Chapter 4 #3
Thirty minutes later, I'm standing outside Ice Pick's door, hand raised to knock, heart pounding so hard I'm surprised it doesn't break through my ribs.
Before I can second-guess myself, the door opens and he's there, still in his jeans but the leather cut's gone, replaced by a black t-shirt that shows off arms covered in ink.
"You came," he says, and there's surprise in his voice beneath the heat.
"You didn't think I would?"
"I thought you might come to your senses." He steps aside, letting me in. "Still time to change your mind."
I walk past him into the room, taking in the space that's surprisingly neat for someone who lives at a motorcycle club. Bed made, clothes put away, personal items minimal. It's almost military in its organization, and I wonder what that says about him.
"I'm not changing my mind," I say, turning to face him.
He closes the door, the lock clicking with a finality that makes my pulse skip. Then he's moving toward me with that predatory grace, backing me up until my legs hit the bed.
"Last chance, Ava, because once we do this, there's no going back. You'll be mine, and I don't share."
The possessiveness in his voice should annoy me. Instead, it sends heat pooling low in my belly. "I don't want you to share."
"Good." His hands find my waist, pulling me flush against him. "Because I've been thinking about this, about you, since the moment I saw you in that garage three days ago. Bloody, defiant, and refusing to back down even when you were outnumbered."
"That turned you on?"
"Everything about you turns me on." His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping along my pulse. "The way you argue with me, the way you challenge me, the way you look at me like I'm both your salvation and your doom."
"Maybe you're both."
"Maybe I am." He lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist. "But right now, I'm just a man who wants you so bad he can barely think straight."
He lays me down, following me onto the mattress, and his weight's perfect, solid and real. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that's all consuming, stealing my breath and my thoughts until there's nothing but sensation.
His hands slide under my shirt, pushing it up and over my head. Cool air hits my skin for a moment before his mouth's there, kissing and biting along my collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts above my bra.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin. "Even with the bruises, even beat to hell, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Mason."
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Stop talking and touch me."
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Bossy."
"You like it."
"I do." His hands make quick work of my bra, tossing it aside, and then his mouth's on my breast, tongue circling my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth.
I arch off the bed, hands fisting in his hair, holding him to me.
The sensation's overwhelming, pleasure mixed with the slight ache from the bruises still healing on my ribs.
He's careful despite his roughness, avoiding the worst of the injuries while making sure every other inch of me's burning for him.
His hand slides down my stomach, popping the button on my jeans. "Lift up."
I do, and he pulls my jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving me bare beneath him. For a moment, he just looks at me, his dark eyes drinking in every detail, and I fight the urge to cover myself.
"Don't," he says, catching my hands. "Don't hide from me. I want to see all of you."
"You're still dressed."
"Easy fix." He sits back, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.
Jesus. I knew he was built, but seeing him shirtless is something else entirely. Muscle and ink cover every inch, scars that tell stories of violence survived. There's a particularly nasty one across his ribs, raised and white against his tanned skin.
"What happened?" I ask, tracing it with my finger.
"Knife fight three years ago. The guy got lucky." He catches my hand, bringing it to his mouth. "Don't worry about my scars. Worry about what I'm going to do to you."
Then his mouth's between my legs, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
His tongue's relentless, knowing exactly where to touch, how much pressure, alternating between gentle licks and firm strokes that have me gasping his name.
He adds his fingers, sliding two inside me, and the combination's devastating.
"Mason, I'm going to..."
"That's it, sweetheart. Let go. I've got you."
I come apart with a cry that I barely manage to muffle against my arm, waves of pleasure crashing over me until I'm shaking with it. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until I'm over-sensitized and pushing at his head.
He pulls back, his mouth glistening, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. "You taste so good, I could do that all night."
"Your turn." I reach for his belt, but he catches my hands.
"Not yet. I want to be inside you when I come."
He stands long enough to shed his jeans and boxer briefs, and oh god, he's perfect. Hard and thick, and I squeeze my thighs together at the sight of him.
"Condom?" I manage.
He reaches into the nightstand, pulling out a foil packet. "Been carrying these around since you got here, hoping I'd get the chance to use one."
"Confident."
"Optimistic." He rolls it on and positions himself between my legs. "You ready?"
I nod, and he pushes inside in one slow, steady thrust that has us both groaning. He's big, stretching me in ways that are just this side of too much, and he stills once he's fully seated, giving me time to adjust.
"Okay?" he asks, his voice strained.
"More than okay. Move."
He does, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in, setting a rhythm that's hard and deep. Every stroke hits exactly right, building pressure low in my belly. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle, and he curses.
"Fuck, Ava, you feel incredible."
"Harder."
He complies, his hips snapping against mine with force that would hurt if it didn't feel so damn good. The headboard's banging against the wall, and I don't care who hears us, don't care that the entire club's going to know exactly what we're doing.
All I care about is the feel of him inside me, the way his muscles flex under my hands, the sounds he makes when I clench around him.
"Not going to last," he grits out. "Too good."
"Then don't." I reach between us, touching myself, and his eyes darken watching me. "Want to feel you come."
That does it. He thrusts hard three more times, and then he's coming with a groan that sounds like my name. The feel of him pulsing inside me tips me over the edge again, and I follow him into oblivion.
We collapse together, sweaty and satisfied, our hearts racing in tandem. He pulls out carefully and disposes of the condom before pulling me against his side, my head resting on his chest.
"That was..." I start.
"Yeah," he agrees. "It was."
We lie there in silence, the weight of what we just did settling over us. This changes everything. We both know it. But right now, wrapped in his arms with his heart beating steady beneath my ear, I can't bring myself to care about consequences.
"Stay," he murmurs against my hair.
"I wasn't planning on leaving."
"Good." His arms tighten around me. "Because I meant what I said. You're mine now, and I protect what's mine."
I should probably object to being claimed like property. Instead, I just press closer and let myself drift off, safer than I've felt in weeks.
Even if that safety's just an illusion, even if everything falls apart tomorrow, I'll take this moment.
It's more than I've had in a long time.