CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN BIKER

The curvaceous blonde takes another sip of her drink, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is innocent, yet my dick instantly twitches to life.

For two months, I’ve watched her.

I see her at the bar, running errands, walking home. 

Sometimes, on nights when the noise in my head gets too loud, I find myself drawn to the shadows around her place. 

Parking my bike down the street, I lean against a tree in the backyard and watch until dawn breaks over the horizon. 

I never get too close—never cross the line—but the urge is there. It always is.

I know it’s messed up. I’m not proud of it. 

Hell, it makes me feel like I’m barely hanging onto what’s left of my humanity. 

But there’s something about her—something that quiets the storm inside me, if only for a few minutes. That kind of peace? You don’t just walk away from it.

From the moment I saw her, I was hooked. 

New to town, nervous smile, haunted blue eyes that carry the weight of something I haven’t figured out yet. 

She doesn’t belong here. 

Not in this dusty bar. 

Not surrounded by assholes who don’t see past her curves.

I see her.

And each day, I slip deeper into my obsession.

But a woman with that much pain behind her eyes deserves the world. Better than the broken mess I am, so I’ve kept my distance.

Ten years ago, the Army spat me out after my last deployment, leaving me permanently fucked up. The physical scars are a lasting reminder, but the mental ones... they’ve paralyzed me.

The first few years home, I drowned the pain in whiskey and fucked every woman I could find, trying to forget. 

The women eventually lost their appeal, but the whiskey... that's a demon that has yet to be exorcised.

It’s been two years since I’ve been with anyone, and as I devour the curvy blonde with my eyes again and down another swig of my drink, my dick throbs against my jeans. 

I’ve never wanted a woman like this.

Staying away is a fucking war I’m close to losing every night.

She’s perfection. Soft and curvy in all the right places. 

Those big, blue eyes, those plump, pink lips... I want to crush my mouth against hers and taste her moan. 

Her shorts ride up as she crosses her legs, teasing me with a flash of her creamy thigh. 

Her tight top showcases her full breasts. 

The way she’s dressed makes me feel possessive, territorial. 

She should be mine, and only dress like that for me. 

It pisses me the fuck off, knowing every other man in this bar has eyes on her.

And I’ve definitely noticed the way they watch her.

I down more of my drink as some prick takes the seat next to her.

For fuck’s sake.

I slam the glass down, my blood boiling. My hands clench into fists under the table, my jaw tightens until it aches.

Who the hell does he think he is?

He says something, and she stiffens, shaking her head. Clearly not taking the hint, he rests his hand on her thigh, crossing a line.

I shove my chair back roughly, the scraping against the floor echoing my fury, and stalk to her side of the bar. 

I rest a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at me through those thick lashes. Instead of flinching, she relaxes under my touch.

“Baby.” I give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and turn to the prick.

“Can I help you with something?”

“No, man. Didn’t realize she was with someone.”

He takes a nervous sip of his beer and stands to leave. But he hesitates, like he doesn’t buy my act. His face tenses, like he’s debating something. After a few seconds, he shrugs it off and stalks to the other end of the bar.

Most people react that way to me. I tower over most at six foot five and two hundred and fifty pounds. So it’s no surprise this guy backed down.

Taking the empty seat beside her, I catch Hutch’s eye behind the bar and signal for another round.

“Thank you,” she says after a moment. “That guy wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I didn’t like him touching you.”

“You—you were watching me?”

“Yes.”

I don’t even try to deny it. I can’t fucking stay away from her now. Not after this. No other man will ever lay a hand on her again.

“Why were you watching me?”

“Hard to take your eyes off a beautiful woman.”

Hutch slides our drinks in front of us. She grabs hers, takes a small sip, and nervously plays with the straw, swirling it through the ice. I notice her cheeks flush a soft pink.

“Am I making you blush?”

“Well… I’m not used to men coming to my rescue like that. I’m used to men hitting on me but—”

“That what you think I’m doing?” I grunt.

“No, I don’t think that at all. I can tell you’re different… you’re a good man.”

I wish those words held a shred of truth, but I’m not a good man. Not even close.

“Men tell me all the pretty things I want to hear,” she continues, “to get in my pants, to take what they want. They cheat on you, tell you to get used to it, that ‘women like you’ are safe choices to settle down with, but never going to be enough. Now, I pay attention to the eyes. They tell you everything you need to know.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, her cheeks flushed, then takes a shaky sip of her drink.

“I’m sorry. You don’t even know me… I don’t know why I said all that. I’m Roxanne, by the way.”

“Gavin.” I toss back the rest of my drink.

It tugs at something twisted in me. How she’s vulnerable enough to share her pain. I’m beginning to understand the darkness that lingers in her eyes, and it ignites a dangerous hunger to claim her broken pieces as my own.

“Whoever hurt you is a real fucking idiot. You’re perfect, Roxy.”

A real man would know how to worship every damn inch of this woman.

And I’m that fucking man.