Chapter 8 #6
“Later,” he promises, his voice dropping to that register that makes heat coil tighter in my stomach. “After chapel. We’ll talk.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles, the simple touch somehow more intimate than a kiss. “Or not talk. Whatever you want.”
The implications in those last three words send another wave of heat through me. I swallow hard, nodding.
“I should go,” he says, reluctance clear in his tone. “Grey’s waiting.”
“Go,” I tell him, forcing myself to step back, to create space between us before I do something inappropriate in the parking lot. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
The heat in his gaze promises that our conversation is far from over. He nods once, then turns and strides toward the clubhouse, his cut shifting across his broad shoulders with each step. I watch him go, unable to tear my eyes away until he disappears through the door.
“Well, well, well.” Livie’s voice comes from behind me, amusement clear in her tone. “That was quite a show.”
I turn to find her and Tiana approaching, identical knowing grins on their faces. Heat rises to my cheeks again, but I can’t bring myself to feel embarrassed.
“I had no idea he was going to do that,” I admit, running a hand through my hair.
“We could tell.” Tiana laughs, linking her arm through mine. “Your face when he called you ‘his man’ was priceless. Like someone hit you with a defibrillator.”
“That obvious, huh?” I grimace, though there’s no real discomfort behind it.
“Honey,” Livie says, taking my other arm as they steer me toward the picnic tables, “if your pupils got any bigger, they’d have swallowed your entire eyeballs.”
I allow myself to be led away. “Is it always like this? So… public?”
“Club life,” Tiana explains with a shrug. “Privacy is a relative concept. But don’t worry, the important stuff stays private. We just like to make sure everyone knows who belongs to whom.”
“Belongs,” I repeat, testing the word. A week ago, I might have bristled at the possessive implications. Now, after everything that’s happened, after hearing Zach claim me so openly, the word feels right. Comforting, even.
“Don’t overthink it, doctor man,” Livie advises, correctly reading my expression. “It goes both ways. He’s just as much yours as you are his. That’s how it works with the good ones.”
We reach the tables, and they release my arms, gesturing for me to sit. Tiana disappears into the clubhouse, returning moments later with three beers.
“To new beginnings,” she toasts, handing me a bottle.
I clink my beer against theirs, taking a long swallow. The cold liquid does little to cool the heat still simmering under my skin, the lingering effect of Zach’s words, his touch, the promise in his eyes.
“So,” Livie says, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, “on a scale of one to ‘oh my God,’ how good is he in bed?”
I choke on my beer, coughing as Tiana pounds me helpfully on the back.
“Livie!” I manage between coughs. “That’s… private.”
“His expression says, ‘oh my God,’” Tiana observes, her grin widening. “Definitely ‘oh my God.’”
I shake my head, unable to suppress my own smile. “I’m not discussing this with you.”
“Fine, fine,” Livie concedes, though her eyes still dance with mischief. “But just know, we’re here if you ever need… advice. Or tips. Or—”
“I think I’ve got it covered,” I cut her off, laughing despite my embarrassment. “But thanks for the offer.”
The chapel meeting must be serious business, because it’s nearly two hours before the doors open again. I’ve spent the time getting to know Livie and Tiana better, finding unexpected common ground with these women who’ve welcomed me into their circle without hesitation.
When the chapel doors finally open, the members file out with grim expressions that tell me whatever was discussed wasn’t good news. Zach emerges last, deep in conversation with Greyson and Butcher. The intensity in his posture, the tightness around his eyes, sends a ripple of concern through me.
He spots me across the room, and something in his expression shifts, softening just enough that I can see the man beneath the enforcer. He says something to Greyson, who nods, clapping him on the shoulder before they separate.
Zach makes his way to me, his stride purposeful. Without a word, he takes my hand, leading me away from curious eyes and toward the hallway that leads to his room.
“Everything okay?” I ask once we’re out of earshot of the others.
“Will be,” he replies cryptically, his jaw set in a hard line. He stops outside his door, turning to face me fully. “The Reapers are planning something. We’ve got measures in place, but…”
“But you’re worried,” I finish for him, reading between the lines.
