Chapter Nine #2
“Being in the club means accepting risk. Means knowing that every decision could be the wrong one and trusting your brothers to have your back anyway.” I choose my words carefully.
“There are things I can’t tell you, things that keep everyone safe.
But the core of it? That loyalty, that brotherhood? That’s what matters to us.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Thank you for telling me. I know you can’t tell me everything, but… thank you for trusting me with this much.”
I tilt her face up to mine. “You make me want to share everything, Small Town. You make me want to be seen.”
Marley studies me for a moment, quiet, thoughtful. “I like hearing you talk about them. About this other world you live in.”
“It’s not always pretty,” I warn.
“Pretty isn’t what I’m looking for.” She steps even closer, her voice low. “I just want the parts that matter to you.” I swallow, feeling that land deeper than it should. “You’re scared I’m going to judge you,” she says finally.
“Maybe a little.” I cross my arms over my chest, defensive. “Most people hear motorcycle club and think the worst.”
“I’m not most people.” Marley steps closer, close enough that I could reach out and touch her.
“And honestly? This makes you more interesting, not less. Derek lived his whole life worried about what people think. You live yours surrounded by people who have your back no matter what…” She pauses. “And that’s actually kind of amazing.”
Something in my chest cracks open. “You’re a little scary, you know that?” I tell her.
“Me?” She laughs. “I’m about as threatening as a kitten.”
“Exactly. You don’t realize your own power.” I straighten from the bike, closing the distance between us until I’m looking down at her upturned face. “You scare the hell out of me, Marley Wren.”
Her breath catches. “Why?”
Because you make me want things I shouldn’t want.
Because you make me forget about the fourteen-year age gap between us.
Because when I’m with you, I’m not the VP of an MC.
Or a man trying to manage his parents’ billion-dollar company.
Or a liar carrying the weight of two identities.
I’m just Nitro, just Damon, just a guy who wants to make you smile.
But I can’t say any of that.
Not yet.
“You sure you’re not scared?” I ask instead. “Being out here with an older biker dude?” I’m trying to joke, but the words come out rougher than I intend.
She grins, and fuck, that smile could bring me to my knees. “A little. But also completely exhilarated.” Then her smile turns wicked. “Though if we’re really practicing for this whole fake-dating thing, shouldn’t we practice other stuff too?”
My heart stops at the thought. “Other stuff?”
“You know.” She tries casually, but her voice betrays her by being soft, shaky, and hopeful. “Like… kissing. We might have to kiss at the gala. We should… you know, make sure we’re compatible.”
She says it like it’s a strategy. But her pulse kicks at her throat, her cheeks flush pink, and she can’t stop looking at my mouth.
I take a slow step toward her. “Compatible,” I echo, my voice dropping. “That’s what this is?”
“I… I’m just saying it might be… necessary.” Her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, fidgeting as if she can’t decide whether to run or grab the front of my cut again. And those green eyes are wide, hopeful, and terrified, blinking up at me from way below my shoulders.
She has no idea what she does to me.
She lifts her chin like she’s trying to meet me halfway, trying to bridge the impossible height difference between us.
That tiny, stubborn gesture—God help me—it snaps my restraint clean in half.
“Fuck it,” I growl. My hands close around her waist, and I hoist her up. She gasps, the sound soft and startled, as I lift her effortlessly and place her on the seat of my bike.
She steadies herself on the seat, her eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between her chest and her lips.
Now she’s almost level with me.
Not quite, but close enough.
And when her knees part instinctively to hold her balance, when her thighs tighten around my hips without her even noticing, I swear something low and animal wakes inside me.
I step further between her legs, caging her in. Both my hands brace on either side of her hips on the seat, boxing her in with my body, my cock threatening to betray me right now and make himself known.
Her breath stutters, her fingers clutch the collar of my cut, tugging me closer like muscle memory, like instinct.
My eyes drop to her mouth, her bottom lip trembles, her lashes flutter in slow motion, and her chest rises, shallow and shaky, as if she’s struggling to pull air around the want choking her.
The air changes.
It thickens, turning electric, charged enough that one wrong move could set off an explosion.
I move in so close I smell her lip gloss in the air, cherry and warm sugar, and I swear my pulse hammers loud enough for both of us to hear.
She’s shaking for me.
Not with fear.
But with anticipation.
With want.
I move slowly, deliberately, giving her time to pull away if this is all in my head. My hand cups the side of her neck, my thumb brushing her jawline.
She doesn’t pull away.
She leans in. Just a breath. But it’s enough to destroy every wall I’ve been holding up. My hand slides fully to the back of her neck, guiding her in.
