Chapter 25
Tessa
I run my fingers over the stitching on my cut again, tracing each letter with my fingers.
Sons of Rage MC, Property of Jasper. The thread is light cream, and I admire the handiwork.
I can hardly believe my luck. When I think about all the people who never find the person they love, this is humbling to say the least.
I lift the leather to my chest and hold it there for a second, breathing in the faint scent of him buried in the collar.
Beside me, Jasper says nothing. Just watches with a small, contented smile on his face. This is an important moment for both of us as a couple.
“I hope to make you proud of me,” I murmur.
“Mission accomplished,” he responds, his voice low and rough. “You said you wanted to prove yourself. This is the way. You have personal integrity, so I’m certain you will be amazing when it comes to managing the clubhouse.”
I stand and face him, the cut still in my arms. He comes to his feet, looking at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever truly loved. This man of mine doesn’t let many people into his heart, so I think it might be true. I can’t begin to explain what that does to me.
When I reach up and drag him down for a kiss, he comes willingly. The kiss gets away from us rather quickly. It always does, if I’m being honest.
When we pull back, he says roughly, “Let me see what you look like in my cut.”
I let him slip it from my hands. He brushes my hair back, gentle as ever, then eases the leather over my shoulders. His knuckles graze my collarbone, and my skin responds to his touch. Once it’s on, he steps back to look at me.
“You look right in it,” he says. “It suits you.”
I smile, but my heart’s hammering now. “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than being with you.”
His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
I lean into his touch, craving him more with every passing moment.
When he kisses me, it’s not rushed or hungry.
He’s savoring the experience, cherishing me in his own way.
We’ve made love a lot since I moved into his suite, but this is our first time doing it as his old lady.
I kiss him back with everything I’ve got. I want him to know how much I love and adore him.
He lifts the cut off my shoulders, careful as ever, then lays it respectfully on the coffee table. His mouth finds my neck, then my shoulder, trailing heat as he peels my clothes away piece by piece.
I straddle his lap, feeling his hands come to rest at my thighs. There’s tension in his body, but not the bad kind. It’s the kind that comes from holding back, from letting me ride his cock the way I like because he loves it when I take the initiative.
His hands slide up my sides, under the loose edge of his cut still hanging from my shoulders. He could pull me close or push me away, but he doesn’t do either. He waits, letting me set the pace, letting me climb into this moment with him.
My hands flatten over his chest. I feel the steady beat of his heart. Others see him as a big, scary biker, but I see him as a flesh and blood man that needs love and tenderness.
When I sink down and take him into me, his breath catches. Mine does too because he always feels so good filling me up. For a few seconds, we don’t move. We just stay like that, forehead to forehead, his hands gripping my hips, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
He exhales slowly. “God, you feel good.”
“So do you,” I whisper.
I start to move, finding a slow rhythm that lets me feel every inch of him. His eyes stay locked on mine the whole time. I’ve never had this kind of connection before. The kind of closeness that makes everything else fall away.
His thumb brushes across my waist, then up to the curve beneath my breast. He leans in and kisses me again, soft, slow, unhurried.
My fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently.
He groans against my mouth, and it hits me all at once how far we’ve come.
From fear and survival to this kind of warmth and safety feels surreal.
“You make me feel…” I start, but the words get tangled in my mind.
His lips find my neck. “Say it.”
I close my eyes and ride out the wave building inside me. “Loved. Even if you won’t say it yet.”
His hands tighten just a little. Then he brings his mouth back to mine and murmurs into the kiss, “I do love you. I’ve loved you since the first fuckin’ time I set eyes on you.”
I feel tears prick my eyes. Everything about this man stirs up my emotions and makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I just hold on to him, to this moment, to the way our bodies move together.
The pleasure builds between us, slow and deep and thick with emotion. When I fall apart, it’s with his name on my lips and his arms locked around me. He follows soon after, holding me close because he knows I need that.
I stay right there, in his lap, our foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, and run my fingers through the sweat-damp strands at the base of his neck. Jasper doesn’t speak. He just breathes, steady and calm. I love to see him contented and at peace.
I don’t even realize I’m shaking until he brushes his hand down my back and whispers, “Come here, baby.” His voice is softer now, low and quiet.
He shifts beneath me, and then I feel him gather me up. Strong arms slide under my thighs and shoulders. He lifts me like I weigh nothing.
“You don’t have to carry me,” I murmur, “I can walk.”
“I want to,” he insists. “I like the way you feel in my arms.”
He walks us the few steps to the bedroom and lowers me onto the sheets, then climbs in beside me without letting go. The room is dark except for the dim hallway light spilling through the cracked door.
He pulls the blanket up over both of us and tucks me into his chest, one arm wrapped around my waist. His breath moves slow and steady against my temple. I press my palm flat against his chest and listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong and mine.