Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SORAYA
My leg bounces restlessly as I try to relax in the clubhouse kitchen while Stryker makes us lunch.
We spent the morning in bed, which I’m not complaining about.
I should be glowing and basking in the new feeling of being so thoroughly taken care of by someone, especially someone like Stryker, but my mind keeps drifting to my floral shop.
I can’t do much about the smashed window that’s already boarded up, but my plants are still in there. They need water, they need care, and they need me. No one has sung to them in days. They must be lonely.
"I have to go back," I finally blurt out, looking over at Stryker. He joins me at the table with a plate full of blueberry muffins. "Just to check on the shop. Even if it's a mess, my plants will die if I just leave them."
Stryker's jaw tightens, his protective instincts instantly flaring, but he sees the desperate plea in my eyes. "Fine," he rumbles, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But I stay by your side every single second. You don't leave my sight, Soraya. Understood?"
"Understood."
Minutes later, the deep, vibrating hum of his motorcycle engine rumbles beneath me as we fly down the road. The familiar streetscapes of Port Royal blur past, the cool wind rushing over us, but all I can feel is the solid, unyielding heat of Stryker’s body pressing into my back.
When we finally pull up to the shop, my heart aches.
The lingering damage from the break-in is glaring.
The glass is mostly swept from the sidewalk, but the door frame is splintered.
Tears well up in my eyes when I see my large (and very expensive) concrete planters reduced to rubble, soil, and crushed petals.
The moment we step inside, however, a grounding wave of damp earth, crushed eucalyptus, and rich flora washes over me. It smells like home. It smells like life.
Shafts of dusty sunlight filter through the windows, illuminating the broken glass and overturned terracotta pots.
And standing right in the middle of it all is Stryker.
His massive, dark, leather-clad frame is such a stark, overwhelming contrast to the delicate leafy greens and fragile ferns surrounding him.
I immediately set to work uprighting the fallen pots, gently checking the bruised leaves of my monsteras, and grabbing my watering can. True to his word, Stryker stays glued to my hip. He doesn't get in my way, but his intense, dark gaze tracks my every movement.
"Why a floral shop?" he asks suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet of the room. "How did you even get started in all this?"
I pause, trailing my fingers over the vibrant green leaves of a pothos plant.
"It's peaceful," I tell him softly. "After a lifetime of instability, of never knowing what kind of fight I was coming home to or what was going to happen next, I just... I wanted to nurture something. I wanted to take a space that was nothing and turn it into a sanctuary. It’s the first thing I’ve ever built that is entirely mine. "
“Tell me your story,” Stryker says softly, almost reverently. “It’s only fair.” The giant biker winks at me, and I think it’s the most playful he’s ever been. I wonder if I can draw more of that out of him.
“My childhood, while not great, is sadly not that different from most people I grew up with in a trailer park in Denver. Alpine Grove.” I roll my eyes at the name. “As if calling it that would somehow make living there less depressing.”
“I’m going to need more than just growing up in a trailer park surrounded by sadness. Talk to me, Soraya. Tell me your story,” he repeats.
I bite my lips and focus my attention on a hearty philodendron still hanging next to me. My fingers trace the vines as they split into bright green leaves with yellow stripes in the middle.
“My parents are alcoholics and addicts. Most people are in Alpine Grove. They got into fights all the time. Screaming at each other in the middle of the night, breaking bottles, tearing down curtains, and even throwing furniture around.”
I pause to gather my thoughts, my shoulders relaxing as Stryker gently massages them. He’s silently encouraging me to continue while also reminding me that he’s always here.
“It was… It was chaotic,” I finally say.
“Scary, at times. Okay, all the time,” I admit.
“But, truth be told, it was somehow scarier when I came back from school to a quiet trailer. Did one of them overdose? Did both of them overdose? Did one of their dealers come to collect a payment they didn’t have?
Will I find bodies and blood when I open the door?
At least when my mom and dad were fighting, I knew they were alive. ”
“Soraya,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling the shell of my ear. “I can’t even imagine. You’re so brave for enduring that for so long. I’m so proud of you for getting out when you could. I know how difficult it is to crawl out of the dirt, darkness, and oppression of places like that.”
