18. Alaina
CHAPTER 18
ALAINA
THREE MONTHS LATER
The scent of sugar, butter, and fresh-brewed coffee fills the air as I move around my bakery, rolling out dough on the floured surface. The warm hum of conversation surrounds me, a stark contrast to the silence that had once made this place feel lonely. But now?
Now it’s full of life. Constantly.
The Kings have taken over my shop—not in a bad way, but in a way that makes me laugh every time one of them walks through the door, grumbling about needing a “damn sugar fix.” They come and go all morning, buying pastries in bulk, tossing cash on the counter, and making themselves at home like this place was always meant to be theirs.
Stunt leans against the register, chewing on a bear claw. “I don’t know what the fuck you put in this, but I swear to God, Ally, if you ever stop baking, I’m gonna riot.”
Riot, standing next to him, smirks. “Didn’t realize we were organizing pastry protests now.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “It’s just sugar and butter, boys. Nothing special.”
Mellow, sitting on one of the barstools near the front, raises an eyebrow. “Bullshit. I’ve had a lot of sweets in my life, and whatever comes out of that oven is damn near sinful.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the warmth that spreads through me. I used to feel invisible in this town, hiding in my little corner of the world. But now? These men—Kings—have made it clear I’m part of their world now, too.
The bell above the door chimes, and I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.
I feel him before I see him.
A deep, gravelly voice slides through the air like whiskey over ice.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
I turn, and there he is—Damian, standing in the middle of my shop like he owns the place. His cut is over a black T-shirt, his jeans hanging low on his hips, and those dark eyes? Locked right on me. My pulse jumps, but I play it cool, crossing my arms over my flour-covered apron. “You here for a pastry, or just to cause trouble?”
His lips quirk up, and in two strides, he’s in front of me. “Trouble. Definitely trouble.”
Before I can respond, his hands grip my waist, pulling me against him, and his mouth crashes onto mine. Heat floods through me as I sink into him, my fingers curling into his shirt. He kisses me like he owns me, like he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching. His hands slide down to my ass, gripping me tight, pressing me right up against the hard lines of his body.
I hear someone—Riot—mutter, “Jesus Christ, get a room.”
I smirk against Damian’s lips, then, without breaking the kiss, I slide my hand down, giving his ass a playful smack . He tenses for half a second before I pull back, grinning at the perfect white flour handprint now decorating the back of his black jeans.
The room erupts into laughter. Damian lifts his brows, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, you wanna be cute. Got jokes.”
I bite my lip, pretending to be innocent. “What? Just making sure you leave my shop marked.” I wink.
His eyes darken as he steps closer, voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that makes my stomach flip. “Yeah, baby? You wanna put your mark on me?”
I trail a finger down his chest, my voice just as soft. “Damn right I do. It’s only fair, you’ve left one on me,” I whisper.
Something shifts in his expression—something deep, something real.
Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me onto the counter, sliding between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs.
I let out a breathless laugh, my arms looping around his neck. “You’re impossible.”
He smirks. “And you’re mine.”
And just like that, everything in the world feels right as his lips hit mine and the rest of the world ceases to exist for this moment.
The drive home to Damian’s place is calming after a busy day. It’s grounding, familiar in a way I never expected something like this to be.
By the time I pull up to his cargo container house, the sky is painted in deep purples and fading gold, the warmth of the day lingering in the air. Parking in what he calls my spot beside his bike I smile.
The scent of something rich and spicy fills the air as I step inside, and when I round the corner into the small kitchen space, my breath catches. Damian is standing at the stove, barefoot, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging black sweatpants that do dangerous things to my self-control.
His muscles flex as he stirs something in a pan, the glow from the overhead lights casting shadows over the ridges of his abs, the hard lines of his arms. The heat in the room has nothing to do with the food on the stove.
I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms with a smirk. “You spoil me. Always coming up with something for dinner.”
Damian glances over his shoulder, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Not a baker, just make enough to survive.”
I shake my head, pushing off the frame. “I need to change. Be right back.”
I make my way to our bedroom area of the studio set up, peeling off my work clothes and slipping into a soft black cami and shorts. When I turn, my gaze catches on something new above the bed, and my breath stalls in my throat.
Hanging on the wall is an oversized black-and-white picture.
Of us.
It’s a candid shot from the bakery—one I instantly recognize. Kelly must have taken it, because I never even knew it existed. In the photo, I’m standing in front of Damian, his arms wrapped around me, both of us laughing, the kind of real, deep laughter that’s impossible to fake.
And the love—good God, the love is there, plain as day.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening, because this is real.
It’s not just heat and lust and danger.
It’s something special.
