My Biker Boyfriend.

Slow Attraction.

Chapter 2.

Draven’s eyes dragged against her skin like she was not the same Aria he had walked into the night to save three days ago.

His eyes hovered against her exposed thighs and hell! His hand instinctively twitched to grab them and perhaps yank them apart.

She wore a printed flare skirt that stopped some inches above her knees. A tank top and a red and black leather jacket, with sneakers on her small fetish feet. Oh! Her legs would do a freaking good job against his shoulders.

His c**k strained against his brief, already desiring the very person he should never have these thoughts for.

He should’ve looked away. He should’ve walked past her. But those damn thighs—those legs. They weren’t just legs anymore. They were an invitation he had no right to crave. Not when she was off-limits. Not when she belonged to a promise he made.

Aria’s legs wobbled, the hair on her skin pricking from the intensity of his gaze. She pressed her thighs together slightly, trying to silence the breath that was already rising between her thighs, but he caught the sight regardless.

A small invisible smile tugged at the inner corner of his lips. Without another word, he turned around and walked, leaving her to figure it out herself.

Aria’s brows tugged into a gentle frown. Her eyeballs rolled. How could one be so freaking aloof?

She dragged her legs begrudgingly, following him until they reached the garage.

Her eyes widened as she watched him get on the bike, glaring at her like he could kill her if she didn’t cooperate.

Her lips parted to say a word, but he beat her to it.

“Get on the bike.”

His tone was low, yet gravelly and dangerous.

Because if she stood there any longer, looking like sin in that tiny skirt, he’d lose the last thread of control he had.

Her lips twitched in disapproval, and his c**k jerked immediately.

“But there is a car,” she mumbled, not low enough for him not to hear.

Draven glared at the car where her box had been tugged into, then he returned his gaze to her.

“I make the rules here, little one. Get on the bike.”

His voice stayed calm, but inside, he was burning. That word slipped out too easily. “Little one.” And God, it stirred something wrong and wicked in him.

Aria felt heat rising against her cheeks.

Her stomach churned from that one word, but she shot the thought away, reminding herself that nothing about him was worthy of her fantasy.

The moment Aria got on the bike, she sat still, avoiding any form of body contact as he drove out of their compound onto the road.

The cool air gushed against her skin, pricking the part of her skin, but nothing could ground her thoughts away from him.

Her fingers moved against her thighs, trembling gently. Hell! He drove f*****g well! Her eyes moved about his chest, broad and inviting. Her p***y tingled as a wild dirty image slipped into her head.

What would it be like running her nails against his broad back while he moved in and out of her?

Aria’s p***y clenched before she could even realize it. And that? That was when she realized that she had been gushing against the same man she claimed to hate.

Well! No regret. Draven Virellie was the hottest man she had ever seen, but it didn’t f*****g change the fact that he was a player and a murderer.

The engine purred beneath them as the bike moved through the wind.

Draven’s grip on the clip-ons, jaws clamping. The tension in the moment clogged the air like fog.

He could feel her restraint, the way she leaned in and pulled back when she felt too close to him, and for some unsoothing reason, that stirred something rough beneath him.

She thought she could resist him? Good. Let her try. Because that innocence, that hesitation—it only made him want to break her resolve more.

Without a warning or as much as a caution, he jerked the bike slightly—just enough for it to dip and bounce over a barely-there bump on the road.

“Goodness.” Aria gasped, frightened and caught off guard as his body moved, slamming into his back—exactly how he wanted it to be.

His muscles clenched the moment her chest hit him, then he slowed just a little—not to be careful, but to savor the softness of her small braless t**s against the hardness of his back.

He nearly groaned. f**k. If she knew what that did to him. If she knew what was growing under his jeans just from feeling those t**s… she’d run. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d beg for more.

Aria blinked back gently, she tried to pull back—frustrated by the act, but his voice came in.

“Stay still.” He said, low, rough, and commanding.

His words sliced through her like heat, and she obeyed like a good girl, hands tightening against his sides while her front pressed against his back, breath hitching in quiet surrender.

Draven’s lips curled into a brief smirk, unseen but deeply felt.

His tensed-up muscles eased, because strangely, she was just where he wanted her—against his back. Like a good girl.

