Chapter Four
I’M DRIFTING OFF, half asleep but still conscious, my mind surfacing images of the past few days. Weeks. Months.
Lying on the gravel in Silas’s kennel behind the clubhouse. Billy’s collar digging into my neck. Maze’s unwanted hands. The moans and cries of all the women in Billy’s bed.
There’s a restless charge in me. An edgy discomfort I can’t turn off.
I shift and turn toward Ryder, moving in toward him until my nose is pressed against the warmth of his chest, rising and falling softly underneath the cotton of his t-shirt, his smell, like it always does, transforming me.
A chemical reaction that starts at my nose.
Heat, comfort, want. I breathe deeply, then deeper again, his pheromones taking the edge off my looping thoughts.
That was then. This is now.
The sound of the rain is softening, the drops hitting the roof in small clusters breaking up long stretches of silence.
I ground myself in the sounds of the cabin.
Ryder’s breathing, deep and slow. Damian’s behind me on the recliner, lighter.
He inhales deeply and then moves slightly in the chair, making the leather creak.
Behind Ryder, Jake snores lightly. Wyatt is too far away to hear.
I’ve always slept around other people. Foster homes.
Billy’s apartment. The O.D. clubhouse. Privacy wasn’t something I grew up with, so sleeping with the sound of four people breathing around me doesn’t feel strange.
What is strange is the knowledge that these are four men I’ve loved in different ways, all within reach.
Every man in this cabin has had me in one way or another, and yet it doesn’t feel sordid. It feels like the only place I’m supposed to be.
I lift a hand to pull the collar of Ryder’s shirt down, just an inch, so that I can press my nose against his skin and breathe the soothing chemistry of him in.
God, the way his scent hits me. Like it’s tailor-made for my nervous system.
It quiets everything. I press a soft kiss to his collarbone and his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer.
His body is so big, so unmovable, that being tucked against him is like getting to rest inside a fortress.
I straighten my legs so that my stomach touches his and feel the slow, heavy twitch of his cock waking. Heat flares through me—God, he feels good. Solid enough to keep me from spinning off into half-remembered traumas, to drown out the residual static in my nerves.
I’m wide awake now, my body humming, my breath quickening, a low swell blooming between my legs.
I want him. I want the rough, raw masculinity of him, the agonizing build-up of pleasure and release.
I want him to pin me down and fuck me hard and make me feel something that isn’t fear or emptiness or despair.
I run my hand down his back, over the strong, carved muscles that bracket his spine, and slide my fingers under the waistband of his boxers, tugging them over the curve of his ass.
He groans, soft and raw and half-asleep, and shifts just enough for me to get the fabric over his hips.
Then I reach for the warm, solid column of his cock—hard now, thick and hot and perfect in my palm.
He jerks faintly when I stroke down the underside, a quiet sound slipping from him.
His chin tilts up, eyes still closed, breath hitching.
Pre-cum streaks warm across my palm and I wriggle under the weight of his arm, pulling my underwear down—small-size men’s briefs Damian bought me at Walmart because he “didn’t know how to” buy women’s underwear.
I tilt Ryder’s cock until the head of it is pressed against me, sliding over my clit, and almost moan aloud at the jolt of heat.
That’s what wakes him. His eyes snap open, dark and blown wide, and his jaw flexes, nostrils flaring as if scenting me.
Wordlessly, he slides fingers into my hair and fists it, my scalp tingling painfully as he tips my head back and brings his mouth to mine. His kiss is warm and unbearably tender beneath the roughness of his beard, but the heat in his kiss matches my urgency.
He lets go of my hair only to grab my hip, holding me still as he grinds against me, the thick head of his cock sliding between my folds until my heart is beating so hard I feel like I can’t breathe fast enough.
I try to hook a leg over his hip, but he gives a small, firm shake of his head, eyes burning. He lifts one finger to his lips.
Quiet.
I nod, heart banging against my ribs.
He slides his hand under my shirt, the heat of his palm skating up my stomach before he cups my breast. My nipple hardens instantly under his touch, nerve endings firing in bright, electric pulses against his big, rough hand.
Then he shifts lower, positions himself, and pushes in, slowly, stretching me open around every thick inch of him. A gasp escapes me, too loud, and he clamps his hand over my mouth, his eyes molten. His other hand stays locked on my hip, anchoring me.
He fucks me slowly, silently, grinding against my clit each time he drives in. Every stroke builds pressure that feels unbearable, too sharp and too sweet.
I’m unraveling in minutes, my body seizing around him, breath stuttering against his palm. I come hard, pulse after pulse rocking me, my vision going white.
Ryder’s face twists, like he’s in pain, and then he’s spilling inside me with a deep, choked groan muffled against the pillow. When he catches his breath, he presses his forehead to mine, hand still in my hair, pulling just enough to make my nerves spark again.
We stay like that for a long time, breathing hard, bodies fused, his hands cradling my head. Eventually his grip loosens. His brow softens. His eyes open, warm and dazed and adoring.
His cock softens and slips from me, wetness spreading between us, but he doesn’t pull away.
I brush my fingers over his bicep, then his cheek, and kiss him softly. We nuzzle, kiss again, blinking slow and stupid and happy.
Finally, I drift into sleep, inhaling the warm exhale of him, wrapped in the safest place I’ve ever known.