I turn around in his arms, looking into his deep brown eyes. Tears form and fall down my cheeks, and Stryker is right there to wipe them away. He cradles my face, never breaking eye contact, proving to me that he’ll stand with me through the pain, heartache, and healing.
“You’re proud of me?” I ask, my voice weak and shaking.
His arms immediately engulf me, his spicy, earthy scent surrounding me as I surrender to his care.
“So damn proud, Soraya. I’m sorry you never had the love and stability you needed growing up.
The fact that you want to provide peace and growth through your floral shop is admirable, and no small task.
How did you make it all the way out here from Denver? ”
I explain the job listing and jumping in with both feet when the owner wanted to sell. Stryker’s eyes shine with… well, pride. Just like he said. I don’t think I’ve taken even a single second to reflect on how far I’ve come, both literally and figuratively, since leaving Denver.
“You’re so brave. And beautiful. And mine.
” He growls the last word, the atmosphere in the quiet, sunlit shop growing suddenly thick with a heavy, magnetic tension.
The way he looks at me, like I'm something precious, something he wants to devour and protect all at once, makes my breath hitch in my throat.
He leans in, capturing my lips with his, leading us in a slow kiss that builds with each stroke of his tongue. My body buzzes in anticipation, and I feel lighter than I ever have now that my past is firmly behind me.
Stryker walks us a few steps farther into the shop, then spins me around so we’re both facing the front counter of my shop. I gasp as his arms wrap around my waist and he kisses his way up the back of my neck, pressing his hard cock into my ass.
“Need you,” he rasps against the side of my neck before nipping me there. “Need to feel you, touch you, and prove you’re really here. Will you let me?”
My breath hitches and a moan escapes my lips as he grinds into me, slipping his hands up the dress Cierra let me borrow.
Stryker continues his exploration with his hands, as he sucks and licks my neck.
Before I know it, he has my dress and panties off and he’s pushing me down on the counter so my ass is sticking out.
Stryker growls and palms my cheeks, spreading me wide open for him. He takes himself out and rubs his dick between my folds while I push back, trying to get him inside me again. I’m addicted to this man. I know he’s the only one who will ever be able to satisfy my cravings.
His lips slide press against my lower back, slowly moving their way up my spine. “Tell me what you want, beautiful,” he whispers into my skin.
“You,” I breathe out.
"You have me. Now, what do you want me to do to your gorgeous body?"
He continues to saw in and out of my folds, not entering me yet. I moan loudly, my pussy squeezing on nothing as it gushes all over his cock.
“I want you to… fuck me, Stryker.”
He growls. “Tell me again,” he says, snapping his hips and bumping my clit.
“Fuck me, Stryker, I want to feel you tear my pussy apart.”
“Jesus, baby, love that dirty mouth,” he grunts.
Stryker pulls back and slams home, again and again, hitting me so deep I cry out with each thrust.
“You like that? Like my thick cock stretching out your perfect little pussy?”
“Mmhm…” I moan, pressing back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. I squeeze my pussy each time he pulls out, which I know he likes based on the way he groans and the way his breath hitches in his throat.
“Feels so good, Soraya. Love being inside you. I’ll never get enough. You’re mine, sweet girl. Mine,” he grunts as he picks up speed.
Stryker pushes me closer and closer to the edge, and just when I’m about to fall off into blinding pleasure, he pulls out.
“No!” I yell out in frustration.
He chuckles and leans his huge, hard body over mine. “I’m not done with you yet, beautiful,” he growls.
Stryker walks us backward to one of the wooden chairs lining one side of my shop, and sits down, guiding me onto his lap so my back is facing his front and my legs spread out on either side of his. Slowly, he lowers me down on top of his hard shaft.
"Oh, Stryker, this is…" I have no words. Riding him backward feels so freaking good. As I bounce up and down his long, hard length, I find I like being in control of our pleasure. I reach my hands behind me and tangle them in his hair, urging his head forward so he can kiss my neck.
