Falling For The Biker - Chapter 21: Chapter 21
You are reading Falling For The Biker, Chapter 21: Chapter 21. Read more chapters of Falling For The Biker.
Sierra's POV
My eyelids fluttered open, each blink heavier than the last. Behind my eyes throbbed as I pushed to focus my sight. The faint memory of the previous night clouded my mind, but only for a second.
I looked around, beige walls and fine furniture. As much as it was beautiful, this was not my room. Where was I? I shut my eyes briefly, trying to remember what happened last night. Panic filled my chest. How did I get here?
Loud musics, ladies giggling, glasses clicking, the taste, and smell of cheap and expensive wine, they all filled my mind, a reminder of the overly filled bar I visited. I could not remember much and the more I tried, the more I was giving myself a headache.
I pressed the side of my head; the hangover killing me. A male voice drifted somewhere nearby. It sounded familiar. Jackson? The thought of him being around made me feel reassured.
Pushing myself up, the room spun for a moment. I held on to the edge of the unfamiliar bed. I could still smell the alcohol on me. Once I felt balanced, I made my way out of the room, my bare feet padding the cool floor.
The doorway opened to a small living area. Plants, a glass coffee table in the middle surrounded by neat and expensive couches. The curtains were no different. Whoever designed this was truly a professional.
My breath hitched once I spotted who was in the room. It wasn't Jackson. Arthur stood by the window, his back to me with no shirt. His back was perfect.
“Arthur,” my voice was raspy.
He turned, and I judged too quickly. The front view was more perfect. His gray pants hung loose and low on his hips, the drawstring dripping just enough to reveal the tantalizing line of his V. My heart fluttered nervously. Had something… happened between us?
I didn't dare mention it, but it screamed in my mind. There was a hint of surprise in his eyes for a second, then it softened. “Sierra, you're awake,” he said.
He didn't seem surprised to see me here, growing my confusion. “Where… where are we?” I asked, looking around for any clue.
I still did not remember anything. “My place,” he gave me a smile, an almost hesitant smile. “Don't worry, nothing happened,” he reassured.
His words were meant to reassure me, but why did it seem like I was disappointed? He turned to the counter at his side and took off the plastic lid on a glass. The scent of lemon filled the air immediately. “Here,” he said, handing it over. “For your hangover,” he added, sensing my reluctance.
I took the glass with trembling fingers. I wasn't sure why. I turned to the door, then mumbled, “I thought I heard Jackson.”
I took a small sip of the lemon. It burned slightly, but it was surprisingly good. Arthur nodded with a hum but did not elaborate. He sank into the armchair by the window, his gaze distant.
“Was he…” I held the cup tightly with my palms. “Was he mad?” I asked.
I knew Jackson was protective. He would not be pleased to find me with Arthur in his house and worse, with no memory of how I got here. “As expected,” he replied, his voice flat.
His gaze met mine with a hint of something unreadable in them. “Why did you drink so much, Sierra, when you know you can't handle it?” he asked.
I knew I should not have. I knew my tolerance to alcohol was laughably low. Usually, I avoided it altogether. I needed to be focused. I needed to care for Elvis, but yesterday… last night; it was different.
I walked around under the snow after leaving the resort, trying to calm myself, trying to sink back my emotions, but I couldn't. And so, I felt I needed a drink. It could help me, I had believed.
I could not go back home and tend to Elvis when the weak walls around my emotions were crumbling. I never wanted him to see me cry or sad. But I guessed I only made a mess of things.
“I needed to,” I replied, taking a larger gulp of the lemon juice. It helped to clear the fog in my mind, but embarrassment was setting in. I took a seat, glancing at Arthur. He seemed off. Not just worried, but something else. Upset?
“You seem upset,” I said.
He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Not upset. Just… worried,” he said, then sighed, locking eyes with me. “What if something had happened to you, Sierra?
His gaze was intense. I felt a flicker of fear in them. I looked away, embarrassed. I had not thought of it. I acted impulsively. I only wanted to numb the pain and the hurt of the truth. I didn't think I could be putting myself in danger.
When I returned my gaze to Arthur, my gaze dropped. The morning sun on him defined his muscles, and his abs? Were only ten times more charming. My cheeks flushed with a wave of heat.
I wanted to feel them so badly. My body reacted in a way I could not openly admit, but I could not stop, even with the burning shame creeping up my neck. There was a strange pull between us, making me too aware of his presence.
Arthur shifted in his chair, following my gaze. A knowing smile played on his lips. “Looking at me like that is sinful, Sierra,” he said.
His voice was low, a husky murmur that sent shivers down my spine. He stood and moved towards me, his steps slow and deliberate. He took my hand, taking my fingers to his chest, but then let it hover above his skin.
“I would have let you touch me,” he said, his gaze locking on mine and our faces inches close to each other. “But I was slapped yesterday and my thank you today was a barrage of questions,”
His words brought back a part of my memory I had missed. I had slapped him. Embarrassment washed over me. I needed to get out of here. “I should…” I placed the glass down on the coffee table. “I should go,”
I went for the door, ready to escape this embarrassment. “I'll drop you off,” he said.
I paused, my mind wandering to the thought of sitting behind him on his motorcycle, clinging to his waist, and then another thought set in. The image of me flying off the motorcycle came to mind, making me shiver. “No, no, I’m fine,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I can get a cab.”
I took a step towards the door, wanting to put an end to this. Before I could reach the handle, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back with surprising strength, and the next I knew, my back slammed against the cool wood of the door. A startled gasp escaped my lips as he pinned both of my hands above my head, his body close, so close, we exchanged hot breaths.
