Chapter 35
thirty-five
DARCY
I wake up to calloused palms sliding across my skin, delicate and sweet. Dane’s warmth is pressed against the exposed skin of my back, the rigid length of his erection already thick against my bottom. My body comes alive as the tips of his fingers trail down my belly, hating it when his caress stops before parting my legs. There’s a restrained intensity in his touch, a desperation in his grip on my breast, in the panted breaths in my ear. As I groan out his name, Dane lifts my leg with impatient fingers and wraps it around his hips, spreading me for him. I love the intimacy of the position, the closeness of our intermingled bodies.
I’m achy and wet as Dane’s fingers finally glide down to my clit, making slow, lazy circles, teasing me, his lips on my neck. He slides into me from behind, his front to my back. He moves his hand away from my clit, resting it on my calf as he grazes against my G-spot with every leisurely, steady thrust. My orgasm builds up slowly until my body begins to tense. “So close,” I pant. I squeeze my core as he starts to drive into me with brutal lunges that threaten to consume my entire being. Stars dance in front of my eyes before my orgasm rushes over me, more intense than any other I’ve had. Dane makes a sound low in his throat and raises himself on one arm as he pounds into me before his cock pulsates his release. We’re both breathless, his arms wrapped around me, our bodies spooned.
I feel boneless as he holds me tight to him, drawing a blanket over us for warmth. His erection is still inside of me as he pulls my leg off of his hip, placing gentle kisses on my neck. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you,” he whispers.
I knot my left hand in his, kissing his knuckles. He’s taken off all his rings, showing off the runes on each finger. “Is everything okay? You’re acting weird.”
He draws in a pained breath. “Let’s get some sleep. We need to head over to Presh’s to help with Easter supper first thing.”
I start to get up from bed, but Dane drags me back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To clean up.”
His eyes are dreamy, but there’s a tension around his eyebrows. “Don’t. I like my smell on you.”
“My hair’s going to tangle,” I say softly.
“I’ll help get the fuck knots out in the morning. I like your hair in my face.” As if to prove his point, he nuzzles deeper and makes a contented sound deep in his throat.
I wait for his breathing to even out, but I’m the one who finds sleep first.
* * *
Some might assume the home of the wealthiest family in the parish would be fancy, or at least ridiculously large. The main house on Bordelon Farms is neither. Braided rugs are thrown down over hardwood floors, the furniture cozy and lived in. The kitchen is the one exception. The cabinets are older, but well maintained. Everything else from the sink to the appliances are ultra modern and high end, but functional to feed the large staff.
Solomon sits in a maplewood kitchen chair with Owen on his bent knee, making silly faces. Owen gives him a scowl that says, “Old man, you’re crazy, but I think I like it.”
After spitting up all over the outfit I dressed him in this morning, Dane changed Owen into a one piece overall set with a bunny on the front. It was inside an Easter basket that was waiting for us when we got to the farm, put together by Solomon. The wicker basket is overflowing with everything from a wind-up dancing chick to a thirty dollar giraffe teether. No candy of course, but tons of toys, bibs, and cute clothes.
As Band-Aid walks into the kitchen door carrying an aluminum covered foil pan, Presh says, “You better wipe them feet, Jude Clairmont. I just mopped.”
“Stop fussing, you looney old bat. I’m wiping them,” Band-Aid answers back, not at all ruffled at being called by his real name.
Solomon’s deep belly chuckle quickly turns into a cough with his mother’s reproachful look. He moves to stand, placing the baby in the bouncy seat we brought, then excuses himself to go help carry food in.
“Make sure they don’t put anything hot on my server without putting a dish towel down first,” Presh says.
The holiday dinner promises to be quite a feast. Presh has two hams and a large pan of homemade lasagna going in her ovens, filling the kitchen with fragrant tomato sauce and herbs mixed with the sweet tang of pineapple. Everyone else is in the summer kitchen grilling, or on the back patio setting up tables for the expected crowd. As amazing as the meal sounds, my stomach’s churning. I picked at the fruit tray Presh set out earlier, but it was for show, not wanting to be rude.