“Fuck, that’s it. Ride my big dick. Fucking hell, you feel so good.”
I lift up and impale myself on him again and again.
Stryker's large hands cup my breasts as he kneads the soft flesh and pinches my nipples.
One hand slowly slides down my torso and rests on the mound of soft curls above my pussy.
I feel Stryker's finger part my folds and circle my clit, again and again, bringing me right back to the edge of my orgasm.
“Stryker, right there, oh god, I can’t hold on…”
I grind down on him, loving the way his cock fills me up, stretching me and hitting every sensitive spot deep inside of me.
“Let go, love. I’ve got you,” he whispers before biting down on my shoulder.
I throw my head back and grip his hair as my body locks up and tenses, every muscle and nerve pushed to the absolute extreme, waiting for my permission to let go.
Stryker pinches my clit and I scream out my release, my body curling up and pitching forward with the force of my orgasm. Stryker holds me steady with one hand on my breast, the other cupping my pussy as he thrusts into me from below.
“Fuck, fuck, Soraya, Jesus, I’m coming too, baby, fuck!”
I feel like I’m one big ball of nerves that keeps getting electrocuted each time Stryker thrusts in and out of me. We ride our high together, Stryker releasing a wave of cum as he trembles and fights through his orgasm.
He rests his head on my shoulder, both of us breathing heavily as we come back down.
Eventually, Stryker helps me climb off of him and then dresses me before zipping up his pants.
The man winks at me again, and god, I swear I could jump in his arms and have him take me up against the wall.
But, unfortunately, I have other things to do while I’m here.
My pulse is still racing, my skin flushed and sensitive as I straighten my clothes. "I just need to pop up to my apartment real quick to grab a few personal belongings," I tell him, my voice still a little breathless. "I won't be long. You can wait down here."
Stryker immediately crosses his arms over his chest, his expression hardening into a familiar, immovable wall. "Not a chance in hell. I told you, you aren't leaving my sight."
I sigh, knowing it’s a battle I won't win, and lead him back outside to my apartment door a few feet away. The wooden staircase creaks beneath our combined weight as we head up to my place. Unlocking the door, I push it open, suddenly acutely aware of how this is going to look to him.
Stryker steps into my living space and freezes.
The silence that follows is deafening. I watch as his eyes sweep over the sparse, barren room.
He takes in the deflated air mattress pushed into the corner, the makeshift cardboard box I use as a coffee table, and the empty kitchen cabinets with the doors hanging slightly ajar. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
"You're living like this?" he growls, the sound vibrating with a hint of aggression. His protective instincts are fully triggered, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Absolutely not. You can't live here, Soraya."
My back goes rigid as defensiveness rushes through my veins.
"It might not look like much to a flippin’ big, bad MC President," I snap, my chin tilting up, "but this is my space.
I pay for it. It represents my freedom. It means I survived, Stryker.
It's the only space that has ever been truly mine. "
Stryker instantly softens. The harsh, aggressive lines of his face melt into pure, tender devotion. He steps forward, closing the distance between us, and gently cups my face in his large, calloused hands.
"I know, sunflower," he murmurs, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.
His deep voice vibrates against my crown as he pulls me flush against his solid body.
"I know how hard you fought for this. But you don't have to fight alone anymore.
" He tilts my head up, forcing me to meet his fierce, devoted gaze.
"I am your safe space now. I belong to you completely, body, soul, and breath.”
“But… my flowers. My plants. My store. My dream…” My mind keeps going in circles, bouncing from my home to my shop to the unknown if I stick with Stryker. And the unknown if I don’t. I had my feet on solid ground, and now…
“Breathe for me, Soraya. I know just about everyone in Port Royal. We’ll get your shop fixed up, I promise. Please believe me. The most important thing right now is your safety.”
My breath shudders on an exhale. The heavy, protective walls I’ve spent my entire life building completely crumble under the weight of his absolute devotion.
I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, burying my face in his chest, and for the first time in my life, I allow myself to lean fully into someone else's strength.
Anchored in his warm embrace, I feel the undeniable shift in my heart. I'm finally home.