Chapter 29
Leeva
A riot of tumultuous thoughts and emotions hit me at once.
Hayes’ dark words.
I just slept with my best friend.
He’s the masked wolf man from Hedon.
I just knelt before him and let him come all over me, and then together, we rubbed it in like it was some top-end designer moisturizer.
A panicked laugh rips from me as tears fill my eyes.
Confusion. Shame. Hurt. Love. Need.
A thousand questions burn in my throat, but I can’t get any of them out as the pain from the past threatens to choke me.
I burst into tears, the sound of my sobs filling the kitchen.
My mind is in a chaotic war with itself. Attacks come from multiple angles, and I don’t know which one to try to combat first.
Strong arms wrap around me, and I cling to the man who lifts me off the floor and cradles me tight to his chest, holding me like I’m some precious treasure.
But I’m not.
You’re a wanton whore.
The part of me that still resists my non-vanilla desires and urges rears its ugly head.
“I’m not a wanton whore,” I claim through my stuttering sobs.
He grips my face tightly. “Open your eyes, Leeva.” His voice is harsh and commanding.
I’m not sure whether it’s my emotional state or because my body, mind, soul, and heart want to obey him, but I open my eyes.
He kneels before me as I sit on the sofa that faces the back of the house and the Golden Gate Bridge.
Fury darkens his face. He’s beautiful, like a vengeful angel descended from heaven to deliver judgment and retribution to sinners on earth.
“You are not a whore.” His blue eyes are pure fire. “What you desire and want is not wrong. And what we did is not wrong.”
“You’re my best friend.” My vision blurs as a wave of fresh tears assaults me. “You never wanted me that way. But now that you slept with me at Hedon without knowing it was me…now you think you want me.”
He thumbs away my tears. “I’ve always wanted you, Leeva Catherine Malone.” The way he says my full name clenches my heart as much as his words. “I had just convinced myself the moment I met you that I and everyone else were unworthy of you.”
“Little dove,” I whisper his nickname for me.
“So pure and innocent.”
Love is etched on his face. I knew he loved me, but he only allowed me to see the love of a friend, and this love is different. All-consuming and…deep.
“You still are my little dove, but now you’re also my siren. And I’m the only one blessed to experience and see that side of you.”
Emotions overwhelm me again, and I shake my head. “I didn’t come back for this.”
“Why did you come back?” I see that question and many others in his eyes.
“To lay my ghosts to rest.”
“Ghosts.” He sits back on his heels, studying me. “Plural. Meaning me and Guerilla.” Hate is in that last word. “And how were you going to do that?” There’s an edge to his voice.
“I don’t know,” I admit and wipe the tears off my face. “Luthor just said—”
“Don’t…” The possessiveness ripples off him. “Don’t speak another man’s name…especially when my cum is still drying on your skin.”
I shove him back as my anger swells to be the dominant emotion I’m feeling right now. But the sturdy, big ass doesn’t budge.
“Don’t tell me what to say or do. Luthor is my husband—”
“Was,” Hayes grits. “I know he died.”
“And you will respect him, because he did nothing but respect and help me.”
“While forcing you to marry him as payment for his help.” He gets up off his knees and prowls in front of me.
I stand and jab my finger into his chest, just now realizing that he had gotten his jeans back on, and I’m wearing his large black shirt. He obviously had semi-dressed us while I was having my emotional breakdown.
“Luthor Wentzell did nothing of the sort.” I flare in anger. “He rescued me from New Orleans when Guerilla came there looking for me. He married me to make sure I was always protected, and because we cared for each other.”
That looks like it guts Hayes on the spot. “You loved him?”
“I… It’s complicated.”
“Explain.” He flexes his hands, looking like he wants to destroy something or someone.
I step away from him because being close only makes me want to curl into his chest. “Yes, I did love him. However, it wasn’t…”
“It wasn’t what?” His voice is softer as he closes the distance I put between us. “It wasn’t what, Leeva?”
“He was a friend. And…he wasn’t you. It wasn’t like the love I felt for you.”
He closes his eyes, looking pained. “And Guerilla?”
“I was a fool,” I whisper. “Thought I could substitute when I knew I couldn’t have you.”
He presses his forehead against mine and cups my face. “I’m so fucking sorry. If I had only admitted how I truly felt about you, everything could’ve been avoided. Everything.” His voice breaks on that last word.
“We can’t rewrite history.” I rest my hands on top of his and look up at him.
“Do you want me?” His eyes flick between mine, trying to see the answer written there.
“I’ve always wanted you, Hayes.”
His relief is tangible, but his eyes move to my neck where Guerilla’s tattoo had been. He brushes his thumb over the spot. “There’s nothing there to indicate it ever existed.”
“It never should’ve.”
His gaze lifts back to mine. “I felt you were lost to me forever when you got it.”
“Why?”
“Because with the laws of our club, no member can ever touch another’s old lady. Ever. Even if they’re no longer together.”
Shock courses through me. I had no idea of their law; if I had, I might not have been so foolish and impulsive. But then fear follows the shock.
I had seen the sergeant-at-arms and road captain patches on Hayes’ cut. That means he’s high up in the leadership and on the Council for the MC.
“What would happen if a brother did touch another’s old lady?”
Dark regret settles on his face. “Lower-ranking members would be de-patched; in other cases, they’d be killed.”