Her breath mixes with mine, warm, uneven, so fucking hungry.
Her fingers curl into my leather cut like she’s bracing for impact.
And then I can’t hold back any longer.
I slam my mouth against hers.
Not gentle.
Not cautious.
Not controlled.
It’s a collision—raw, rugged, volcanic.
Like every neon sign on the Vegas Strip is exploding behind my eyes.
Her lips part under mine instantly, soft and warm, as I sink into her.
A tiny sound escapes her throat, high and breathy, the kind of sound that shoots straight down my spine and sets every nerve ending on fire.
She yanks me closer by the front of my cut, as though she needs more contact, more pressure, more me.
Her thighs lock tighter around my hips, dragging me in until there’s no moonlight left between us, only heat, hunger, and the pounding of blood in my ears.
I deepen the kiss, sliding my mouth over hers, taking, tasting, claiming.
Marley tilts her head for me, offering, opening, like she’s been waiting for this moment just as long as I have.
Her hands tremble against my cut. Her breath stutters into my mouth.
Her whole body presses closer, chest to chest, thighs tight around my waist, as if she’s trying to fuse herself to me.
My cock moves on its own. I have zero control now with the heat of the moment, and I know she can feel it as it presses against her.
Her lips are soft, lush, and addictive.
This is the kind of kiss that ruins a man.
The kind that rewrites his being.
This isn’t a practice kiss.
This isn’t some test.
This isn’t compatibility.
This is a fucking wildfire.
When I finally drag myself back for air, our breaths gasp against each other, hot and uneven.
Our foreheads touch as our eyes lock.
Her hands remain wrapped in my cut, like she’s afraid letting go might undo gravity.
Her lips are kiss-swollen. Her eyes are glassy. Her pulse is racing visibly at her throat.
And she looks at me like I just set her whole world on fire.
“That…” I whisper, my voice completely wrecked. “That was definitely… compatible.”
When I finally step back, trying not to bring attention to my raging hard-on, she’s staring at me with wide eyes, her lips parted, her breathing ragged.
And the look on her face…
… it’s not what I expected.
She looks shocked. Stunned. As if I just rearranged her entire understanding of the universe.
But not in a good way.
My stomach drops as I furrow my brows in concern, taking another small step away from her.
“I…” She touches her fingers to her lips. “I…”
“Shit, sorry.” I step back again, putting more space between us because clearly I just fucked this up beyond repair. “That was just for practice. You know. Making sure we can sell it at the gala.”
Her expression shifts, just for a second, and I think I see disappointment flash across her features. But then she nods, agreeing excessively, and I can’t be sure what I saw was real or just wishful thinking.
“Right. Practice.” She forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We should probably head back. It’s getting late.”
Clearing my throat, I subtly rearrange my aching cock in my jeans, then move to my bike. “Yeah, let’s get you home.”
She shifts on the bike so I can hop on, and pulls the helmet over her head. Then I start the engine as she wraps herself around me, holding on tight. I inhale sharply, loving the feel of her around me. But I quickly push that feeling to the side as I hammer down and take off back to her home.
The ride to Sage’s place is torture. Marley holds onto me, but it feels different now—less like she doesn’t want to let go and more like she’s just doing what’s necessary to stay on the bike.
When we pull up, she’s off the bike before I can even help her down.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says, handing me the helmet. “It was… educational.”
Educational? Jesus Christ.
Sage appears in the doorway, taking one look at us and grinning. “How was the practice date, Uber Man?”
“Enlightening,” I mutter.
Marley shoots me a look I can’t decipher, then rushes past Sage into the house with some excuse about being tired.
Sage’s grin fades as she watches her friend disappear, then turns back to me. “That was weird. What happened?”
“I kissed her.” The words come out flat.
“And?”
“And I think she hated it.”
Sage’s eyebrows shoot up. Then she laughs, actually laughs, and shakes her head. “Oh, Uber Man. Trust me when I say that girl did not hate that kiss. Go home. I’ll talk to her.”
She disappears inside, leaving me straddling my bike in the gathering darkness, my lips still tingling from a kiss that was supposed to be practice but felt like every-damn-thing I ever wanted tied with a pretty bow.
I start the engine, pointing it toward the clubhouse, and take off. The ride back is a blur of desert and doubt.
Did I blow everything?
Did I push too hard, too fast?
Was that look on her face disgust, desire, or something in between?
By the time I reach the clubhouse, I’m a mess of second-guessing and confusion.
Which is precisely why I need my brothers.
And maybe a very strong drink.