Claimed By The Alpha, Marked By The Biker-Chapter 34: Under His Touch

The rain had turned the campus paths into slick mirrors, reflecting the sodium glow of streetlamps in fractured orange shards.

It clung to my skin, soaked into my hoodie and seeped into my bones—like every memory of Lysander refusing to wash away.

His eyes, his face, the ruined portrait... all of it kept replaying in my head, looping until I felt like screaming.

I walked without feeling my feet, Lysander’s broken voice echoing behind me like a ghost I couldn’t outrun.

"The CCTV wasn’t the only camera."

I didn’t know if it was a confession, a warning, or another lie. All I knew was the ache in my chest was unstoppable.Tears blurred the world until my phone vibrated against my thigh.

I took it out, then Mordred’s name popped up on the screen. My heart kicked hard as I wiped the rain from my eyes and answered.

"Kianna?" His voice was low but urgent. "Where are you?"

"On my way to the dorm." I replied with my trembling voice.

"Meet me at the entrance of your dorm. Right now."

I was there before I realized I’d started running. He leaned against his bike, helmet dangling from one hand with his leather jacket zipped to his throat.

The second he saw me his face crumpled, rain-soaked and shaking as he welcomed me with an opened arm.

I crashed into him like a wave against rock, burying my face in the warm hollow of his neck.

The sob that tore out of me was ugly and raw, years of trust and heartbreak spilling over.

"Shh," he murmured, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other locked around my waist. "I’ve got you."

I couldn’t speak. Just clung tighter, inhaling the scent of rain, the leather jacket and him, the only thing that felt solid in a world tilting off its axis.

He didn’t ask what happened. Just lifted me onto the bike behind him, tucked my helmet on with gentle fingers, and pulled my arms around his waist. "Hold on."

The engine roared to life, and we cut through the storm.

His safe house was dark when we arrived, the only light was a soft glow from the kitchen window.

He killed the engine, helped me off, and led me inside with a hand at the small of my back—like he was afraid I’d shatter if he let go.

The second we stepped into his apartment, the warmth hit me, his warmth was mixed with his scent and a flower scented cologne.

"You’re freezing." He muttered, touching my cheek with the back of his hand.

"Sit. I’ll make you a coffee."

I curled into the couch, watching him move around the kitchen—broad shoulders, rolled-up sleeves and quiet focus. He made everything look effortless.

He brought the mug to me and crouched down."Drink, it’ll help you cool down."

It was perfectly made, hot and sweet just like how I want my coffee. He brushed damp strands of hair behind my ear as I took a sip.

"I’m running a bath for you. Stay here." he whispered and smiled faintly before disappearing down the hallway.

My chest tightened painfully. Nobody had ever taken care of me like this. Not when I’m literally the problem here.

A few minutes later, he returned..holding a damp towel. "The bath is ready."

The bathroom was steamy, with scented candles flickering on the counter. When had he lit those? It smelled really lovely.

The tub was full, bubbles high, a folded towel on the edge. He’d even found one of Lesley’s lavender bath bombs from the stash I’d left here weeks ago.

"I’ll be in the kitchen," he said, brushing a knuckle under my chin. "Take your time."

The door clicked shut. I peeled off my wet clothes and sank into the heat, letting the water swallow me whole.

I exhaled deeply, grounding myself in the water with my eyes closed. It felt really comforting, after everything that had happened today. I really did need this bath.

A spent an hour or two in it before finally getting out. Almost on time, he reappeared and offered a soft towel, his hoodie and shorts.

"They’ll be big on you," he said softly.

He didn’t add that he liked it that way. But the look in his eyes said it all.

The bath washed away the physical weight of the day but not the emotional one.

Still, when I slipped into his clothes—soft and oversized, drowning me in his scent, I felt... held, protected and wanted.

I headed back downstairs to check up on him. The house smelled like garlic and tomatoes.

Mordred had changed into a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair still damp from his own shower, standing behind the stove in the kitchen.

He looked up, eyes softening immediately he smelled my presence.

"Better?"

I nodded, clutching the oversized hoodie. It hung to mid-thigh, its sleeves swallowing my hands.

He plated a simple and steaming pasta, dotted with fresh basil and set it on the small dining table. With two candles and a bottle of red wine at its side.

We ate in silence at first, the clink of forks and the rain against the windows were the only sounds.

But slowly, the quiet shifted and became something warmer. He watched me over the rim of his glass, eyes dark and unreadable.

"You don’t have to talk," he said finally. "But if you want to..."

I shook my head. "Not yet."

He reached across, thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek. The touch lingered, making my skin prickle.

After dinner, he cleared the plates, refusing my help. I wandered to the guest room, my room technically—but the bed felt too big and empty.

I tried falling asleep, I really did. But the silence was too loud, and thoughts wouldn’t stop.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lysander’s face, trembling in the rain.

