Chapter 14
JOSIE
“Well, Ms. Bright, the good news is your wrist has healed beautifully.”
Dr. Patterson positions the cast saw, and I try not to hover. But watching that plaster prison split apart feels like watching the last barrier between us crumble.
The cast falls away in two pieces, revealing pale, slightly atrophied skin beneath. Josie flexes her fingers experimentally, wincing at the stiffness.
“You’ll need some physical therapy to rebuild strength and mobility,” the doctor continues. “But considering your concussion has cleared and your ribs look good, I’d say you’re cleared for normal activity.”
Normal activity.
Josie catches my eye, and I see the same thought reflected there. Her cheeks flush pink, and a hot and possessive need coils in my chest.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she manages, her voice admirably steady.
We make it all the way to the parking lot before I pin her against the side of my truck.
“Stone—” She’s laughing, her newly freed hand coming up to grip my shoulder. “We’re in public.”
“Don’t care.” I kiss her neck, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Counting down the days until I could touch you without worrying?”
“I have some idea.” She arches into me. “But maybe we should continue this somewhere more private?”
“The clubhouse is twenty minutes away.”
“Then you better drive fast.”
My phone buzzes before I can respond. I consider ignoring it—really, really consider it—but Josie’s already pulling back, her lawyer brain engaging.
“That could be Alex.”
She’s right. It could be.
I check the screen. Unknown number.
“Shit, it might be Alex.” Josie takes it from me. “Josephine Bright speaking.”
“Ms Bright,” Agent Pilkin’s voice is brisk, professional. “I’m calling about your offer. I’ve spoken to my people, and we’d like to arrange a meet to discuss the terms.”
Josie puts the phone on speaker so I can hear.
“Define discuss.”
Josie’s switch to badass professional is so quick I’m worried I’ll get whiplash. Her expression shutters, her shoulders rolling back as her professional mode kicks in.
Christ. I told her I love her, and now I’m watching her prove exactly why. She’s magnificent—beautiful, confident, calm.
Mine.
“We’re interested enough to coordinate a joint operation. We’ve been building a case against Caruso for years. Your evidence could be the final piece we need.”
“And our conditions?”
“Full immunity for your people. Protection if needed. The Bureau takes down Caruso and his leadership; your people stay out of the official records.”
Josie and I exchange looks. It’s more than we expected.
“What’s the timeline?” Josie asks.
“We can have teams in position within seventy-two hours. We’ll need your surveillance footage, your intel on the warehouse layout, and complete cooperation during the operation.”
“You’ll have it,” I say. “But my people stay clear of the raid itself. This is your show, Agent. We’re just providing the opening.”
“Understood. I’ll be in touch with coordinates for the evidence handoff.”
The line goes dead.
Josie lets out a breath. “That was faster than I expected.”
“They want Caruso badly.” I pull her back against me. “And thanks to you, they’re going to get him.”
“Thanks to Steel. He’s the one who cracked their security.”
“Steel got the footage. You got the FBI to actually use it.” I kiss her forehead. “We make a good team.”
“We do.” She tilts her face up, inviting a real kiss. “Now take me home. We have seventy-two hours before everything goes sideways, and I intend to spend at least some of that time in bed with you.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The ride back to the clubhouse is torture.
Josie’s hand rests on my thigh—her newly freed hand, pale and slightly weak but functional—and she keeps tracing patterns that inch higher and higher with every mile.
“You’re playing with fire,” I warn her.
“Maybe I want to get burned.”
“Josie—”
“Eyes on the road, Mr. President.” Her fingers brush dangerously close to where I’m already hard for her. “Safety first.”
“You’re going to pay for this.”
“God, I hope so.”
We barely make it through the clubhouse doors.
I’m vaguely aware of brothers calling out greetings, of Ginger saying mentioning dinner, but all I can focus on is getting Josie upstairs. Getting her alone. Getting my hands on her without any barriers between us.
“Stone.” Hawk steps into our path, and I nearly growl at him. “Do you have any updates on the FBI situation?”
Fuck.
I stop. “Organize Church for an hour.”
“Two,” Josie squeaks from behind me.
“Two,” I agree.
“Also, Duck wants to talk about the rally tomorrow—”
“SAVE IT FOR CHURCH!”
Hawk takes one look at my face, then at Josie’s flushed cheeks, and wisely steps aside.
“Got it, Prez. Two hours.”
I practically drag Josie up the stairs.
