Her Biker Bodyguard
I probably would have been okay to get some sleep, but something kept me up, checking over him like a mama hen.
Footsteps creak on the stairs behind me, and I turn to greet him. My words catch in my throat.
Miles stands in the doorway, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hang loosely on his hips. His dirty blonde hair loose around his shoulders instead of in its usual bun. The bandages I applied last night cover parts of his torso, but they can't hide the defined muscles underneath. Various tattoos peek out between the gauze - nothing excessive like some of the other club members, just elegant line work that complements his frame.
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