⸻

The moment the gate to the estate opened, Aria’s lips parted.

Even though she had heard so many tales about Draven’s house, she still didn’t know what she expected.

Maybe more noise. More shine. Or anything that just declared power. Loud and proud.

But knowing Draven, he wasn’t a man of noise. Neither was this house.

She had never seen a house that looked like it could kill a man. Huge, black, and unapologetic—like it owned everything around it, including the sky!

The estate stood still, all-black everything that reeked of biker lord and power!

⸻

Aria settled into her room. The same one that Draven had shown her.

The room was big, spacious, and girly.

If Aria thought her home had been big, then this house was just waiting to advertise itself.

After a proper shower, she fixed herself into a nightdress and slumped into the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

The thoughts of her breakup slipped into her head, reminding her of the burden she thought she had been free from.

She would have loved to invite her best friends over but, Draven’s voice echoed in her head.

“You are not allowed to leave the estate or invite a friend over.”

Aria rolled her eyes as the words played in her head.

Just when she thought her brother was worse, it turned out that her brother had a scandalous version. How pathetic.

For the rest of the week, Aria just remained in her room, wallowing in self-pity. Anything to get the thoughts of Jude out of her head.

Oh, she needed to heal from him first, and the only thing she could think of was to bury herself in her room, cry, sleep, and eat until she got over it.

⸻

Draven sat on the couch in his study room, his fingers moving lazily against the long mahogany table as the cigarette rested between his fingers.

His shoulders spread wildly across his chair, his compressor shirt struggling to conceal his calloused bicep.

Beside him stood his trusted left-hand man, Aaron—the black axe.

“What has she been up to lately?” His voice was low, cold, and razor sharp but the edge carried a hidden concern that couldn’t stay concealed.

“She has not stepped out of her room since she arrived.”

Draven’s jaws tightened, eyes darkening. Since the day he brought her here, he had not gone back to check in on her, yet the image of her body still played perfectly well in his head like she was right in front of him.

As though seeing her all these years in the club and being unable to have her wasn’t enough, now he had to share the same space with her.

And it was killing him.

The smell of her. The memory of her soft t**s on his back. Her trembling silence.

She was temptation—and the longer she stayed locked away, the more he wanted to pull her out of that room and make her scream into his sheets.

Purposely, he had ignored her—anything to keep her away from him. Anything to not ruin the promise he made to her brother, but just the sight of her makes him want to bed her over the desk and f**k her so hard.

The gentle sound of his phone buzzed and his eyes darted to the table where it was currently vibrating.

He grabbed the phone the moment his eyes met the caller and brought the phone to his ear.

Ronen, Aria’s brother.

“Draven,” Ronen called from the other end, but Draven didn’t give a reply. He just sat still, listening. Silence was his weapon and everyone around him knew.

“How is my sister?” Ronen’s words came in again and Draven finally spoke—low, dangerous, and unbothered.

“Do I have your sister on my head?”

“Not if you want your death wish.”

Silence settled against the line, then Ronen sighed.

“I have been calling her, but she isn’t picking up.”

“Call her tomorrow.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Go check in on her, man.” Ronan groaned, “Tomorrow is her birthday, and now that her scumbag boyfriend has broken up with her, I am scared she would have a problem finding happiness for the next three months.”

Draven’s breath locked in his throat. He was supposed to be concerned about her birthday. But the news of her breakup seeped into him, slithering into a part of him that found comfort in that.

So she was single? Now she didn’t have a boyfriend? Oh! This information should have been redundant. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. It mattered more than he liked and triggered the part of him that he had been trying so f*****g hard to cage.

Without a word of acknowledgement, he ended the call and got to his feet, finding his way to her room.

With every step he took closer to her room, his muscles tightened and his c**k twitched like he could smell her from here.

When he got to her door, he placed a knock on the door, but for the next minute, she remembered silence.

His brows tugged into a gentle frown, and a tiny pang of worry seeped in. Without a word, he impeded the general house code and the door opened.

The moment Draven stepped in, his breath hitched and his legs halted right there, eyes holding onto Aria who was stepping out of the bathroom with her towel to her waist while the water moved down her skin—the same way he f*****g wants to c*m bath her.