The moment my bedroom door closes behind us, she’s on me—pulling at my shirt, kissing my neck, making those little sounds that drive me absolutely insane.
“Eager,” I manage.
“I’ve been waiting weeks.” She yanks my shirt over my head. “Months if you include—”
I shut her up with a kiss.
“Tonight,” I promise against her mouth. “After Church, after the briefing, after everything is handled—tonight, Josie. I’m going to take my time with you. Do everything I’ve been dreaming about. Make you scream my name so loud the whole clubhouse hears.”
She shivers in my arms. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both. But right now?” I walk her backward until her knees hit the bed. “Right now I’m going to make you come because I fucking can. Because you’re mine and I’ve got two hours to kill.”
Her eyes darken. “Are you sure that’s enough time?”
“Sweetheart, I can do a lot of damage in an hour. Two is practically a luxury.”
“Prove it.”
I don’t give her time to say anything else.
My mouth crashes into hers, swallowing her gasp as I bear her down onto the mattress.
She tastes like the coffee she stole from my mug this morning, like the mint toothpaste we now share, like mine.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, pulling me closer, and when I lick into her mouth she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
“Fuck you,” she pants between kisses. “I can’t believe you made me wait for this.”
“I know.” I drag my mouth down her jaw, her neck, finding that spot below her ear that makes her shiver. “I know, baby.”
She hooks a leg around my hip, grinding up against me, and the friction through our clothes is torture—the sweetest kind. Her nails rake down my bare back, hard enough to sting, and I hiss against her throat.
“Fuck—those claws.”
“You love it.”
I do. God help me, I do.
I pull back just enough to look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, her hair spread across my pillow like she belongs there. Because she does. She belongs here, in my bed, in my life, in every part of me I’d locked away for fifteen years.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she breathes.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to devour me.”
“That’s exactly what I’m about to do.”
Her eyes darken, pupils blown wide. “Then stop talking about it and do it.”
I take her mouth again, rougher this time, one hand fisting in her hair while the other slides under her shirt. Her skin is so soft—warm silk under my calloused palm—and she arches into my touch like she’s been starving for it.
“Off.” I tug at her shirt. “I need this off.”
She sits up just enough for me to pull it over her head, and then my hands are on her bra—plain white cotton, practical, the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen because it’s covering her—and I’m fumbling with the clasp like a teenager.
“Having trouble?” She’s laughing at me, the brat.
“Shut up.” The clasp finally gives and I toss the bra somewhere over my shoulder. “I was distracted.”
“By what?”
“By you.” I cup her breasts in my hands, feeling their weight, watching her nipples pebble under my palms. “By these. By the fact that I finally get to touch you without worrying about breaking you.”
“I told you I wouldn’t break.”
“And I didn’t believe you.” I lower my head, pressing a kiss to the swell of her breast. “But the cast is off. The stitches are out. And I have exactly—” I glance at the clock. “— an hour and fifty-three minutes to make you come as many times as humanly possible.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s a promise.”
I draw her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, and she cries out—her hands flying to my head, fingers tangling in my hair. I lavish attention on one breast while my hand works the other, rolling her nipple between my fingers, pinching just hard enough to make her gasp.
“Boone—” Her hips are moving restlessly beneath me, seeking friction. “More. I need more.”
“Patience.”
“Fuck patience. I’ve been patient for months.”
She’s yanking at my belt before I can respond, her newly freed hands—no more cast, thank Christ—working the buckle with desperate efficiency. I let her, groaning when her fingers brush against my cock through my jeans.
“Someone’s eager,” she murmurs.
“You have no idea.”
She gets my belt open, then my button, then my zipper, and when she shoves her hand inside my boxers and wraps her fingers around me, I have to squeeze my eyes shut and think about engine parts to keep from losing it right there.
“Jesus—” I thrust into her grip involuntarily. “Your hand—”
“You like that?” She strokes me slowly, root to tip, her thumb swirling through the moisture already leaking from the head. “Like feeling me touch you?”
“Josie—”
“I used to lie awake imagining this.” Her voice is low, throaty, doing things to me that should be illegal. “About what you’d feel like in my hand. How thick you’d be. How hard.” She squeezes, and I groan. “Reality’s even better than the fantasy.”
“Keep talking like that and this is going to be over embarrassingly fast.”
“We can’t have that.” She releases me with a wicked smile. “Not when you promised to make me scream.”