Her Possessive Bikers

21. Indy

21

INDY

T he hot water cascades down my back, soothing the tension in my muscles. My mind continues to wander, unable to shake the image of the three men. Tres, the way he threw himself in front of me during the shooting, his body shielding mine. Protective. Strong. Alpha.

I lean against the cool tile, my fingers tracing the curves of my body. "What am I doing?" I whisper to myself, but the thought of him lingers. Those dark eyes that see right through me, that salt-and-pepper beard I can imagine brushing against my skin.

My hand drifts lower, my breath catching as I think about his hands on me instead. Rough and calloused, but capable of such gentleness. He'd know exactly what to do, how to touch me. His added years of practice would probably ruin me for any other man.

I bite my lip, eyes closing as my fingers find that sweet spot. "Tres," I murmur, almost a prayer. The sound of his name on my lips sends a shiver down my spine.

He would be all commanding presence and controlled power. Those strong hands that threw me to safety earlier would probably grip just as firmly in passion. He'd press me against these shower tiles, his salt and pepper beard rough against my neck as he growls orders in that deep voice.

My mind then drifts to Jacoby. He would be playful, teasing. All quick grins and clever fingers. He'd probably crack jokes even during sex, make me laugh while making me moan. That confidence of his isn't just for show - I bet he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s carefree, confident, everything I’m not right now. I imagine his blue eyes watching me, undressing me with a smirk that promises mischief.

I slide my fingers lower, my breath hitching. “Jacoby,” I whisper, picturing him leaning against the bathroom door, arms crossed over that tight white shirt smeared with grease. He’d watch me with that playful glint in his eye, like he’s daring me to continue.

I can almost hear his voice, smooth and teasing. “Need a hand there, darlin?” His tone would be light, but the hunger in his eyes would betray him.

My hand moves faster as I picture him stepping into the shower with me, water cascading down his athletic build. He’d press me against the tile, one hand gripping my hip while the other traces a path up my thigh.

“Goddamn,” I murmur, the fantasy making my body ache with need. Jacoby would be all confidence and playful dominance, taking what he wants while making sure I enjoy every second of it.

Finally, my thoughts drift to Kyler. He’s so different from the other two. There’s a raw intensity to him, something dark and hidden beneath that quiet exterior. I can picture him now, eyes blazing with a passion he usually keeps buried. He’d be rough, desperate, and I imagine his hands gripping my hips, pulling me close, not caring about being gentle.

“Kyler,” I whisper to the empty shower, my fingers moving faster. He’d bend me over my hands slipping against the shower wall, his lips peppering kisses down my spine with an urgency that matches his touch. I can see it all so clearly – Tres watching us with a protective hunger, Jacoby smirking as he teases me between kisses.

The thought of all three of them together is overwhelming. Tres’s commanding presence, Jacoby’s playful touch, and Kyler’s raw intensity – it’s too much. My body tightens, the sensation building until I can’t hold back any longer.

“Fuck,” I gasp as the climax crashes over me like a wave. My knees buckle and I slide down to sit on the floor of the shower, the water washing away all evidence of my indulgence.

I sit there for a moment, catching my breath and letting the water cool my flushed skin. It’s ridiculous to think about them like this. They’re loyalty was to my Dad, for crying out loud. But still, there’s something about each of them that draws me in.

Finally, I force myself to stand and turn off the water. Wrapping a towel around myself, I step out of the shower and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Hazel eyes wide and lips slightly swollen from biting them too hard – I look like someone who’s been thoroughly fucked.

“Jesus Christ, Indy,” I mutter to my reflection.

But even as I say it, I know it’s not that simple. The funeral might be over, but there’s still so much left unsaid and undone.

I dry off quickly, toweling my hair until it’s only slightly damp. I run my fingers through the dark strands, untangling knots and letting it fall naturally over my shoulders. The red dress hangs on the closet door, a bold choice but one I’m making without hesitation. I want them to desire me like I desire them.

Sliding into the dress, it clings to my curves, accentuating every line and dip of my body. It’s simple but effective – the kind of dress that demands attention without trying too hard. I check myself in the mirror again, adjusting the neckline and smoothing out wrinkles. The red pops against my skin, making me feel powerful and confident.

I slip into a pair of black heels and grab a leather jacket from the closet – an homage to my dad and a bit of armor against whatever the night might bring. My heart races as I step out of the room and head downstairs.

There’s no point in pretending this is just about sorting through Dad’s things anymore. This place has always been more than just a memory – it’s home in a way Alabama never was.