Chapter 9 Mia #2
They can't see the reality of what he's doing.
I’m not wearing any underwear. Elias destroyed my lace in the Vault. And right now, underneath the shroud of the oversized flannel, the heavy, rough seam of his denim jeans presses mercilessly against my bare, wildly sensitive core.
My breath hitches. My thighs clench on instinct.
He reaches under the hem of the flannel. He doesn't need to do more than shift his weight, the thick muscle of his thigh flexing upward just an inch. The friction of the rough denim dragging against my slick, swollen clit sends a jolt of sheer, blinding heat straight up my spine.
"Elias," I whimper, burying my face into the crook of his neck to muffle the sound.
"Mine," he whispers into my hair. It’s a declaration of war against anyone who thinks otherwise, and a lethal promise to my trembling body. "Let them look at what belongs to me."
He flexes his thigh again, a slow, agonizing grind that forces a choked sound from my throat. I bite down hard on the collar of his cut, my hands knotting uselessly in the leather as my body threatens to melt right here in the booth.
He holds me there, riding that devastating, hidden friction, while he casually picks up his coffee mug with his free hand. He takes a sip, his lethal gray eyes locked in a dead stare with the two scouts by the door.
When he finally shifts his leg down, offering me a agonizing fraction of relief, my pulse is thrumming against his chest, frantic and loud. My entire body hums with a heavy, wet ache.
The cafe is silent.
"Jesus, Elias," Mike calls out from the kitchen window, wiping his hands on a rag. He lets out a low whistle. "Trying to melt the snow off the roof?"
Christie sets our plates down on the table with a triumphant grin. "Told you so," she whispers to no one in particular.
I keep my face hidden against his shoulder, my breathing ragged. "Everyone is looking. I can't even think straight."
"Good," Elias rumbles. He glares over my head at the two men by the door.
I peek out just as the scouts break eye contact. They look unnerved, thoroughly intimidated by the primal display. They exchange a glance, turn around, and walk right back out into the cold.
"They’re gone," I breathe, my voice shaky.
"They got the message." Elias finally relaxes the iron grip around my waist, though he keeps me firmly straddling his leg. He picks up a fork. "Eat your eggs."
"I can't eat while sitting on you like a toddler, Elias."
"You can and you will. I’m not letting you go."
My phone buzzes on the table. Then Elias’s phone buzzes in his pocket. A text from an unknown number pops up on my screen.
Welcome to the asylum. - Savannah
Elias checks his own phone. He snorts.
"Who is it?" I ask, spearing a piece of sausage.
"Logan," he says. He turns the screen so I can see.
About damn time, brother. Stop making out in the coffee shop and get back to the compound. We have a war to plan.
"Subtle," I note.
"Logan doesn't do subtle. He does effective." Elias pockets the phone. He cuts a piece of my pancake, dunks it in syrup, and holds it to my lips.
I open my mouth, accepting the offering. It’s delicious. Sweet, fluffy, perfect.
"So," I say after I swallow. "I’m your Old Lady now?"
"You’ve been my Old Lady since you color-coded my inventory," he says, leaning in to lick a drop of syrup from my lip. "I just waited until the paperwork was filed to tell you."
"You filed the paperwork by burning it."
"Details."
I lean back against his arm, watching the town of Pine Valley go about its day outside the window. Snow is falling gently now, dusting the parked cars and the storefronts. It looks Hallmark-perfect.
But I know what lies beneath the surface. I know about the Vault deep inside the main clubhouse, the guns in the trucks, and the fierce loyalty of the men who run this mountain.
I feel the weight of the master key in my flannel pocket. It’s heavy. Cold steel.
"You know," I say softly, tracing the patch on his chest—Treasurer. "If we survive the Costas, I have some ideas about your filing system."
Elias pauses. He looks down at me, and the tension in his face finally dissolves. He smiles. A real, genuine smile that transforms his scary face into something breathtaking.
"I’m counting on it," he says.
Christie walks by with the coffee pot. "More caffeine, or should I just leave the pot?"
"Leave it," Elias says. "We have a long day."
"You two heading up to the Lodge later?" she asks casually. "Heard Lucas is hosting some bigwig investors. Might be good to show face."
"Maybe," Elias says, noncommittal. He catches the look he exchanges with Christie. The Lodge is neutral ground. Lucas Sterling is watching.
"Thanks, Christie," he says.
She winks and moves on to refill Old Jack’s mug.
"What was that about?" I ask.
"Lucas Sterling," Elias explains. "He owns the Grand Pine Lodge. He stays out of club business, usually. But if he’s hosting investors, the town is crowded. More eyes. Safer for you."
"Or more places for enemies to hide."
"That’s why you’re staying on my lap."
I rest my head on his shoulder. "I can live with that."
We finish breakfast in relative peace, though the town continues to orbit around us. Frank stops by to slap Elias on the shoulder and nod at me.
"Good to see you settled, son," Frank says. "Need any new deadbolts for the place, you let me know."
"Thanks, Frank," Elias says.
"And you, missy," Frank points at me with a calloused finger. "You keep him straight. He spends too much time staring at numbers. Needs to stare at something prettier."
“I’m trying, Frank,” I say.
Elias mutters something that sounds like “harassment,” but he doesn’t snap at Frank. There’s a hint of affection in his tone.
As we settle the bill, Elias tosses a stack of cash on the table—enough to cover breakfast for a whole week. The playful mood fades.
Reality returns.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Ready," I say.
He helps me slide off his lap, though he keeps his hand on my back.
We walk out of the Cozy Cup together, into the cold mountain air.
Silence on the car ride back to the compound doesn't feel heavy anymore.
It feels like the calm before the storm.
We have the proof. We have the books. We have each other.
As we pass the town limits, Elias’s hand drifts to his pocket. He’s counting again. Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in a rhythm I’m starting to recognize.
One, two, three, four.
"What are you counting?" I ask.
He glances at me. "The hours until I can get you back in the Vault."
"To work?" I tease.
His eyes darken, the gray turning to slate as they drop to my mouth. "No, Mia. The audit is done. The next time I lock that door... I’m going to spend every second stretching you wide and filling you with my seed until you can’t remember your own name."
Static sparks along my spine, having nothing to do with the cold.
"Is that a threat, Mr. Treasurer?"
"It’s a projection," he says, shifting gears as the truck roars up the mountain. "I’m going to own every inch of you."