I run my fingers over the edge of the frame before turning and walking back into the kitchen, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.
Damian doesn’t notice me at first, too focused on plating up whatever he’s cooked, but when I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, he stills.
I press my cheek to his back, my voice quiet. “There’s something personal here now. No more short term rental feel,” I smile.
Damian turns in my arms, his dark eyes searching mine. “Yeah?”
I nod, fingers tracing his stomach before I push up on my toes, pressing my lips to his.
The second our mouths meet, everything shifts as heat consumes us.
His hands go to my hips, gripping tight as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting, claiming. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he backs me up against the counter, lifting me effortlessly onto it.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging, needing more.
Damian’s hands slide under my cami, rough palms grazing over my stomach, up to my ribs, his thumbs teasing the underside of my breasts.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters against my lips. “You trying to make me forget about dinner?”
I smirk, breathless. “Maybe.”
He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down my throat, sucking at the sensitive skin. “Hope you weren’t hungry.”
I arch against him, heat pooling low in my stomach as he pushes my thighs apart, stepping between them. “Oh, I am hungry,” I whisper, nipping at his jaw. “For you.”
He growls, lifting me off the counter effortlessly and carrying me toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine.
Dinner can wait.
Because right now?
Right now, all I want is the man in front of me.
Damian lays me down on the bed, his weight pressing me into the soft mattress, but it’s not just his body that surrounds me—it’s his entire being The heat of his skin, the scent of him, the way he looks at me.
Dark eyes, full of something I don’t think he’s ever put into words.
And I feel it.
This isn’t like the other times.
It’s not frantic or desperate. It’s slow. Intentional.
His lips brush over mine, not demanding, just present, giving He kisses me like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s trying to show me something I haven’t yet realized for myself.
I slide my hands up his bare chest, over the ridges of muscle, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. He leans into my touch, inhaling sharply as I graze my nails down his sides.
“Ally…” His voice is rough, but there’s something soft here, too.
He lifts my cami, pulling it over my head, his gaze never leaving mine as he tosses it aside. Then he runs his hands down my body, tracing the curve of my waist, my hips, my thighs. He’s not in a rush. He drinks me in, memorizing me.
I suck in a breath as he kisses his way down my neck, his lips hot and slow, his tongue flicking over my pulse before he moves lower, teasing, exploring, learning every reaction he pulls from me.
I arch into him, my body aching for more, but he takes his time
Pushing my shorts down my legs, he leaves me bare beneath him. I should feel vulnerable. But I don’t.
I feel desired.
I feel safe.
I feel protected.
I feel like I’m his and he is mine.
He kisses me again, pressing himself against me, and I can feel the heat of him, the hardness pressing between my thighs. But he doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. He’s covering me down to my soul.
When he finally moves, sinking inside me, it’s delicate and slow. A deep, unhurried stretch that has my breath hitching, my fingers digging into his back. He groans low in his throat, his forehead dropping to mine as he stills, as if he’s trying to keep himself together.
“Jesus, baby,” he rasps. “You feel so fucking good.”
I slide my hands into his hair, holding him to me. “So do you.”
His lips brush against mine as he starts to move, each slow roll of his hips sending waves of pleasure through me. It’s different this time—not just heat, not just need.
This is something more
Something real.
I lift my legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His hands slide under me, lifting me into each thrust, his breath ragged against my lips.
I feel him in every inch of me. Not just physically, but in a way I can’t explain.
Like he’s inside my soul
I tighten around him, gasping as his name falls from my lips. He groans, his movements growing just a little more desperate, his control slipping as he presses his forehead to mine.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I open my eyes, finding his already locked on mine. And that’s when it hits me—this is making love .
He’s not just fucking me.
He’s showing me.
Showing me how much I matter.
The pleasure builds, slow and intense, like a rising wave I can’t stop. My fingers grip his shoulders, my body tightening around him, and when I come apart, I don’t just feel it—I experience it.
And he’s right there with me, following me over the edge, his grip on me tightening as he lets go, as he buries himself deep one last time.
For a long moment, neither of us move. We just breathe, tangled in each other, in the heat, in the overwhelming reality of what just happened.
Then, slowly, he rolls us, keeping me on top of him, his arms still wrapped around me.
I rest my cheek against his chest, my heart still racing.
Damian runs a hand through my hair, his touch gentle, reverent. He presses a kiss to my temple, whispering against my skin.
“You’ve had my mark on you for a long time, baby.”
I close my eyes, smiling softly. “And you’ve had mine.”
“I love you Alaina,” he whispers as I snuggle down into him.
“I know and I love you Damian like I’ve never loved anyone.”