anything else."

"You're not⁠—"

"I know." He cups my face. "You showed me that. You and Luna both. You showed me I could be more than my worst moments."

I kiss him because words aren't enough. Because three months ago I was running, and now I'm home. Because he gave us safety and I gave him purpose and somehow we built this—this life, this family, this thing that fits.

He kisses back slow and deep, the kind that says we've got time, we've got all night, we've got forever.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, his smile is pure satisfaction.

"Bedroom?" he suggests.

"Bedroom," I agree.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind us. Doc's hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones as he studies me like he's memorizing every detail.

"You're so damn beautiful," he murmurs.

"You say that every day."

"Because it's true every day." He kisses me again, slower this time, taking his time like we have all night. Which we do.

My fingers find the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. He breaks the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and then his hands are on me, warm and sure as he lifts my shirt away.

We've done this enough times now that there's no awkwardness, no hesitation. The easy confidence of knowing what the other person needs, what makes them gasp or moan or grip tighter.

He walks me backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I fall, pulling him down with me.

"I love you," I whisper against his lips.

"I love you too." His weight settles over me, solid and real and everything I never knew I needed. "So damn much."

His mouth trails down my neck, finding that spot below my ear that makes me shiver. One hand slides up my ribs, reverent and possessive at the same time. Everything about the way he touches me says mine—not in a controlling way, but in the way of a man who can't believe his luck.

I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair. "Doc⁠—"

"I've got you, sweetheart." His voice drops lower, rough with want. "Always got you."

Clothes disappear between kisses. His hands map every curve like he's learning me all over again, like he hasn't memorized every inch. When he finally settles between my thighs, his forehead drops to mine.

"Still can't believe you're real," he breathes.

"I'm real." I wrap my legs around him. "We're real."

He moves slow and deliberate, every thrust a promise. There's no rush, no urgency. The steady rhythm of two people who know they have all the time in the world. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together above my head.

"Tell me what you need," he says against my mouth.