8. Chapter 7
Honey
I stood in the doorway of Jack's bathroom, watching steam billow from the open tile shower as he stripped off his blood stained clothes.
My own vest and jeans were spattered with dark brown dried blood.
Twenty-four hours ago, that thought would have made me sick.
Now I just felt numb, with a strange undercurrent of something like pride.
I'd fought. I'd survived. I'd killed a man to protect what was becoming mine.
As Jack's eyes met mine across the room, I recognized the same primal energy thrumming through his massive frame.
"You coming in?" he asked, his voice gravely as he tossed his ruined shirt into a corner. He’d folded his cut and lay it over one of the chairs. I thought I should probably clean both of them, but, A, I didn’t know how without damaging the leather, and B, I was starting to crash after the adrenaline and I wasn’t altogether certain how long I could stay upright.
Instead I was going to get in the shower with Jack.
I nodded, fumbling with the buttons of my jeans. My hands were still unsteady. Not from fear, but from lingering adrenaline that refused to fade. The compound might have settled into an uneasy quiet outside these walls, but my blood still sang with the memory of danger.
"Let me help," Jack murmured, crossing to me in two long strides.
His hands, so capable of violence, were gentle as they brushed mine aside.
Those same fingers that had twisted Shank's neck until it snapped now worked my buttons free with surprising tenderness.
The contrast should have disturbed me. Instead, it made something warm unfurl in my chest. The lingering anxiety and adrenaline finally dissipated.
Because I knew Jack would keep me safe. Simple as that. I trusted this man with my life.
I watched his face as he undressed me. The hard lines of his jaw were set in concentration, a bruise already forming along his cheekbone where Shank had landed a blow.
A cut above his eye had crusted with dried blood.
Now, I stood unashamed as Jack peeled away the layers, revealing skin marked with my own battle souvenirs: a scrape on my elbow from diving for cover, fingertip bruises on my upper arms where Ghost had yanked me to safety.
"You're staring," Jack said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile.
"Just taking inventory," I replied, my fingers reaching to trace the knife wound across his chest. A long, angry slash to add to his collection of scars.
He caught my hand, pressing my palm flat against his chest. "Kiss me, Honey." His voice was a broken whisper.
The steady thump of his heart beneath my fingers grounded me.
Alive. We were both alive when some of his brothers, men I considered friends, were not.
That simple fact hit me with sudden force, and I surged up on my tiptoes, claiming his mouth with mine.
He responded instantly, his arms banding around me, lifting me off my feet.
The kiss tasted of blood and sweat but I didn't care.
I needed this. Needed him. Bloody Jack Mason. My very own monster from Hell Night.
We stumbled into the shower, still tangled in each other. The hot spray hit my back like a physical shock, making me gasp. Jack swallowed my moan with another kiss. Water sluiced over his massive shoulders, turning brown as it rinsed away the grime of battle.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt, Jack?” It pained me to ask. I never wanted to think about him getting hurt but I didn’t want to take a chance on missing something I shouldn’t.
“I swear to you, baby, I’m fine. Now I have you solidly in my arms, I’m more than fine.”
I ran my hands over his body, mapping new bruises and small cuts and scrapes. A latticework of purple was already blooming across his ribs where Shank had landed a solid kick. I bent to press my lips against the discoloration, oddly satisfied when Jack's breath hitched in response.
"Honey," he groaned, his fingers tangling in my wet hair.
I looked up, water streaming down my face, and found his eyes blazing with heat. "I need you," I told him, the simple truth falling from my lips without hesitation or shame. "Now."
That was all it took. Jack spun me around, urging me to put my hands on the slick tile wall.
He gripped my hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
These bruises I'd wear proudly tomorrow.
He urged my foot onto the low bench and wrapped an arm around my waist before I felt his fingers bite into my hip once more.
The hot spray cascaded over us as I felt him position his cock at my entrance, just kissing me with the tip. My pulse hammered against my throat as his other hand swept my wet hair to one side, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder.
"You were so fucking brave today," he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with emotion I hadn’t heard from him before. "Watching you fight... Christ, Honey."
