12. Sophie
Chapter 12
Sophie
Warm, wet pleasure pulls me from sleep, my body responding with delicious tingles and sparks before my mind fully awakens. I arch my back, a soft gasp escaping my lips as I register what's happening—Blade's head is between my thighs, his mouth and tongue working magic that sends electric currents racing through my limbs.
The early morning light filters through the blinds, casting golden stripes across his broad shoulders. His hands grip my thighs firmly, keeping me open to him as he explores every sensitive fold with exquisite precision. Each stroke of his tongue draws me further from sleep and deeper into a haze of pleasure I'm still learning to navigate.
"Blade," I sigh, my voice thick with sleepy desire. His stubble grazes the tender skin of my inner thighs, the slight burn adding another dimension to the sensations overwhelming me.
He looks up, his eyes dark and hungry, pupils dilated with lust. "Morning, princess," he murmurs against my most sensitive flesh, the vibration of his deep voice adding another layer of sensation. "Like your wake-up call?"
A whimper escapes me as he circles my clit with his tongue, my hips unconsciously bucking against his mouth. "Yes," I manage, the word dissolving into another gasp as he sucks gently, then more firmly.
My fingers tangle in his messy blond hair, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as he groans approvingly against me. The sound vibrates through my core, making my thighs tremble. I'd never imagined myself being so bold, but something about Blade makes me brave, makes me want to explore these new territories.
"That's it, baby," he encourages, his breath hot against me. "Show me what you want. Guide me."
His words embolden me further. I tighten my grip in his hair, directing him slightly to where I need him most. The intimacy of this act—communicating without words, trusting him with my pleasure—intensifies everything. My other hand clutches at the sheets, twisting them in my fist as pressure builds low in my belly.
"You taste so fucking good," he growls, his large hands sliding under my hips to lift me closer to his hungry mouth. "Could do this for hours."
"Blade," I whisper, his name a plea and a prayer as the tension builds inside me, coiling tighter with each expert stroke of his tongue against my clit. My thighs begin to shake, my breathing coming in quick, shallow pants. "I'm going to?—"
"Let go," he commands, his voice a rumble against my sensitive flesh. "Come for me, princess. Want to feel you."
His words push me over the edge.
When the release comes, it crashes over me in waves, my body trembling as Blade holds my hips steady, working me through every aftershock until I'm gasping for breath. Stars explode behind my closed eyelids, my thighs quivering uncontrollably. My back arches off the mattress as pulse after pulse of pleasure radiates outward from my core, each one stealing my breath. His tongue continues its relentless assault, circling and flicking, drawing out my climax until I'm whimpering, caught between wanting more and begging for mercy.
I'm still floating in bliss when he moves up my body, his heavy, muscled form caging me beneath him. The delicious weight of him presses me into the mattress, skin against skin, his chest hair tickling my sensitive nipples. The thick ridge of his arousal rests hot and heavy against my inner thigh, a promise of what's to come. His eyes are dark with desire, predatory and possessive, yet there's tenderness in how he brushes stray hairs from my face.
He captures my mouth in a kiss that makes me whimper. His tongue plunges deep, claiming my mouth with the same thoroughness he'd just claimed between my legs. The taste of my own arousal on his lips sends a renewed flood of heat to my center. When he finally breaks the kiss, leaving me breathless once more, his eyes bore into mine with savage intensity. "Say it, Sophie." His voice is commanding, but his calloused fingers are gentle as they trace my cheekbone, then slide down to cup my breast, thumb circling the hardened peak.
I know exactly what he wants me to say.
"I'm yours, Blade,” I breathe against his lips, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “Yours.”
He enters me in one powerful thrust, my body still sensitive. The sudden fullness forces a broken gasp from my lungs as he stretches me, fills me completely. He stills for a moment, allowing me to adjust, his massive arms trembling with the effort of restraint. When he begins to move, it's rougher than before, more urgent—each stroke deep and purposeful. The new angle allows him to hit a spot inside me that sends electric currents racing up my spine.
"Fuck, Sophie," he groans into my neck, his breath hot against my skin. "So tight, so perfect for me."
His powerful hips establish a punishing rhythm, the slick sounds of our joining filling the room along with our ragged breathing. I match his intensity, my nails digging into the hard planes of his back, leaving crescents that mark him as mine just as surely as I am his. My legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back, drawing him impossibly deeper with each thrust.
