The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 89

I didn't know how to tell him I wanted him without sounding desperate or needy. I was scared.

I went through my usual morning routine like a zombie, my mind still replaying every moment from the night before. As I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup, I heard a knock at the front door.

My heart leaped, thinking it might be Tristan arriving early. I practically ran to the door, but when I opened it, my face fell immediately. It was my neighbor, standing there with that same smile he always wore.

He always seemed to show up at the most inconvenient times. I raised my eyebrow, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

"Good morning?" I said, making it sound more like a question than a greeting.

"Seems like I came at the wrong time," he said, though he made no move to leave.

Yes, you absolutely did, I thought, but forced my expression into a polite smile. "No, I'm just surprised to see you. What do I owe this visit?"

"I've been away for a while and got back late last night," he explained, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I was wondering if you'd like to hang out since I won't be going to work for the next week."

I opened my mouth to politely decline, but before I could get the words out, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Nope, she won't be hanging out with you," Tristan said, his words dripping with barely contained malice.

My face immediately lit up at the sight of him. Relief flooded through me as he moved to my side, his right hand settling possessively on my waist while his left held a fresh bouquet of flowers - today's addition to his daily ritual. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, the gesture both tender and territorial.

"How was your night, love?" he asked, and I had to bite back a laugh at the obvious challenge in his tone. Tristan looked like he was barely restraining himself from physically removing my neighbor from the premises.

My poor neighbor looked genuinely intimidated, which was a stark contrast to how confident he'd seemed during his previous visits. There was something about Tristan's presence that seemed to shrink him somehow.

"Like my..." I started to respond but paused, realizing I didn't know how to categorize what Tristan was to me.

"Fiancé," Tristan supplied smoothly when I hesitated.

"As my fiancé said," I continued, playing along with the lie, "I won't be hanging out with you because we have plans later today." I smiled sweetly at my neighbor while waving goodbye, then followed Tristan inside.

I knew he'd be wondering how often I changed men, but I didn't care. He was handsome doesn't mean I'll give him face.

Tristan shut the door firmly, practically in the poor man's face. It was incredibly rude, but I found I didn't care at all.

There was something about him that had always made me uneasy - the way he seemed to watch me, the timing of his visits. My instincts told me not to trust him.

"You're late," I said to Tristan, allowing a note of complaint to creep into my voice.

"I had some trouble with my bike on the way over," he explained, running a hand over his jaw. "But it's fixed now."

I took the flowers from him, our hands brushing in the exchange. Even that innocent touch sent warmth spreading through my body like honey. I walked over to where I'd been arranging all his daily offerings, adding the new bouquet to the growing collection.

"My house is starting to look like a flower shop," I commented, but there was no real complaint in my voice. Each bouquet represented another day of his patient pursuit, another day of him showing me without words how he felt.

.....

By the time we returned from the company that evening, it was already getting dark. I'd insisted on watching Tristan train instead of having him work with me on my own racing skills. With a big race coming up in just a few days, I wanted him focused on his own preparation.

It had been fascinating to watch him work. Behind the wheel, Tristan transformed into something almost magical. All the careful control he maintained in everyday life fell away, replaced by pure instinct and skill.

He moved with the bike like they were extensions of each other, every turn and acceleration perfectly calculated and executed. Watching him race up close and alone felt like watching poetry in motion.

I'd tried to act like a proper trainer, timing his laps and calling out encouragement, but mostly I'd just been mesmerized by the sight of him in his element.

Now, back at my apartment, I felt tired but also strangely energized. There was a heat flowing through my veins that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the day and everything to do with the man standing in my living room.

Ciara was back to her relentless commentary, filling my head with suggestions and demands. She kept insisting that tonight had to be the night, that she didn't care how I made it happen, but something had to change between Tristan and me.

When Tristan positioned himself in the living room, clearly intending to maintain the same respectful distance he always did, something inside me snapped. I was tired of the waiting, tired of the tension, tired of feeling like we were both dancing around something inevitable.

I needed to find a way to break through his carefully maintained control, to show him that I was ready for whatever came next.

Desperation clawed at me, but I couldn't find the words, couldn't figure out how to bridge the gap between us with mere conversation.

So, I acted on impulse.

From the bedroom, I let out a sharp yelp, feigning pain. I'd already stripped down in a rush, wrapping a towel around me loosely. Desperate? Absolutely. Blame Ciara.

I knew he'd hear it, no matter how soft. All I needed was a sound that sounded like pain, I knew that was the best way to Summon him.

Seconds later, the door burst open. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

He scanned the room, eyes wide with concern, body coiled like a spring.

"I... think I sprained my ankle," I said, my voice wavering, laced with pretend agony. I clutched at my foot, wincing for effect.

Without hesitation, he scooped me up bridal-style, his arms strong and warm around me. My heart raced as he carried me to the bed, lowering me gently onto the sheets.

But as he set me down, the towel slipped—unraveling just enough to fall open. Cool air kissed my bare skin, and I lay there exposed, every curve on display.

Tristan's gaze locked on me, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating with raw hunger. He froze, fists clenching at his sides, breath coming in ragged bursts.

I watched him, my own breath shallow, waiting. Would he resist? Or would he finally give in, claiming me right here on this bed?