Page 17 of The Biker and the Curvy Widow

"Eleven years isn't⁠—"

"It's a lifetime, Mara. I've got grey in my hair and scars older than your adult memories. I've done things that would give you nightmares. You could have anyone—someone younger, someone without all this baggage⁠—"

"I don't want anyone else." She says it fiercely, her eyes blazing. "I want you. The grey hair and the scars and the baggage and all of it. I've spent seven years wanting you, Ryder. Don't you dare tell me I should want something else."

When she kisses me, it tastes like absolution.

We make it to the bedroom this time. Slowly. No desperate scramble, no clothes torn off in the hallway. Just her hand in mine, leading me down the hall like she's the one who lives here, like she belongs in this space I've kept empty for so long.

She stops at the foot of the bed and turns to face me.

"I want to see you," she says. "All of you. No rushing this time."

My hands tremble as I reach for the hem of my shirt. Forty-two years old, and I'm nervous like a teenager. She watches me strip it off, her eyes tracing the tattoos, the scars, the body that's seen too many fights and not enough softness.

"Your turn," I manage.

She pulls her sweater over her head slowly, revealing a simple black bra underneath. Then her jeans, sliding them down her hips until she's standing there in nothing but cotton and lace, and I forget how to breathe.

"You're staring," she whispers.

"I've been wanting to stare for seven years." I close the distance between us, running my hands up her sides, feeling her shiver under my touch. "You're so goddamn beautiful, Mara. Do you have any idea? Every curve, every inch of you—I've dreamed about this. About you."

I unclasp her bra, letting it fall away, and she doesn't try to cover herself. Just stands there, letting me look, letting me worship her with my eyes before I worship her with my hands.

"I'm going to spend the rest of my life making up for lost time," I tell her, cupping her breasts in my palms, feeling her nipples harden against my skin. "Starting now."

"Then stop talking," she breathes, "and start showing me."

I lower her onto the bed like she's something precious. Because she is. She's the most precious thing I've ever held, and I wasted seven years not holding her.

Never again.

I take my time. Kiss every inch of skin I can reach—her throat, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. She arches into me, fingers threading through my hair, soft sounds escaping her lips that make me want to swallow every single one.

"Ryder..." My name comes out like a prayer.

"I've got you." I kiss down her stomach, over the soft curve of her belly, nuzzling the lush swell of her hips. "I've got you, sweetheart. Just let me take care of you."

I hook my fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs. She's already wet for me, glistening in the low light, and the sight makes my cock throb painfully against my jeans. But this isn't about me. Not yet.

I settle between her thighs and look up at her. "Eyes on me."

She props herself up on her elbows, watching as I lower my mouth to her center.

The first taste of her makes me groan. I lick through her folds slowly, savoring her, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan. When I circle her clit with my tongue, her hips buck off the bed.

"Oh god⁠—"

"That's it." I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right while my tongue keeps working. "Let me hear you. I want to hear every sound you make."

She doesn't hold back. The sounds she makes are desperate, beautiful—my name mixed with pleas and profanity as I push her higher and higher. When she comes, it's with a cry that echoes off the walls, her thighs clamping around my head, her whole body shaking.

I work her through it, gentling my touch as she comes down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs.

"Ryder." Her voice is wrecked. "I need you. Please."

I strip off my jeans and settle over her, bracing myself on my forearms. She's still trembling from her orgasm, her eyes dark and dazed, and when I push inside her, we both gasp.