I've discovered a wildness inside me I never knew existed—a part of me that responds to his raw, gruff masculinity with equal fervor. I arch up to meet him, rolling my hips against his thrusts, drawing a string of profanities from his lips that somehow sound like poetry.
The pressure builds again, a coiling tension low in my belly. He senses it, reaching between us to circle my sensitive bundle of nerves with his thumb. The dual sensation—his thickness stretching me while his thumb works its magic—sends me spiraling over the edge again. I cry out his name as my inner walls clench around him, pulling him deeper.
My orgasm triggers his own. With a guttural groan that sounds almost pained, he thrusts once more, burying himself to the hilt as his body shudders above mine. I feel the hot pulses of his seed deep inside me. His face contorts in beautiful agony as he empties himself completely.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my ear. A thin sheen of sweat covers both our bodies, cooling in the morning air. His fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine, raising goosebumps in their wake. The scent of our lovemaking hangs in the air, musky and primal.
"You okay?" he asks softly, a gentleness in his voice that few besides me ever hear.
I nod against his chest, playing with the edge of the tattoo that curls around his ribs. "More than okay."
He kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering there. "I have a surprise for you," he says finally, his voice a deep rumble against my cheek.
I lift my head, curious. "What kind of surprise?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and he looks a little sheepish, a little uncertain—nervous even!—an expression I might have thought impossible for a man like him.
"Got you a job. Sort of." He pauses, watching my reaction. “Volunteer position at the local Animal Clinic. Three days a week, starting tomorrow. A friend of the club owns it...”
His voice tapers off and I’m so stunned we just stare at each other for several long moments. I’m too emotional to breathe, much less speak.
Finally, I push myself up to look at him properly, searching his face to see if he's serious. "A vet clinic? Really?" My voice catches, emotion welling up so suddenly I can barely contain it.
He nods. "Told her you're studying to be a vet tech. She said it's good experience, especially with your online courses. Might lead to a paid position eventually, depending on how it goes.” He still looks uncertain as he studies my face, his gaze stopped on the tears I know are pooling in my eyes. “If you want it, that is. You don’t have to accept. You’re under no obligation?—”
Emotion clogs my throat. During all my years living with Aunt Margaret, not once did anyone support my dreams. Any aspirations I voiced were met with mockery at best, punishment at worst.
“Not want it?” I say a little too loudly. “Of course I want it.” I sit up my hands cupping my mouth in an attempt to contain the hysterical burst of laughter that wants to escape. A corner of his mouth lifts in a relieved half-smile at my reaction. “Oh, my god, Blade, thank you so much.”
His expression softens. "Seeing you happy is all the thanks I need, princess." He kisses me gently. “I want to see you become everything you're meant to be."
I press my lips to his again, trying to convey what words can't express. When I pull back, his eyes have darkened again, and I know if we don't get out of bed soon, we never will.
"Come on," he says, as if reading my thoughts. “I want to check on Max.”
It’s only then that I realize that the prospect who took Max out to do his business early this morning never brought him back to our room.
We dress quickly—me in jeans and a soft green sweater Angel loaned me, Blade in his usual black t-shirt and jeans, his cut going on last like armor. I watch him pull on his boots, mesmerized by the fluid strength in every movement. I still can't believe this man—this powerful, dangerous man—has chosen me.
The main room of the clubhouse is already busy when we enter. Several brothers lounge on the worn leather couches or talk in small groups. The air smells of coffee and bacon.
But what catches my eye, what brings another lump to my throat, is Max.
The dog lies on what can only be described as a throne—an ornate dog bed elevated on what looks like a memory foam cushion draped with soft blankets. Saint, the intimidating Sergeant at Arms, is on his knees beside Max, offering what appears to be bacon from his own breakfast plate.
"He's club now," Blade comments beside me, amusement in his voice. "Brothers will be spoiling him rotten.”
Max spots me and immediately rises and trots—yes, trots —over with a wagging tail. Within only hours of affection and attention, he's already transforming. Of course, it’ll take longer for his coat to regain its shine and for his too-slender frame to fill out, but the cautious, fearful slouch is gone from his posture. He must know with a dog’s sixth sense that he’s safe and among friends here.
I kneel to greet him, laughing as he licks my face with enthusiastic affection. "Good morning to you too, buddy." I run my hands along his sides again. I checked him last night for any wounds or tender areas and found none. Fortunately, Aunt Margaret’s abuse hadn’t yet extended to beating him. I’m confident that with all this love and affection as well as proper nutrition, he’ll recover quickly.
