Chapter 15 #3
After a brief rest—during which I doze against his chest while he plays with my hair—he wakes me with kisses down my spine and coaxes me onto my side. We make love face-to-face, legs intertwined, moving together in a slow rhythm that feels more like dancing than fucking.
“I can see you,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine. “I can watch you fall apart.”
“Is that what you want? To watch me?”
“I want everything.” He hitches my leg higher over his hip, changing the angle. “Every expression. Every sound. Every shudder and moan.”
“Possessive.”
“Absolutely.”
He draws it out until I’m begging, then brings me over the edge with a twist of his hips and a thumb on my clit that makes me see stars.
Afterward, we raid the mini-fridge—bottles of water and leftover pizza eaten naked in bed, laughing at nothing, talking about everything. The sheets are a disaster, tangled at the foot of the bed, but neither of us cares.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he says, licking pizza sauce off his thumb.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Everything.” He reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want to know all of it.”
So I tell him. About Atlanta—the high-profile cases that made my career, and the one that broke it.
About the defendant who walked despite overwhelming evidence, and how I’d found out later that the judge had been bought.
About the death threats that followed when I tried to expose it, and the quiet resignation that came after.
“I came to Stoneheart looking for boring,” I admit. “Small town. Simple cases. Nothing that could follow me home.”
“Bet you didn’t expect this.” He gestures vaguely at the room. At us. At the MC paraphernalia visible through the open closet door.
“No.” I curl closer to him, pressing my face against his chest. “But I’m not complaining.”
“Good.” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tighter. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”
He tells me about his ex, then. About Rebecca—how they’d been high school sweethearts, how he’d gotten her pregnant with Lee at seventeen and married her because it was the right thing to do.
How she’d stuck around for thirteen years before finally admitting she couldn’t compete with the club for his attention.
“She wasn’t wrong,” he admits, his voice rough. “I was a shitty husband. Put the club first, every time. She deserved better.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I regret hurting her. I regret what it did to the kids, growing up with parents who couldn’t make it work.” He’s quiet for a moment. “But I can’t regret the club. It’s who I am. And I’d rather be honest about that than pretend to be something I’m not.”
“You’re not the same man you were then,” I point out. “People change.”
“Some things don’t change. The club will always be part of my life. Part of any life with me.” He meets my eyes, and there’s a vulnerability in his gaze—what he’d likely call weakness, but I call trust.
I take my time thinking about it rather than offering platitudes. The 2am calls, the secrets I’ll never be told, the danger that comes with loving a man like him.
But here’s the thing—my life isn’t so different.
I’ve taken calls at midnight from clients in crisis.
I’ve kept secrets that would destroy families if they ever came to light.
I’ve spent my entire career balancing a hundred spinning plates while pretending I have it all under control.
Confidentiality isn’t new to me. Neither is operating in the spaces between what’s legal and what’s right.
And if I’m being honest with myself? I like this.
The thrill of being with a man who’s dangerous and unpredictable, but fiercely protective of the people he loves.
The club operates in ways I can’t—where the law fails, where the system grinds people up and spits them out, they step in.
They protect their own. They get things done.
Not everything is black and white. I learned that my first year practicing law. Sometimes justice lives in the gray areas.
“I can live with that,” I say finally. “As long as you don’t shut me out. As long as I’m your partner, not just your woman.”
“You’re both.” He kisses my forehead. “You’re everything.”
We fall silent after that, tangled together in the darkness, but sleep doesn’t come. There’s too much energy still buzzing between us. Too much want.
“I believe,” I say eventually, tracing a finger down his chest, “that you promised me all night.”
“Did I?” His cock twitches against my thigh, already starting to harden again. “I suppose I did.”
“A man of your word, you said.”
“I did say that.”
“Then I think—” I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly. “—you have more work to do.”
He groans, his hips thrusting into my grip. “Woman, you’re going to kill me.”
“But what a way to go.”
The last time is just before dawn, when the sky outside is starting to lighten and we’re both exhausted in the best possible way. He pulls me on top of him—”Want to watch you ride me,” he says, his voice rough with want—and I sink down onto him with a moan.
This is different from the others. Lazier. Half-asleep. More about connection than climax. I rock against him slowly, my hands braced on his chest, while he watches me with an expression that’s equal parts lust and love.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands on my hips, guiding me. “So fucking beautiful like this.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He laughs, and I feel it everywhere—the vibration of his chest, the way it makes his cock twitch inside me. I clench around him in response, and his laugh turns into a groan.
“Close,” he warns.
“Me too.”
When we finally come together, it’s quiet. Soft. A whispered promise rather than a shout. I collapse against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me there while we both come down.
I fall asleep with his heartbeat beneath my ear and his arms wrapped around me like he’s never letting go.
He isn’t. I know that now.
And neither am I.