Chapter 26
Hannah
You’re stuck with me.
“I’m sure this is what every guy dreams of, huh? The girl he just fucked, bursting into tears,” I choke out, half-laughing, half-sobbing into Sarge’s shoulder.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve spent so long holding it together—juggling bills, planning for the worst, guarding my back because trusting anyone was a gamble I couldn’t afford. Family hasn’t been a safe place to land, and the men I’ve chosen? They’re even worse, each one a lesson in why I’m better off alone.
But now, with Sarge’s arms around me, I’m unraveling. Instead of feeling something as simple as sadness, just this raw flood of everything I’ve kept locked up, triggered by something as simple as feeling safe.
He gently strokes my back, smoothing out my tired, heavy limbs after the pleasure he just filled me with. Both figuratively and literally.
I can’t even guess what he’s thinking. Is he completely freaked out? Regretting this already?
I look up to meet his gaze, wipe away the tears on my cheeks, and try to read his face. His gaze is soft and patient, as if he has all the time in the world for my chaos.
“Sorry,” I mumble, my face hot. “Bet you’re fantasizing about climbing out that window when I’m not looking, huh?” I gesture towards it with a nod, a weak smile tugging at my lips. It’s a lame joke, but I’m being honest. I’d run if I was him.
He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against me, then pulls me closer until my face is tucked against his chest. “Not a chance, Hannah,” he says, his voice warm and steady.
“Takes more than a few tears to scare me off.” He touches his nose to mine, “And for the record, I didn’t only fuck you.
That, to me, is empty and meaningless. What we just did, that shit had meaning, Butterfly. I need you to know that.”
His words filter through me like cheesecloth. The things he says to me are almost too good.
Rehearsed.
Letting him see me this raw, this unguarded—I’m almost sure it’ll be too much. What if he realizes I’m not worth the trouble?
“You could, you know.” I say, sniffling, “If you left, I wouldn’t even blame you,” I tease, my voice shaky but trying for a light tone, desperate to cover the fear clawing at my chest. “Our story thus far has been less than fairy-tale material.”
He chuckles, a low rumble that eases the knot in my chest, and nuzzles into my neck. “Thank fuck for that. Me and this life I live, we don’t quite fit in a fairy-tale.” He kisses my head. “No, those stories are nice, but they aren’t real. This, right here. This shit is real.”
He pulls back just enough so I can see his eyes when he talks to me. “I’m right here, Hannah. Not going anywhere. Plus, I can’t exactly sneak out with the pipes on my bike. You and the whole neighborhood would know.”
I laugh—a real one this time—despite the tears. The image of Sarge trying to creep away on his deafening motorcycle is ridiculous enough to cut through my panic. My body relaxes a little, and I let the post orgasm fatigue take over.
“Promise you won’t try it anyway?” I tease, my voice shaky but lighter, clinging to his humor like a lifeline.
He tilts my chin up, his thumb brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “Promise,” he says, his eyes steady and warm. “You’re stuck with me.”
He brushes against my nose in a gentle Eskimo kiss, then pulls me into a tight squeeze, his embrace echoing his words.
I exhale, sinking into his chest, feeling the tension slowly leave my body.
He holds me for a while longer before gently rolling me onto the bed and, sadly, removing himself from me. I immediately feel empty and want him back inside me.
He slips into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth. I’m not sure what he’s doing until the warmth of the damp cloth is gliding over my inner thighs. Wait, is he... helping clean himself from my skin?
“I don’t want your thighs getting glued together,” he half-jokes, but I know there’s an edge of honesty there. This situation can become sticky quickly, pun intended.
“Thanks,” I murmur, lying there as he carefully cleans me, my voice soft with something I can’t name. I’m still raw from the tears, half expecting him to think I’m too much, but his steady hands say otherwise. “You didn’t have to, you know.”
He glances up, eyes warm and unwavering. “Yeah, I did,” he says, tossing the cloth in my hamper before sliding back onto the bed, pulling me close. “You okay?”
Still lying on my back, I turn slightly to face him.
“I am, really. Sorry about earlier. I promise it was nothing but incredibly blissful, orgasmic happiness, no matter how my tears might’ve made it look.
” I cover my face with my hands, still confused.
“That’s the first time I’ve done that. I can’t explain it. ”
“Well, if you’re gonna cry at my expense, I’d want it to be while you’re riding my cock and drowning in the best orgasm of your life.” He winks, a sly grin spreading across his mouth. “I guess I succeeded.”
