The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 34

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Chapter 28-2

Clay

He just came, and he did that because I phoned him, and suddenly, it’s incredibly important to me that I acknowledge this fully.

“Locke?”

He takes a sip of wine. “Zara?”

“You came when I called.”

The words come out more tentative than I intend, and his expression changes immediately. Something deep and unreadable moves behind those gray eyes.

“Of course I did,” he says simply, “You needed me.”

He says it as though there had never been another possibility. As though not coming was utterly absurd. My throat tightens, because nobody has ever answered me like that before.

Nobody.

And now I think about last night, about the almost-kiss, and his hand on my cheek. About the way he looked when my father interrupted us, and as I remember that heat, something shifts inside me.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline finally wearing off, or it’s relief, or it’s the simple fact that he thinks of my fear as his problem too. Whatever it is, it overwhelms me suddenly and completely.

The distance between us feels unbearable now, and something inside of me gives way. Before I can talk myself out of it, before I can even think about what the hell I’m doing, I cross the tiny floor space. In eight steps, I’m standing right in front of him, then I sit down beside him. Close. Very close. Locke goes completely still, and his eyes search mine.

My heart hammers as our thighs brush, the heat from his massive frame radiating like a furnace. Locke, this towering biker with his tattooed knuckles and dangerous reputation, has been nothing but careful with me all tonight, and all last night. The tension between us crackles, electric and undeniable, and I just can’t hold back anymore. Leaning in, I press my lips to his, initiating the kiss that ignites everything.

His mouth is hot and firm against mine, yielding at first with a surprised groan that vibrates through his broad chest, then deepening as his massive hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling possessively yet gently at the nape of my neck. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like it’s been waiting for us longer than either of us wants to admit.

Our lips part and meet again in a slow, sensual rhythm, tongues sliding together in slick, hungry strokes that explore every inch with deliberate heat. His mouth tastes of sweet wine and something raw that made my core clench with instant need. The kiss turns more urgent, as he sucks lightly on my lower lip before plunging back in, swirling and tangling deeper while soft breaths escape us both.

I moan into his mouth, helpless to stop it, and press closer, as close as I can. My palms flatten against the hard planes of his chest beneath his t-shirt, feeling the ripple of thick muscles and the steady thunder of his heartbeat. Locke’s other hand gently lifts me, pulls me onto his lap without force, carefully avoiding my scraped back, my bruised body.

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Chapter 28.

Claim

gasp and spread my thighs wide över him, my knees pressed into the sofa. His thumb is stroking Soothing circles on my unbruised cheek, as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every corner of my mouth with passionate restraint.

Somehow, impossibly, the kisses get sexier, breaths mingling pants while his tongue teases and dominates with each languid, erotic thrust. The sofa bed creaks under our shifting weight, my n*****s tightening against the fabric of my sweater as arousal floods me, wet heat pooling between my thighs.

His lips trail to my jaw, nipping softly before returning to claim my mouth again, the kiss turning feverish. Blindly, I trace the ridges of his abs through his skirt, feeling them flex under my touch, his c**k already hardening against my p***y in a thick, promising bulge that sends sparks racing up my spine.

Locke pulls back just enough to murmur my name like a prayer, his eyes wild with desire yet gentle, before kissing me again, over and over, until I arch into him, lost in the building, aching need.

When we finally pull apart, neither of us goes very far. His foreheadrests against mine. His hand stays tangled in my hair. And for the first time all evening, neither of us is talking.

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Well.”

“Well,” he counters.

I laugh softly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Yeah? Since when?”

“Since you first walked into the clubhouse last night.”

He grins. “Yeah, I know it.”

I give him a light smack on his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m trying very hard not to, baby. But you’re spread wide open on my lap, and you’re looking at me with nothing but fire.”

“Well.” I run my fingertip over his full lower lip, across the scar on his chin. “You’re gorgeous.”

The smile that appears then is real, not the rare, dangerous one he gives everybody else. This one belongs

to me.

This one is mine.

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