Hawk drops into a nearby chair with a coffee mug clutched in his tattooed hands. "Haven't seen Saint share food since...well, ever."
Saint flips Hawk off without looking up from where he's refilling Max's water bowl.
"He likes you guys,” I tell Hawk, scratching behind Max's ears. "He usually takes longer to warm up to people."
Hawk's expression softens as he reaches out, letting Max sniff his hand before giving him a gentle pat. "Smart dog." He shoots me a wink before getting up to join a game of pool.
I follow Blade to the kitchen where there are stacks of pancakes, bacon, and eggs that smell heavenly. The casual abundance of food still startles me.
"Good morning," Rash greets me with a respectful nod before turning to Blade. "Coffee's fresh, VP."
I'm still getting used to how everyone defers to Blade, the respect in their tones when addressing him. It's a stark reminder of who he is in this world—not just my protector, but a leader of dangerous men.
Blade fills a plate for me, piling it high with pancakes and adding a generous side of bacon. While I dig into breakfast, he crosses the kitchen to talk club business with Ghost.
When Angel slides onto the bench seat across from me, her purple-streaked hair pulled into a messy bun, I’m unable to keep the excitement from my voice as I tell her about the volunteer opportunity Blade lined up for me.
"Vet clinic, huh?” She steals a piece of bacon from my plate with a wink. “That's perfect for you."
"I still can't believe it.” I shake my head in wonder. "A week ago none of this would have seemed possible."
"That's how it works around here," she says, glancing to where Blade stands talking with Ghost, their heads bent together in serious conversation. "These men—they act tough, but when they care about you, they move mountains."
Her words ring true. In less than a week, Blade has given me more than I dared dream of—safety, freedom, a chance at my dream career. And something else, something I'm almost afraid to name even in the privacy of my own thoughts.
"How did you adjust?" I ask Angel, lowering my voice. "To all of this. The club, the lifestyle..." I gesture vaguely around us. "Sometimes it feels like I've stepped into another world."
Angel's lips curve into an understanding smile. "It is another world. One with its own rules, its own justice system." She sips her coffee thoughtfully. "It was hard at first. I came from...well, a bad situation. Different from yours, but similar in some ways. The noise, the brothers, the constant presence of people—it was overwhelming."
I nod, relieved that someone understands. While I'm grateful for the safety of the clubhouse, the adjustment from isolation to constant companionship has been jarring.
"But you learn to see past the rough edges," Angel continues. "To recognize the loyalty, the protection, the family they offer. And one day you wake up and realize you wouldn't trade it for anything."
Our conversation shifts to her own dreams. She's passionate about her nonprofit for aged-out foster youth, her eyes lighting up as she describes her plans for transitional housing and education support.
"I'm sorry I got involved with your aunt's foundation," she says suddenly, her expression clouding. "If I'd known what was happening to you..." She shakes her head, looking down at the table.
"Don't," I tell her firmly. "Aunt Margaret has fooled everyone for years. Her public persona is perfect—the widow dedicating her life to charitable causes." I can't keep the bitterness from my voice.
Angel reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "I sensed something wasn't right that night at the fundraiser. The way she watched you, the way you flinched when she came near." She sighs. "I should have said something to Ghost or Blade."
"No one would have believed you over her,” I assure her. “She has the mayor's private number in her phone. The police chief plays golf at her country club."
Angel nods, understanding. "People see what they want to see. The wealthy philanthropist is a lot more palatable than the abusive guardian."
"I'm good at hiding it, too," I admit quietly. "I learned early on that showing weakness just gave her more ammunition. So I got really good at pretending everything was fine."
"You don't have to pretend here," Angel says, her eyes serious. "Not with me, not with Blade, not with any of the brothers." A slight smile tugs at her lips. "Hell, even Saint is protective of you.”
I laugh, the sound still feeling foreign but becoming more natural. "He just likes Max."
"He likes that you care about Max," she corrects. "These men value loyalty and heart above all else. You have both."
We're interrupted by a commotion from the front of the clubhouse. One of the prospects rushes in, his expression tense. "Cops at the gate again."
My heart plummets, the good mood evaporating instantly. Angel grips my hand tighter. "It's okay. Remember, you're an adult. They can't make you go anywhere."
Blade is beside me in seconds, his expression hard, all traces of the tender lover from this morning gone. The transformation is jarring—eyes cold and calculating, jaw set in stone, shoulders squared. He’s a warrior ready for battle. "Stay here," he commands. "I'll handle it."