His lies, his tears and the ruined portrait.

I tossed and turned multiple times until I finally gave up. And before I could second-guess myself, I slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway—heart thudding, breath shallow with my palms sweating.

Mordred’s door was cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the hall. I pushed it wider. The bathroom door inside was ajar, steam curling out. Is he showering?

"Mordred?" I whispered, but there was no answer. I stepped inside and stopped breathing.

He’d just stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung low on his hips with water glistening on his skin.

He hadn’t heard me come in. And God help me... he was beautiful.

Defined abs, sculpted chest and broad shoulders. Every part of him looked carved from warmth and danger.

My throat went dry, as I stood there shamelessly glaring at him.

He glanced up and froze too.

"Kianna?"

"I—I couldn’t sleep," I whispered. "Can I... stay here?"

His jaw tightened for a second, like he was fighting something. Then he nodded, "Yeah, come in."

I sat on his bed, clutching the blanket while he towel-dried his hair. But my eyes kept betraying me—following the trail of water down his chest... his stomach... the dip of the towel on his hips.

He noticed immediately, Of course he did. The corner of his lips twitched into a faint smile before turning around to face me properly.

Then he stepped in front of me, raising a brow. "You want to dry it?" he asked, holding the towel out.

I swallowed. "Y-yes."

He sat on the edge of the bed, and I moved behind him, gently using the towel to pat his hair. Touching him felt like placing my hands on fire—warm, consuming but addictive.

Then he handed me a bottle of lotion.

"Can you...?" he asked.

I didn’t think. I just grabbed it, squeezed some into my palms and placed them on his back.

He inhaled sharply under my touch. His skin was warm and smooth. My hands glided over his shoulders, down his spine, across his ribs. He hung his head forward, breathing hard.

"Kianna..."

His voice was strained.

"You’re... testing me."

"I just—needed someone," I whispered, sliding my palms up his chest from behind.

"I needed something... to calm my mind."

He let out a low, helpless groan. My heart thudded wildly. The scent of him, the heat of him and the solidity—it was too much.

Before I knew it, I leaned in and pressed my lips softly against the side of his temple. Just a small nip, but Mordred’s entire body reacted.

He turned his head slightly—just enough to meet my eyes.

"Baby..." he whispered, a dangerous softness in his voice.

"You’re getting naughty with what you’re doing."

"I’m just trying to relax," I lied, breath shaky.

He smirked, slow and devastating.

"Is that what we’re calling this now?"

I didn’t answer, just slid my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his bare shoulder—needing closeness, needing him.

His hand found mine, intertwining our fingers.

He pulled me around gently until I was sitting on his lap, straddling him. The towel didn’t move, but the heat beneath it was unmistakable.

His hands rested on my thighs, warm and steady.

"You sure?" he whispered.

"Because once I start, Kianna... I won’t be able to pretend this is just comfort."

I cupped his jaw, heart pounding.

"I want you to start... slowly."

He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine—barely there, soft, questioning. I kissed him back.

Soft at first, then went deeper and hungrier. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer as his mouth moved with mine—slow, sensual and dangerously patient.

He kissed like he wanted to learn every inch of me and memorize every sound I made.

One of my hands slid into his damp hair. The other rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thundering under my palm.

"Kianna..." he murmured against my lips, voice hoarse.

"You’re driving me insane."

Good. Because he was driving me insane too. He kissed down my jaw, slowly and my breath hitched as his lips trailed down my neck, lingering at the soft pulse beneath my ear.

I tilted my head, giving him access I didn’t even know I wanted to give.

His hands roamed my back, my hips—never rushing, never pushing further than I moved.

And when his lips reached my collarbone, I exhaled a shaky sigh that made him smile against my skin.

"Kianna," he breathed, teeth grazing my pulse. "Tell me to stop."

"Don’t," I whispered. "Please."

He flipped us, laying me back against the pillows and hovering above me. His eyes searched mine, still asking. I answered by pulling him down to kiss him.

The towel slipped away mid kiss. And now it was skin on skin and heat on heat as he slid the oversized hoodie above my head.

We took our time. Every touch was a question; every sigh, an answer. He kissed down the hollow between my breasts. I gasped when his mouth closed over a nipple, back bowing off the bed.

His hands were steady, guiding and worshiping at the same time. When he finally slid inside me, it was slow, achingly slow with our eyes locked and breaths mingling.

He moved with practiced ease, hitting the right spots and thrusting all the ache Lysander had left out of me.

After, we lay tangled with his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. The rain had stopped and the room was quiet except for our breathing.

"I’m sorry," I whispered into his chest. "About Lysander and about everything."

He pressed a kiss to my hair. "You don’t owe me apologies, all I need is you staying with me here in my arms."

And I did, for the first time in days, I slept—deep and dreamlessly wrapped in the only arms that had never lied to me.