Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 18: Moans of unwhispered secrets

His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the tendon there, and I arched without thinking.

The towel gave up its fight, slipping to the floor in a damp heap. Cool air hit my wet skin; his hands followed, palms skating over ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. A shudder rolled through me.

"Fuck," he breathed against my collarbone, the word reverent. "You look so damn sexy."

I let out a breathless laugh and tugged at his shirt. He shrugged it off, letting it fall, and the heat of his bare chest against mine short-circuited every warning in my head.

He has an attractive muscle and scars which dragged my attention immediately. I traced the jagged line that cut across his ribs with my fingers slowing without breaking eye contact with him.

And he hissed, hips jerking forward without control as I went further.

His belt buckle clinked. I fumbled it open, fingers clumsy with want. He helped, shoving jeans down just enough, then lifted me.

My back met the wall again, harder this time, and my legs wrapped his waist like they’d been waiting for permission.

"Look at me," he growled.

I did, and God help me I was enchanted. His eyes were black in the dim light, pupils blown wide. He held my gaze as he pressed forward—slow, deliberate—until the blunt heat of him nudged exactly where I ached. A single, teasing slide. My nails dug into his shoulders.

"Mordred..." I moaned softly, "Ah– it’s so huge."

Then he finally pushed in, the stretch burned sweet; I gasped into his mouth. He stilled, pressing his forehead against mine with a ragged breathing.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he said, voice strained. "And I’ll slow down just for you mama."

I answered by rolling my hips.He cursed under his breath in a low, filthy tone and snapped his control.

The rhythm started hard and stayed there—deep, punishing strokes that rattled the cheap drywall.

Every thrust shoved a moan from my throat; every withdrawal dragged a growl from his.

His hand slid between us, thumb finding my clit with ruthless precision. Pleasure coiled tight and vicious.

Water from my hair dripped between our bodies, slicking the slide of skin on skin. I bit his shoulder to muffle a cry; he shuddered, pace faltering, then drove deeper as if the pain spurred him on.

"Close," I panted. "Don’t stop..."

He didn’t. His free hand gripped my thigh hard enough to bruise, angling me just right.

Two more strokes and I broke—back bowing, vision whiting out, a choked scream swallowed by his kiss. He followed seconds later, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural sound that vibrated through my chest.

"Arghhhhh"

We stayed locked like that, trembling, sweat and water mingling. His forehead dropped to my shoulder; I felt his heart hammering against my ribs.

After a moment he eased out, gentle now, and lowered me until my feet touched the cool tile. My legs shook. He steadied me, palms sliding up my arms, then cupped my face and kissed me slowly—soft, almost apologetic.

"I love you Kianna" he murmured against my lips. " I fucken love you so much it drives me insane."

I laughed, shaky and raw. "Shut up and carry me to bed before I collapse."

And he did, he raised me in a bridal style like I weighed nothing. And carried me towards my bed. He lowered me gently onto the sheets with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The mattress dipped as he slid in beside me, one arm sliding under my neck, the other resting warm across my stomach. Skin on skin, still damp and still electric.

I stared at the ceiling, heart racing down from the high. He traced lazy circles on my hip.

"We should talk," he said, voice soft for once. "About what happens next. I want you safe, but I also want..."

His words blurred. The heat of his body, the low rumble of his voice, the ache between my thighs—everything pulled me under. I didn’t remember closing my eyes.

The next morning,

The Sunlight sliced through the blinds and stabbed me awake. I was naked with sheets tangled around my legs. Mordred’s scent was everywhere.

Then reality slammed in like a hangover. I had sex with Mordred Sinclair, against the wall last night. The man I’d sworn was just a deal, a means to an end, and a complication I couldn’t afford.

I sat up too fast, clutching the sheet to my chest. My skin flushed hot with embarrassment, guilt and panic all at once. God what have I done? Why didn’t I stop it from happening? Why the hell should I allow myself to let it go this far?

Memories from last night kept replaying. I couldn’t even think of his name without my stomach flipping now. I felt like vanishing into a hole and never appearing again.

But before my thoughts could explode any further, the bedroom door creaked open.

And Mordred walked in, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, holding two paper cups and a brown bag that smelled like bacon and regret.

He took one look at me—hair wild, cheeks burning, sheet clutched like armor and his mouth curved into a slow, infuriating grin.

"Morning, gorgeous." he uttered.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "Don’t. Just—don’t." I groaned.

He set the food on the nightstand, sat on the edge of the bed, and tugged one of my hands free. "Hey. Look at me."

I peeked through my fingers, he wasn’t laughing. His eyes were soft filled with amusement, but not mocking.

"You’re acting like we robbed a bank," he teased. "We didn’t. We just... stopped pretending."

"I called you a liar last night," I mumbled. "Then I let you..." I gestured vaguely at the wall. "...Do that."

"And I called you reckless," he said, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "Then I begged you not to stop. We’re even."

I huffed, but the knot in my chest loosened a fraction. He leaned in, lips brushing my temple.

"Eat and take your shower. Stop spiraling. You’re cute when you overthink, but I like you better when you’re not hiding under the damn sheet." he whispered against my skin.

I swatted his arm. "Such a pervert."

He caught my wrist and kissed my knuckles before he handed me one of the coffees.

His phone buzzed on the dresser. He glanced at the screen and frowned.

"Shit." He turned it to me. It was a message from one of his boys called Jax. It say’s, "BioChem midterm moved up. 9 a.m. Kianna’s gonna be late if she doesn’t haul ass."

I stared at the time on his lock screen, it was already 8:17 a.m. Shit, I bolted upright, sheet slipping. "I have a test? But how are we even supposed to ...."

Mordred was already moving—yanking open a drawer, tossing me one of his T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that would swallow me whole.

"Get dressed," he said, all business now. "I’ll drive. You can hate me in the car."

I scrambled into the clothes, mortified, exhilarated but still tasting him on my lips.

As I tied my messy hair into a knot, I caught his reflection in the mirror—watching me, smile gone, something fierce and protective in his eyes.

We weren’t just a deal anymore. And I had no idea what the hell that meant.