As Farm Boy and Archer walk past, carrying folding chairs for our meal, I say, “Dane texted a bit ago to say he’s on the way back.”
“Eh we got it handled,” Farm Boy replies.
I don’t offer to help because I know far too well that they’ll be offended at the mere thought. He and Solomon already tended to the animals so that most of the farm hands could have the day off. Dane pitched in to help, but it's not like him to leave while everyone else is getting ready for the holiday.
“Your mind is going a mile a minute over there,” Presh says from the chair across from me, a colander full of fresh butter beans in her lap. She works emptying the pods, leaving the green outer shell discarded.
“I just have a lot on my mind,” I confess. Feeling impatient, I clear the dirty dishes on the table, taking the time to study the photos displayed on a window sill above the gigantic stainless steel sink. Solomon posing with a woman in a short lace dress, a field of sunflowers behind them. Next, in an identical frame, is a little girl with Bordelon blue eyes, and blonde hair. The child’s resemblance to Presh is striking. “I didn’t realize someone had a daughter.”
There’s a new hardness around Presh’s lips when she says, “That’s Evangeline, my late son Tyler’s child.”
I’ve never heard a whisper about Presh’s other son. The subject feels sensitive so I let it go, moving back to the picture of a young Cooker in his cut, Presh tucked in his arm, her hair teased out to heaven. She’s wearing a little white mini dress and a gorgeous smile. “We took that on the courthouse steps right after we were married. I climbed out my bedroom window and ran off with Cooker the night before.”
“You ran away?” I ask, surprised.
“Oh heavens yes. My daddy told me to end things. But I was young and in love.” Presh sets down her colander and asks, “You ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“Dane left last night, but not until he thought I was asleep. Then I went to tidy up the bedroom this morning, and the clothes he wore yesterday weren’t in the hamper but another outfit was, and his cut…”
Presh picks up her glass of sweet tea, sighing knowingly, breaking into my confession. ”There are two types of old ladies, Darcy. The ones who know and the ones who don’t want to know. As much as we try to turn a blind eye we still hear and see things. As the president's old lady, that’s going to be even more true for you. My grandson might not tell you straight out when something’s going on, but you’ll know all the same. My daughter-in-law chose not to know, but I wasn’t having any of that.”
Feeling hopeless I say, “So what do I do? I can’t ask him what’s going on.”
“You give him peace and comfort. Normal family dinners when his life away from you is anything but that. Trust is important too.”
“I trust Dane completely,” I assure her. “It’s just throwing me for a loop because I know he slipped out on purpose, and today he’s acting like nothing happened. Now he’s leaving while we’re getting ready for Easter dinner?”
“A lot of these old ladies start thinking their man is off with a side piece when they start getting secretive, but my Cooker would never cheat. He always said you couldn’t expect someone to respect your old lady when you disrespect her by messing around. I can imagine my grandson’s cut from the same cloth with the way he is with you.”
Dane slips into the kitchen, his cut over a grey shirt and black jeans, a white paper bag in his hand. He wipes his feet on the doormat, then looks at me with his panty melting smile. There’s a slight excitement in the air that I don’t understand, his movements lighter as he comes toward us and presses a peck on Presh’s cheek. The older woman’s eyes grow wide for some reason, and I see her mouth, “Today?” There’s a subtle nod from Dane before he walks over to me. I inspect him as he rounds the table, trying to suss out whatever is going on, and finding something shiny and dark on his neck. I steal a peek when he moves away and find my name inked on his throat, right where I like to kiss when we’re in bed together. An old lady stamp still covered in plastic.
“That was your appointment?”
“It’s tradition,” he says, picking his words carefully.
“On a holiday?”