His eyes search mine, weighing how much to tell me. “Yes,” he admits finally. “This isn’t just about territory anymore. They’re targeting specific people. Trying to hurt us where it counts.”
The implication is clear. People like me. Civilians connected to the club.
“What do we do?” I ask, surprising myself with the ‘we.’ But it feels right. This is my fight too now, whether I chose it or not.
Something flickers in his expression, approval, maybe, or respect for my willingness to face this head-on. “For now, we stay alert. Stay together.” His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone. “And we don’t let them dictate how we live our lives.”
I lean into his touch, understanding the deeper message. We can’t put everything on hold, can’t stop living because of threats. That would be letting them win.
“Okay,” I agree, covering his hand with mine. “Together.”
His eyes darken at my words, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of brown remains. The air between us shifts, thickens with intention. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there with unmistakable desire.
“What you did out there,” I begin, my voice lower than usual. “Claiming me in front of everyone…”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Too much?” he asks, a rare note of uncertainty creeping into his tone.
“No.” I shake my head, stepping closer until our bodies nearly touch. “Not too much. It was…” I struggle to find the right words, settling for simple honesty. “It was the hottest thing anyone’s ever done.”
The look in Zach’s eyes transforms instantly, the warm brown darkening to something primal and hungry that makes my breath catch in my throat.
His hands move to my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp as he backs me against the wall with deliberate force.
My spine hits the solid surface, and he presses against me, the hard planes of his body aligning perfectly with mine.
“Upstairs,” he growls, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that sends heat pooling low in my stomach. “Now.”
I barely manage a nod before his hand closes around mine, warm and insistent as he pulls me toward the staircase.
My legs feel unsteady beneath me, anticipation making my movements clumsy as we take the steps two at a time.
The sound of our breathing, his controlled, and mine embarrassingly ragged, echoes in the narrow stairwell.
The clubhouse sounds fade behind us, the softness of voices, the clink of bottles, the low thrum of music, until all I can hear is the thundering of my own heart and the soft curse Zach mutters as he fumbles with his key at the door.
The moment we’re inside, he kicks the door shut with his heel, the solid thunk of it closing followed by the decisive click of the lock.
His mouth finds mine before I can draw another breath, hot and demanding in a way that steals what little oxygen remains in my lungs.
I match him without hesitation, my hands sliding beneath his cut, feeling the solid warmth of him through his thin t-shirt before pushing the leather from his shoulders.
The cut falls to the floor with a soft thud that seems unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
I break the kiss just long enough to tug his shirt over his head, my fingers greedy for the feel of his bare skin.
The intricate tattoos across his chest and arms seem to shift in the dim light as his muscles flex beneath my exploring hands.
“Need you,” I manage to say between kisses, my voice rough with desire as I trace the lines of the phoenix spreading across his pectoral. “Been thinking about this since you claimed me out there.”
Zach groans, the sound vibrating against my lips as his hands find my hips, walking me backward toward the bed with purposeful steps. “Tell me,” he demands, fingers working at my belt buckle. “Tell me what you want.”
The raw need in his voice emboldens me. “I want to taste you,” I admit, the words sending a visible shudder through his powerful frame. “Want you in my mouth.”
His hands freeze on my half-unbuckled belt, eyes widening slightly before darkening to nearly black. The surrender of control is implicit in his stillness, in the way his breath catches when I reverse our positions, turning us so the backs of his knees hit the mattress.
I sink to my knees before him, maintaining eye contact as I finish what he started, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness.
The metallic clink as I pull it free from the loops sends another tremor through him.
There’s power in this position. Zach, the feared enforcer, watching me with such naked want, such vulnerability, and it’s intoxicating.
“Christ, Xavier,” he breathes as I unzip his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers.
His arousal springs free, and I take a moment to appreciate him fully.
The size of him, the heat radiating from his skin as I wrap my fingers around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him harden further under my touch.
His hand moves to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands with just enough pressure to guide but not force. The gentle restraint, the care he takes even now when desire has stripped away his usual control, makes my chest tight with an emotion I’m not ready to name.