Her Possessive Bikers

Max

MAX

"Finally," I mutter as I pull into my driveway.

Normally, a fifteen minute commute isn't too bad. But when everyone's getting off work at the same time, and the streets turn into a clusterfuck of hangry, grumpy people, I tend to blend in with the crowd. Road rage is not my proudest attribute, but I am who I am.

Cutting the engine, I slide out of the driver's seat and shut the door. I'm beyond ready for a little peace, a bit of relaxing, but the sight of a little blue car parked in the drive of the vacant house across the street catches my eye. Curious, I watch as a blonde ponytail pops up over the top of it. Someone's moving in, I realize when the woman moves around to the trunk with a box in her hands.

And a sexy girl, even , I think to myself as a grin spreads across my face.

I don't even realize that all thoughts of relaxation after a long shift have completely disappeared as I watch the blonde try to juggle everything in her arms. No, instead my thoughts are entirely captured by her mile-long legs and the way her black tank top clings to her every curve--and she's undoubtedly curvy.

Deciding to extend a neighborly gesture, I cross the street, approaching the woman with a friendly smile. I introduce myself as Pearson to strike up a conversation. As I draw closer, the captivating details of her appearance become even more apparent. Her sky-blue eyes shine with a hint of mischief, and her full lips part slightly as she struggles to balance the box in her hands.

"Hi there," I say warmly, offering my help. "Looks like you could use an extra hand."

Her face lights up, revealing a charming dimple on her right cheek. "Oh, thank you so much! That would be wonderful."

Without hesitation, I reach out and carefully take some of the boxes from her arms. The proximity allows me to catch a whiff of her delicate perfume, a sweet aroma that instantly transports me to a garden of blooming flowers.

" Pearson," I introduce, setting the box on the kitchen counter so that I can offer her my hand. "I live right across the street."

Hey eyes follow the gesture of my hand and she peers at my house directly across from her. "I live across from a police officer?"

I chuckle, drawing her attention back to me, and watch as her eyes drop to my uniform. I wonder what she thinks--hot or not? By the flush in her cheeks, I'd guess hot.

"That's not going to be a problem, is it?" I wonder teasingly.

She smiles, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "I don't know, Officer Pearson. Should it be a problem?"

Her playful response catches me off guard, and a surge of excitement courses through me. This woman is definitely not like anyone I've met before. There's an air of confidence about her that both intrigues and entices me.

I lean against the kitchen counter, crossing my arms. "Well, I suppose it depends. Are you planning on breaking any laws?"

She smirks, her gaze lingering on my uniform a moment longer before meeting my eyes again.

"I'm not sure, Officer Pearson," she replies, a mischievous glint dancing in her sky-blue orbs. "In fact, I might just have to start borrowing some sugar from you."

Her words hang in the air, laced with playful innuendo that sends a jolt of electricity down my spine. I can't help but chuckle, feeling an instant connection with this captivating woman.

"Well, if you ever run out of sugar, you know where to find me," I reply, matching her playful tone. "But first, let's get these boxes inside."

She shrugs innocently, and her ponytail wags in my face when she turns around and heads back outside. I hang my head to the side, trying to get a nicer angle to stare at the shake of her ass as she walks away.

"Mm, mm, mm," I shake my head and start after her. "I just finished my shift down at the station," I say as she passes me two fold-up chairs. "A few minutes earlier and I might've thought you were breaking in."

She laughs, throwing her head back as she does. "Do I really look like the type of girl to break in somewhere?" she asks, amusement evident in her voice.

I shoot back with a smirk, "Well, you'd be surprised at the kind of people that get brought into the station."

We share a genuine moment of laughter before continuing to unload the boxes from her car. With each movement, I can't help but notice how graceful and fluid she is. It's as if every motion is carefully choreographed, leaving me mesmerized by her presence.

"You know," I begin on our next trip back outside, "you never did tell me your name."

Stopping in her tracks, her eyes widen as she realizes I'm right. "My name is Lily Goodman," she says gently, tugging on her ponytail.

"Lily Goodman," I repeat, savoring the sound of each syllable as it rolls off my tongue.

Her cheeks flush with a rosy hue, and she tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me.

"What?" I laugh.

She arches her brow. "You aren't going to run a background check on me now, are you? Should I have given you a fake name?"

I smile, the corners of my lips curling up in genuineness. It's not often that I meet someone who can match my playful banter and quick wit. "You could have, but I would have found out eventually," I laugh again. "Besides, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

Her eyes roll back and she continues down the steps of the porch, clearly not buying into my words. She is beautiful, though. Lily Goodman.

I wonder if she's as good as her last name claims.