His eyes flash with something dark and he takes a deep breath and plasters on a smile. “No, that was just because my tattoo artist is booked for months. I talked Buzz into opening up for an hour. It feels like the right time. The tradition is the tattoo and something else.”
Dane places the plain white bag on the table, “Stand up.” The heavy wood chair scrapes against the tile and I do as he bids.
I feel my forehead scrunch with confusion. “What’s going on?”
He grins, and hands me the white bag. “Got something for you.”
With nervous fingers I reach into the bag, past the white tissue. Whatever it is, and I have a good idea now, is soft and cool to the touch. A massive grin dances across my lips when I pull out supple black leather with heavy embroidery. In the center is the howling white wolf head of the Bayou Dogs, notating my club affiliation. It’s identical to the other old ladies, with a “Property of” top rocker, but the bottom has Dane’s road name.
“I love it so much,” I say, running my fingers over the Dogs’ emblem. I flip it over, seeing the only decoration on the front, an Odin’s knot right on my heart. While the bikers decorate the front of their cuts with all sorts of patches, the women’s are typically blank. This little touch is just for me.
Dane fiddles with the silver rings on his hand. I step up on my tippy toes to place a kiss on his lips, wrapping my fingers around his neck. I brush my thumb against my name on his skin for anyone to see, and I admit, “I love this too.”
“Well, put it on already,” Presh demands as she walks back toward us. I didn’t see her leave. I laugh as Dane takes the leather from me, helping me slip into the vest for the first time. When I look back to see his face, he’s wearing a contented smile.
“It’s just a reminder that you’re mine,” he whispers all rumbly in my ears.
“And women will know you’re taken,” I admit, a primal possessiveness inside of me loving my name on his skin. The significance of today isn't lost on me. I know I’m the only woman who’ll ever mark Dane’s skin, the only one ever to wear his property patch. I find it comforting somehow, knowing I belong to him, by Dane’s side, but also that he’s mine.
“Let’s see the back!” a voice calls from the wide entryway to the den, followed by hoots and cheers. When I turn to look, a small group is gathered. Sutton, Meadow, Band-Aid, Flinch, and Solomon are all standing in the doorway crowded around, more heads I can’t make out peeking from behind. Presh must have gone to get them.
“Did y’all know he was going to do this today?”
“We had a pretty good idea,” Solomon admits. “Now turn around so we can take a good look.”
Dane lets go of me as I slowly twirl, hands in the air. I look over my shoulder, smiling at Solomon, then do a little happy dance before coming back to Dane, and wrapping my arms around his waist.
Dane pulls out his phone and has me pose for a picture of us together that shows off my patch. Then he picks up Owen, cradling him in strong arms. Handing the phone to his father, he asks, “Take one of all of us?” The three of us pose for a picture together, my lips on Dane’s cheek, his arm around my waist.
Dane switches his screen saver from a vintage bike to the new pic, then hits me with that smile again.
“You realize we’re insane?” I say dreamily.
He quirks an eyebrow in my direction, his expression turning my stomach to moosh. “I know that I’d be insane not to nail you down.”
The rest of the day, I wear my property patch, refusing to take it off even when I’m warm. We’re congratulated like we’ve just been married, but to them, to us, it’s more of a commitment.
I’m out on the porch eating a slice of apple pie with Dane when he slips his hands in mine and says, “Hey, one more thing.”
“Another surprise?” I playfully chide.
“No, I just...a lot of the old ladies surprise their man with a property stamp on their wrists after they’re officially claimed. I don’t want you to do that.” He lifts his hands to the necklace dangling at my neck, twisting it between his fingers. “I know you’re mine. It’s just best….”
Remembering his mother, how it was the tattoo that identified her, I promise, “No ink for me.”
His mood is still a little off, but whatever darkness was around him earlier seems to have almost disappeared. I stare at the row of sunflowers planted in a field next to the main house, where Solomon’s walking with Owen, the sun slowly dipping low in the distance, and my life feels too perfect to be real.