I start to shake and step back from him. “Hayes…” My voice trembles with fear for him. “Oh my god, what have I done?”
He catches me before I can get any farther from him and pulls me flush against his bare chest. “I’ll be fine.”
“How can you say that?” Terror for him laces my words.
He cups my face, leaning down so we’re eye-level. “Because there’s no tattoo; no remnants of it. It's gone; like it never existed.”
“But it did.”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that it’s no longer there. No skin discoloration, no blemish, no change in texture or scarring. Nothing.”
Thank God I had gone to the world’s best cosmetic surgeon. Back then, with Luthor’s emotional and financial support, I just wanted Guerilla’s claim on me to be wiped off forever.
“Does the MC law have a clause about that or a precedent?”
His strong jaw flexes. “No.”
“Then this can’t be.” My panic and fear for him jolt through me, and I walk backward from him. “It’s a technicality, and the club law is still a risk to you. We can’t be together, Hayes.”
“Yes. We. Can.” He closes the distance, each step punctuating his fierce words.
My back presses against the wall, and he cages me in with his body, his hands planted on either side of my head.
“Nothing and no one can keep you away from me.”
“What about me?” Regardless of my fear for him, my body is buzzing to life in a way it shouldn’t. His intense possessiveness seems to be my kryptonite rather than a huge red flag.
His thumb runs lightly down my cheek in a soft caress. “Are you saying you don’t want me?”
I wet my lips, and his wolfish gaze tracks the movement. “You broke into my hotel suite.”
Again, this is where a normal woman would be freaking out, not practically melting into a puddle at his feet.
“I did.” His eyes lift back to mine. An animal, a predator, stares back at me. “More than once, I covered your skin in my cum and rubbed it in, so you’d wear me.” He leans closer as my brain glitches in shock and lust, and his nose brushes the shell of my ear. “So you’d smell me.”
Sweet mercy.
I should be running for the hills, screaming, right? Or at least fighting to get away from him and the walking red flag he is. Not ready to jump him and slam my mouth onto his.
“You’re mine, Leeva.” The claim is absolute. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
It’s either a challenge or a way out; I’m not sure. But I’ve waited years for him to say these words—to claim me, to love me as more than just his best friend.
However, my fear for him and the ramifications of us being together war with my love and desire for him.
But looking into his blue eyes, seeing his love and raw need for me, seeing the possibility of a future with him regardless of the risk of what the club’s verdict against him might be, heals a deep part of me and lays one of my ghosts to rest.
“We’ll figure out the club law piece,” he reassures me, seeing the war I’m having with myself. “Tell me you’re mine.”
His vulnerability shines back at me, and our past sins—my past sins of choosing his hated brother—lie in that vulnerability. So much forgiveness is needed on both our parts. My heart has forgiven him, maybe years ago, and I can see his forgiveness, too.
Love swells within me, along with need.
“I’m yours, Hayes.”
His mouth meets mine the instant the words cross my lips. And if it hadn’t already happened, he ruins me; I’ll never want or be able to be with any other man.
I don’t have to say anything this time. Without protest, he takes a condom from his jeans’ pocket and opens it, all without breaking his kiss that’s leveling my reality as I try to comprehend that this is real and is truly happening.
I help him roll the condom down his length, but my frantic, clumsy movements are more of a hindrance than a help.
Part of me is aching and wanting to tell him to slide into me bare, to fill me with his cum, but the panicked part of me, terrified to get pregnant again, wins.
Once the condom is on, he loops his hands around the outside of my thighs and lifts me. I lock my legs around his waist, reveling in the feel of his corded, strong body. My back is pressed against the wall, but I don’t feel trapped; I feel loved, worshipped.
Especially as he slides into me with a groan and a “Fucking hell, you’re perfection,” as he does.
I’m expecting him to pummel and ravish me like all the other times. But instead, he keeps his thrusts hard, deep, and slow while he stares into my eyes.
I’m having sex with my best friend.
My heart could burst with unbelievable joy.
“I love you, Hayes.” The words slip out, and once they’re said, I don’t try to take them back. I’ve told him I love him before, many times when we were young and best friends, but never with the true depth of my feelings so raw and revealed.
By his look, I think I’ve shattered him.
“There are no words to describe the love I feel for you, Leeva.” He presses his forehead against mine as he moves so deeply within me it's like he's touching my heart. My soul. “You’re my Roman Empire. My fucking world.”
“Show me,” I whisper, gripping him tight.
“Always. Every second of every day.”
He carries me to the sofa, and I straddle him, undulating my hips while gazing down at him as he looks up at me like I’m some ethereal goddess here on earth.
As I move up and down his thick, rigid length, my climax washes over me. It’s not explosive like the other ones he’s given to me, but it’s the most powerful because it feels like our souls are now as entwined as our bodies.
With my name as a chant, he comes deep inside me, filling the condom, and I mourn the thought that I missed getting filled with his cum.
I collapse on top of him, both of us sweaty and trembling from the magnitude of emotions wrapped up in that release.
He holds me tight against him. “I’ll never survive losing you again.”
“Don’t say that,” I whisper as a shudder moves through me like a foreboding omen.
Because if breaking the MC’s law means his death, then his losing me won’t be what kills him.
I will.