I pressed back against him, craving the solid weight of his body. "I was terrified," I admitted, my breath fogging the tile in front of me. "But I wasn't going to let them hurt you or anyone else here."
His grip on my hip tightened possessively. "Mine," he growled, the word vibrating against my neck as he bit down gently. "My brave girl."
The possession in his voice sent heat spiraling through me. I was his. Had been since that first night, really, even when I'd tried to pretend otherwise. Today had just made it official in ways that went deeper than any property patch.
"Jack, please," I breathed, pushing back against him.
He needed no further encouragement. I felt him guide himself to my entrance, pausing just long enough
"Fuck, baby," he growled against my neck. "You feel so good."
There was nothing gentle about this. Nothing hesitant or careful.
Just raw need and the slick slide of skin on skin.
Jack pounded into me, each thrust driving me higher against the wall.
I clung to his forearm around my waist, nails digging into muscle as he hit a spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids and I screamed.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed off the bathroom tiles, mingling with our ragged breathing and many loud moans, grunts, and shouts from both of us.
The same primal energy that had fueled us through the fight now found release in this desperate coupling.
I'd never known I could want like this. Hard, rough, and urgent only touched on my feelings. I’d never known I could crave the sting of teeth on my shoulder or the sweet burn of my muscles stretched to their limit.
"Mine," Jack growled, his rhythm faltering as he neared the edge. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasped, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me. "I'm yours, Jack. But you’re mine too!"
That was all it took. His hand slipped between us, finding my clit with unerring accuracy.
Two strokes of his thumb and I was coming apart, my body clenching around him as wave after wave of sensation crashed through me.
He followed a heartbeat later, his release triggering aftershocks that left me trembling and boneless in his arms.
For long moments, we stood there catching our breaths.
Jack still had his arm tightly around me.
He didn’t pull out of me. Instead, we stayed connected, panting, the shower spray washing away the cum I knew leaked from my pussy around is cock.
Then, slowly, Jack urged me to put my foot on the floor, steadying me as he reached for the shower gel.
"You okay?" he asked, concern momentarily replacing the hunger in his eyes.
I nodded, unable to find words just yet. My legs felt like jelly, and I was pretty sure I'd have bruises in the shape of his fingers on my hips tomorrow. The thought made me smile. “Perfect.” The word came out a breathy sight I couldn’t work up the energy to be upset about.
The shift from desperate urgency to tender care happened seamlessly. Jack squirted the soap onto his palm and began to wash me with reverent gentleness, cleaning away the last traces of battle from my skin. I returned the favor, carefully avoiding the fresh wounds on his chest and side.
"Turn around," I murmured, and he obeyed without question.
I washed his back, tracing the lines of the club's emblem inked between his shoulder blades. The same symbol I now wore on my vest. Only where my cut said Property of Bloody Jack, his had Bound in Blood MC arched above the emblem.
When we were both clean, Jack shut off the water and reached for a towel. He dried me first, his touch lingering on the curves of my body, before quickly wiping himself down. We didn't speak. We didn't need to. The quiet intimacy soothed us both.
As we stood there, wrapped in steam, silence, and each other’s arms, I realized something that filled me with a satisfying peace. I'd found my place. At Jack's side. And nothing had ever felt so right.
After a moment, Jack lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed. The towels lay forgotten in the bathroom.
He lay me down on the bed before following so he lay half on top of me. Stroking my cheek with his thumb, he studied my face in the dim light filtering through the blinds. He studied me intently, like he could see something when he looked at me he hadn’t seen before.
"You're different," he said quietly. Jack brushed my lower lip in a tender caress.
I caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I know."
He was right, though. Something fundamental had shifted during the battle. The woman who'd walked into that Halloween party weeks ago transformed into someone who'd killed without hesitation, who'd stood her ground in a firefight, who'd claimed a biker president as fiercely as he'd claimed her.
Jack leaned down to kiss me with a gentle caress of his mouth. "What're you thinking about?" His voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet room.