Chapter 6
Viper
I shove the last of my clothes off and crawl back over her, settling between her thighs like I’ve earned the right to be here. Because I have. She gave it to me.
She’s already bare for me. Laid out, flushed, wrecked from my mouth, and somehow still looking up at me like I hung the moon. It guts me.
I brace my weight on my forearms, nose brushing hers.
“You sure?” My voice is rough. It scrapes.
She nods, slow, steady. “Yes. I want this… I want you.”
Fuck. She says it like it means something.
I kiss her. No rush, no heat, just lips and breath and her fingers curling around the back of my neck like she doesn’t want to let go.
I press my hips down. My cock slips between her slick folds, dragging through that heat. We both gasp. Her nails bite into my shoulders.
“You feel what you do to me?” I murmur. “You own me like this.”
She arches up, thighs tightening around my waist. “Then show me.”
I reach between us and line myself up, rubbing the head against her entrance, slow and easy.
Her breath stutters.
“You’re mine now, Ava,” I whisper into her mouth. “Every breath. Every inch. Every moan—you give it to me.”
Then I push in.
God, she’s tight.
Hot. Velvet and vice.
My hands grip the sheets beside her head as I ease in, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust. Her breath comes fast and shallow, but she doesn’t stop me, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.
She wants this. Wants me.
And I’m going to give her everything.
“Fuck,” I bite out as I bottom out, buried deep. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to hold back when she’s gripping me like this. Like she was made for me.
She whimpers, her hands clutching my back, and I go still.
“You okay?” My voice is low, shaking. I’m shaking.
“Better than okay,” she breathes, eyes locked on mine. “Move, Mason. Please.”
I pull out slow and push back in even slower, watching her face the whole time.
She takes me.
Every. Damn. Inch.
I start to move for real, hips rolling in a steady rhythm, not fast, just deep. Meaningful. Her legs wrap around me tighter, pulling me in like she needs me buried inside her.
I brace a hand under her lower back and lift her hips slightly, changing the angle. She gasps. Nails rake down my spine.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her neck. “Let me hear it.”
She moans for me, breathless, desperate. Her hands never stop roaming. My shoulders, my arms, my chest. Like she’s mapping every scar, every tattoo, memorizing the man on top of her.
“Harder,” she whispers. “Please.”
“Not yet,” I growl, kissing her throat, sucking a mark under her ear. “Not until you come for me again.”
I drop one hand between us, finding her clit with my fingers. She bucks against me as I circle it—slow, tight pressure—and thrust deep at the same time.
“Mason—God—”
“That’s it, baby. Give it to me.”
Her body starts to shake, and I know she’s close. I fuck her through it, strokes long and possessive, claiming every bit of her from the inside out.
When she finally shatters, it’s not quiet.
It’s raw.
She cries out my name, clenching around me, writhing beneath me, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
I keep moving, chasing my own high, hips slamming now, no more restraint. Just pure need.
“You feel that?” I grunt, voice breaking. “That’s me claiming what’s mine.”
Her eyes flutter open, still dazed. “I am yours.”
That’s all it takes.
My release slams into me, rough and blinding. I bury my face in her neck and spill inside her with a low, broken groan, grinding deep, every muscle locked tight as I mark her with everything I’ve got.
When I finally collapse beside her, pulling her into my chest, I don’t say a word.
I just hold her.
Because nothing in this world ever felt more right than being buried deep inside her, branding her as mine.
Her body’s still warm against mine, slick with sweat, legs tangled in the sheets like she’s not ready to let go. The kind of silence that follows something real. Something raw.
She’s not asleep, I can feel it in her breathing, the way she shifts just enough to keep touching me.
Neither of us speaks.
Minutes pass.
Then I ask it. Because I need to. Because the question’s been clawing at the back of my throat since the first time I saw her in short sleeves.
“You gonna tell me who gave you those scars?”
Her breath catches. Soft. Sharp.
I don’t push. Just wait. Thumb grazing the slope of her waist. Anchoring her here with me.
Finally, her voice breaks the quiet. “My stepfather.”
I close my eyes. Jaw tight.
“Started after my mom died,” she says, barely above a whisper. “It was small at first. Looks. Words. Then burns. His cigarettes, when he was drunk. Then when he wasn’t drunk anymore.”
My arm tightens around her. Not to hold her down, just to hold her safe.
“I ran six months ago,” she says. “Bounced around, town to town. Then I landed in Lovestone Ridge. Took the job at the coffee truck. And for the first time in a long time... I felt normal.”
She’s not crying. Just staring at the ceiling like the memories are etched into the beams above.
“You survived hell,” I murmur, voice gravel-deep. “And you still smile like it didn’t burn you down.”
She turns toward me, eyes shining but dry. “And you? Your scars?”
I exhale slow. Press a kiss to her forehead.
“Mostly war.”
Her fingers tighten where they rest on my chest.
“My dad and my brother both served. Neither made it home. Mom didn’t last long after that. Her heart just gave out. I figured I was next. Enlisted young. Saw things no one should. Did things I don’t talk about.”
I let the silence stretch for a beat. Let it speak for what I won’t say out loud.
“I thought I’d die over there too,” I admit. “Part of me even wanted to. But I didn’t. I came back. Ended up in Lovestone Ridge. Didn’t know what the hell I was looking for until I found the Damned Saints. They were rough. Broken. Same as me. But they made space.”
She shifts closer, her palm pressing warm over my heart.
“You don’t tell people that, do you?” she asks softly.
“Never.”
“Why me?”
I meet her gaze. “Because I see the fight in you. Same fight I’ve been dragging around for years. And it calls to mine.”
The silence now is different. Softer. Like we’ve both stopped running, just for a minute.
She swallows. Then the words come out in a rush, like they’ve been trapped in her chest too long.
“He texted me two days ago,” she says. “Said he found where I am. Said if I don’t go back, he’ll hurt my sister. Nadia.” Her voice trembles, but she keeps going. “He never touched her. Just me. She doesn’t even know. She’ll be back from college soon, and I can’t let him get near her.”
Something cold and lethal settles in my gut.
I draw her closer, forehead resting against hers. “You’re not alone anymore, Ava,” I murmur. “Not now. Not ever. I’ll protect you. And your sister too.”
She exhales, slow and shaky, fingers drifting up to trace the scar on my shoulder like she’s grounding herself in the feel of me.
“And you’re mine now,” I add quietly, the words steady and sure. “Every piece. Every scar. Every heartbeat you give, I’ll guard.”
She doesn’t answer.
She just kisses me like she believes it.
And I know she does.