“I can’t stop myself now,” he said, and I braced myself.
My eyelids fluttered open, each blink heavier than the last. Behind my eyes throbbed as I pushed to focus my sight. The faint memory of the previous night clouded my mind, but only for a second.
I looked around, beige walls and fine furniture. As much as it was beautiful, this was not my room. Where was I? I shut my eyes briefly, trying to remember what happened last night. Panic filled my chest. How did I get here?
Loud musics, ladies giggling, glasses clicking, the taste, and smell of cheap and expensive wine, they all filled my mind, a reminder of the overly filled bar I visited. I could not remember much and the more I tried, the more I was giving myself a headache.
I pressed the side of my head; the hangover killing me. A male voice drifted somewhere nearby. It sounded familiar. Jackson? The thought of him being around made me feel reassured.
Pushing myself up, the room spun for a moment. I held on to the edge of the unfamiliar bed. I could still smell the alcohol on me. Once I felt balanced, I made my way out of the room, my bare feet padding the cool floor.
The doorway opened to a small living area. Plants, a glass coffee table in the middle surrounded by neat and expensive couches. The curtains were no different. Whoever designed this was truly a professional.
My breath hitched once I spotted who was in the room. It wasn't Jackson. Arthur stood by the window, his back to me with no shirt. His back was perfect.
“Arthur,” my voice was raspy.
He turned, and I judged too quickly. The front view was more perfect. His gray pants hung loose and low on his hips, the drawstring dripping just enough to reveal the tantalizing line of his V. My heart fluttered nervously. Had something… happened between us?
I didn't dare mention it, but it screamed in my mind. There was a hint of surprise in his eyes for a second, then it softened. “Sierra, you're awake,” he said.
He didn't seem surprised to see me here, growing my confusion. “Where… where are we?” I asked, looking around for any clue.
I still did not remember anything. “My place,” he gave me a smile, an almost hesitant smile. “Don't worry, nothing happened,” he reassured.
His words were meant to reassure me, but why did it seem like I was disappointed? He turned to the counter at his side and took off the plastic lid on a glass. The scent of lemon filled the air immediately. “Here,” he said, handing it over. “For your hangover,” he added, sensing my reluctance.
I took the glass with trembling fingers. I wasn't sure why. I turned to the door, then mumbled, “I thought I heard Jackson.”
I took a small sip of the lemon. It burned slightly, but it was surprisingly good. Arthur nodded with a hum but did not elaborate. He sank into the armchair by the window, his gaze distant.
“Was he…” I held the cup tightly with my palms. “Was he mad?” I asked.
I knew Jackson was protective. He would not be pleased to find me with Arthur in his house and worse, with no memory of how I got here. “As expected,” he replied, his voice flat.
His gaze met mine with a hint of something unreadable in them. “Why did you drink so much, Sierra, when you know you can't handle it?” he asked.
I knew I should not have. I knew my tolerance to alcohol was laughably low. Usually, I avoided it altogether. I needed to be focused. I needed to care for Elvis, but yesterday… last night; it was different.
I walked around under the snow after leaving the resort, trying to calm myself, trying to sink back my emotions, but I couldn't. And so, I felt I needed a drink. It could help me, I had believed.
I could not go back home and tend to Elvis when the weak walls around my emotions were crumbling. I never wanted him to see me cry or sad. But I guessed I only made a mess of things.
“I needed to,” I replied, taking a larger gulp of the lemon juice. It helped to clear the fog in my mind, but embarrassment was setting in. I took a seat, glancing at Arthur. He seemed off. Not just worried, but something else. Upset?
“You seem upset,” I said.
He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Not upset. Just… worried,” he said, then sighed, locking eyes with me. “What if something had happened to you, Sierra?
His gaze was intense. I felt a flicker of fear in them. I looked away, embarrassed. I had not thought of it. I acted impulsively. I only wanted to numb the pain and the hurt of the truth. I didn't think I could be putting myself in danger.
When I returned my gaze to Arthur, my gaze dropped. The morning sun on him defined his muscles, and his abs? Were only ten times more charming. My cheeks flushed with a wave of heat.
I wanted to feel them so badly. My body reacted in a way I could not openly admit, but I could not stop, even with the burning shame creeping up my neck. There was a strange pull between us, making me too aware of his presence.
Arthur shifted in his chair, following my gaze. A knowing smile played on his lips. “Looking at me like that is sinful, Sierra,” he said.
His voice was low, a husky murmur that sent shivers down my spine. He stood and moved towards me, his steps slow and deliberate. He took my hand, taking my fingers to his chest, but then let it hover above his skin.
“I would have let you touch me,” he said, his gaze locking on mine and our faces inches close to each other. “But I was slapped yesterday and my thank you today was a barrage of questions,”
His words brought back a part of my memory I had missed. I had slapped him. Embarrassment washed over me. I needed to get out of here. “I should…” I placed the glass down on the coffee table. “I should go,”
I went for the door, ready to escape this embarrassment. “I'll drop you off,” he said.
I paused, my mind wandering to the thought of sitting behind him on his motorcycle, clinging to his waist, and then another thought set in. The image of me flying off the motorcycle came to mind, making me shiver. “No, no, I’m fine,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I can get a cab.”
I took a step towards the door, wanting to put an end to this. Before I could reach the handle, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back with surprising strength, and the next I knew, my back slammed against the cool wood of the door. A startled gasp escaped my lips as he pinned both of my hands above my head, his body close, so close, we exchanged hot breaths.
“I can’t stop myself now,” he said, and I braced myself.
End of Falling For The Biker Chapter 21. Continue reading Chapter 22 or return to Falling For The Biker book page.