Chapter 7
Ava
The morning light spills through the cabin windows, soft and golden, like it knows what we did last night.
I wake up sore in the best way. Muscles aching, body humming. His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and warm, his chest rising and falling against my back. For a minute, I just lie there, soaking it in. This feeling. This man. Everything that happened.
Then I shift under the covers, turning slowly until I can face him.
He’s still asleep. Peaceful, in a way that seems rare for him. One arm curled under his head, the other still wrapped around me like he never let go. His lashes are too long for someone so dangerous.
I reach down under the blanket and find his cock already half-hard.
My fingers wrap around him gently, stroking slow.
He groans, low in his throat. His eyes crack open, and for a second, there’s nothing but heat.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
He just flips me onto my back and kisses me like he owns my breath. I open for him, my hands sliding up his broad back, nails digging into the muscles that flex beneath my touch.
He’s heavy on top of me, his rugged body pinning mine to the mattress. Solid and relentless, all that biker strength making my heart race.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to trail his lips down my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. I arch up, my hips grinding against his thigh, already wet and aching for him.
His hand cups my breast, thumb rolling over my nipple until it hardens into a tight peak. He pinches it, and I gasp, the sting shooting straight to my core.
“Ava,” he growls against my skin, voice rough as gravel.
That’s all he says before his mouth latches onto my nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to make me moan.
His other hand slides down my side, gripping my thigh and pulling it higher around his waist. I feel his cock, fully hard now, sliding through my folds as he rocks his hips.
I reach between us again, wrapping my fingers around his shaft, stroking from base to tip. He’s thick, veined, pulsing—pre-cum slicking the head.
He groans into my breast, hips jerking forward.
I guide him to my entrance, rubbing the tip against my clit until I’m trembling.
“Mason, please,” I whisper.
But he doesn’t make me wait.
With one thrust, he pushes inside me, stretching me around him.
It’s slow at first. Deep, claiming. But the fullness makes me cry out, legs wrapping tighter around him.
He starts moving, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. The bed creaks beneath us. I meet every stroke, lifting my hips to take him deeper, my pussy clenching around him.
His hand finds my clit, fingers circling fast, rubbing in time with each thrust.
Pleasure builds quick, winding tight and sharp in my belly.
I rake my nails down his back, desperate and breathless. He shifts, hooking my leg over his arm to angle deeper, hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
“Come for me,” he murmurs, breath hot at my ear.
His pace quickens, cock pounding into me with rough rhythm. I break, coming hard around him, my orgasm tearing through me, back arching as I cry out his name.
He doesn’t stop. Keeps driving into me until his own release slams through him. He buries himself deep, groaning as he comes, filling me in hot, pulsing waves.
We stay tangled and panting, his weight a welcome press, the morning light warming our sweat-slick skin.
He kisses my forehead, softer now.
I smile, lips brushing his collarbone. “I could get used to this.”
His hand drags lazily down my spine.
“You should,” he says.
Later, we share leftover waffles on the tiny counter. He toasts them in the oven, and I laugh when he nearly burns his fingers pulling them out.
He just shrugs and says, "Worth it."
We take his bike toward the coffee truck, the engine growling beneath us as I hold on tight. One of his hands stays steady on the throttle, the other finds my thigh like it belongs there.
The wind cuts through my jacket, but his touch is warm. Strong and possessive in the best way.
But when we pull into the lot, something shifts.
His easy calm disappears, replaced by something sharper. Shoulders tense, jaw tight, eyes scanning.
Two prospects are already waiting. Both young. Alert. Not looking at me, not even once.
Viper kills the engine, turns to me.
"I’ve got some club business to take care of," he says. "But they’ll stay close. Make sure you’re safe."
My heart dips. I try not to show it.
"I was hoping you’d stay."
He cups my jaw. "I know. I want to. But this can’t wait."
I nod.
Then he turns to the two prospects. Voice hardening.
"You watch her. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t leave her side. And you sure as hell don’t look at her."
"Yes, sir," they answer, almost in sync. Military style.
I blink.
They’re scared of him. Not just respectful. Scared.
This kind of turns me on.
He presses a kiss to my forehead before he leaves. "I’ll be back before you miss me."
I miss you already.
The day crawls. I serve coffee. Listen to Doris ramble. Try not to stare at the road every time an engine revs nearby.
But he doesn’t come.
Not even a text.
Late afternoon, one of the prospects—Tanner, I think—gets a message. His phone buzzes. He checks it, then walks over.
"We’ve been told to take you home, ma’am."
My stomach sinks.
"He’s not coming?"
"Club business. He said to take you back before sunset."
I pack up. Say goodbye to Doris. Let them drive me in a truck that smells like oil and pine.
The cabin’s exactly how we left it. Clean. Quiet.
Too quiet.
They wait outside. One posted near the porch. The other near the trees.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the blanket he held me under. Missing him more than I want to admit.
Then, a knock.
I stiffen.
Not again.
I move to the window, pull the curtain back just a little.
It’s a woman. Late thirties maybe. Blond. Calm. Alone. She lifts a hand, knocks again, just once.
“Viper sent me,” she calls out, like she knows I’m standing just inside.
My chest tightens. He’s sent people before. Sage. Havoc.
Still, something prickles under my skin.
I hesitate for a breath.
Then unlock the door and pull it open.
She doesn’t move. Just steps slightly to the side, like she’s waiting for me to follow.
It’s only then that I see them.
The two prospects who brought me home.
Lying on the ground near the tree line.
Unmoving.
Blood blooming across one of their shirts.
I don’t even get a chance to scream.
Movement.
Four men emerge from behind the trees. Silent, fast, faces covered.
I try to slam the door, but she’s already there, shoving it wide. Her hand clamps down on my wrist, nails digging deep.
She leans in close, voice low and sweet.
“Your father wanted me to pass along a message,” she whispers.
“You’ve been a very bad girl.”
Then everything goes black.