"No." The word surprises me as much as him. I've spent my life following orders, keeping my head down, avoiding confrontation. But something has shifted in me these past couple days. I straighten my spine, looking directly into his eyes. "I mean, I'll come with you. I should face them."
He studies me for a long moment, something like pride flickering in his eyes before he nods. "Alright. But you stay by my side."
"They've got a search warrant this time,” the same prospect says. “They’re here for the dog.”
My blood turns to ice. Max. They've come for Max. The thought of him being taken back to that crate, to Aunt Margaret's cruelty, makes my stomach heave.
"Angel," Blade snaps, "take Max to the panic room. Lock the door."
Angel moves immediately, scooping up the dog bed in one arm before grabbing Max's collar and leading him quickly down the hallway. The dog glances back at me, confused by the sudden tension, but follows her willingly.
Brothers materialize from all corners of the clubhouse, forming a protective barrier between the entrance and me. Blade positions me slightly behind him, his body a shield. The show of unity brings a lump to my throat—these men, most of whom barely know me, stand ready to defend me.
The doors open, and four officers enter, led by the same detective who visited before—Detective Wilson. His weathered face is grim as he surveys the room, taking in the wall of leather-clad bikers.
He acknowledges Blade with a nod before his eyes find me behind Blade's shoulder. "We have a warrant to search these premises for a German Shepherd reported stolen from the residence of Margaret Whitmore."
Anger flares hot in my chest, burning away fear. "Stolen?" I step out from behind Blade, ignoring his subtle attempt to keep me back. My heart hammers against my ribs, but my voice remains steady. "You mean rescued from abuse and neglect?"
The detective's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes. "We have a legal duty to investigate the claim, Miss Bennett. Mrs. Whitmore has provided registration papers proving ownership."
"Of course she has," I retort. My hands tremble, but I clench them into fists at my sides. "She has paperwork for everything. Did she show you papers documenting how she kept him locked in a crate too small for his size? How she withheld food and water for days as punishment? Or how about documentation of using him to control me?"
Blade's hand settles at the small of my back, a silent show of support that gives me strength to continue.
"Detective Wilson," I say, my voice steadier now, "there is no dog here. But if there were, wouldn't you agree that an animal being systematically abused deserves rescue?"
Wilson's gaze holds mine for a long moment. I can feel sweat beading at my temples, my mouth dry with tension, but I don't look away. Finally, he speaks. "We still need to execute the warrant, Miss Bennett. If there's no dog, as you claim, then there's no issue."
Blade steps forward, VP patch on his cut clearly visible. "Search away, Detective. But you won't find any German Shepherd here."
For the next thirty minutes, officers search the clubhouse, opening doors, looking under furniture, checking closets. Ghost volunteers to show them around, but the panic room where Angel remains with Max, is hidden so well they’ll never find it.
I stand rigid beside Blade, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it. His arm around my waist is the only thing keeping me upright. My legs are weak with anxiety. My mind races with worst-case scenarios—Max being dragged away, Blade arrested for obstruction, the fragile new life I've begun shattered in an instant.
"Breathe," Blade murmurs against my hair, his lips barely moving. "They won't find him."
I nod, drawing strength from him. The minutes crawl by, each second stretching into eternity as we wait.
When the search concludes and the officers return to the main room, Detective Wilson's expression has shifted subtly—less certain, more contemplative.
"Satisfied?" Ghost asks, his tone carefully neutral.
Wilson nods slowly. "We've executed our warrant and found nothing. We'll be leaving now."
As they turn to go, Wilson pauses, looking back at me. "Miss Bennett, if you ever need assistance, my card has my direct line."
His tone makes me wonder if he's trying to tell me something beyond the obvious. Does he suspect what Aunt Margaret is really like? Has he seen through her carefully constructed facade?
The doors close behind them, and the tension in the room breaks like a snapped rubber band. Brothers slap each other on the back. Relieved grins replace grim expressions. Angel emerges from the hallway with Max, who bounds over to me immediately.
I collapse to my knees, burying my face in his fur as tears of relief flow freely. "Good boy," I whisper. "We're okay. We're both okay."
Blade crouches beside me, one hand on Max, the other on my back. "You were amazing," he tells me, voice low so only I can hear. "Stood your ground like a warrior."
I look up at him through tear-blurred eyes. "She won't stop, will she? She'll keep coming after me.”
His expression hardens, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Let her try. Just let her fucking try.”