My cheeks heat at his dirty comment. “I need to leave you a Yelp! Review after that one: five-star performance. Anticipated my needs before I even knew I had them. Just when I thought I couldn’t handle any more, I was shown that I, in fact, can, and will, with pleasure.
Overall experience was pure bliss. Would recommend. ”
Sarge’s nose scrunches like he’s smelled something foul. “Please, no. I mean, I appreciate the review, but I’d rather not have any other woman thinking they can get that kind of performance out of me. No, baby, that’s all for you. As often as you want it.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at me as he takes my hand, kissing my knuckles. I can’t help but notice he seems to aim for my ring finger. I shrug it off as a coincidence.
“So, are you saying you only want to have sex with me?” I feel so stupid for asking, and now I’m wishing I hadn’t because I’m dreading the answer.
Sarge lets out an amused breath. “I want a lot more than sex with you, Butterfly. But to answer your question, yes. When it comes to sex, I only want to have it with you.”
“Well, good. Because I’m not into sharing and... I also only want to have sex with you, too.” I squirm a little under his gaze, knowing we need to discuss something. “Um, I know we didn’t use protection. I, uh, I need you to know I’m not on birth control.”
Sarge’s face doesn’t change; he keeps his easy-going stare. Normally, this would be where a man would freak out. Is he sterile or something?
I continue. “But, I track my cycle closely, and I know I ovulated last week, so we should be in the clear of me getting pregnant, however.... I don’t think we should make a habit of this.
I mean, you didn’t even know if I was on anything, and you just went for it.
Is that usual for you? Hell, I don’t even know if you’re clean. ”
It feels so fucking rude to say, but it’s true. I don’t know where he’s stuck his dick last. Plus, if he didn’t use protection with me, he probably doesn’t use it with anyone.
I shudder at the thought of what I could have just exposed myself to.
“Shit, yeah. I’m sorry.” Sarge responds evenly, his voice lacking the anger I expected.
“I know you don’t know me well enough to know if this is true, but I don’t make a habit of.
.. this.” He gestures between us. “Sex in general, but especially unprotected sex. The last person I slept with was a long-term girlfriend, and we split just before I got hurt. I’m happy to get tested if it would give you some reassurance. ”
“I hate asking, but it would make me feel better. Thank you. Like you said, we don’t know each other that well.” I laugh at the timing of it all. “We really should have had this talk a little sooner, huh?”
Sarge stretches out in my bed and sucks air through his teeth.
“Uh, yeah. That would have been better. I honestly didn’t know this would happen between us today.
” He rolls over to look me in the eyes. “But I am glad it did, and I want you to know that if our choices led to you pregnant with my baby, I wouldn’t skip out.
I’d take care of you both, whether you decided to be with me or not. ”
Whoa, that was a little too heavy for me this early on.
“I see that look on your face, Butterfly, I am not sayin’ I’m trying to get you pregnant. I just want you to know, if it happens. I’m all in.”
I can only nod at him. It’s just too much too soon. I do appreciate that he says he would be here for me, though. I hope that if it came down to it, he would keep his word.
I run my hand over his chest, enjoying the quiet moments with him as much as the loud ones.
I’m finding that I simply enjoy his presence because of how it makes me feel.
It’s like he’s thawing the ice around my heart.
It’s both exciting and terrifying all at once.
I want to run away and run into his arms at the same time.
This would be so much simpler if I could trust as much as I did when I was nineteen. But so much has happened, and too many people have burned me for me to be able to do that.
My fingers trace the skin of his shoulder when a thought hits me.
“Why don’t you have any tattoos?” I ask, realizing I’ve now seen all of him, and his skin is completely unmarked.
His chest moves under my hand as he laughs. “Why do you ask? Are you disappointed?”
I scoff. “No, but aren’t you bikers all supposed to be like, tatted from head to toe? My mom’s biker friends always had at least a few. Even the women. Heck, my mom has a tattoo. Small one on her ankle. But it’s there. I haven’t seen a single one on you.”
He brushes his nose against mine. “What if it’s on my butt?”
“Nice try, but I’ve seen your butt. You think I didn’t watch you stroll to the bathroom? I may have been in post-orgasm bliss, but I wasn’t about to miss that.”
“The feeling is mutual, Butterfly. Because I’d watch you walk anywhere.
” He nips at my lip. “I guess I just haven’t found something I want to have branded on me forever.
I have the club. I’ve thought of getting the patch somewhere.
Maybe my back. But I wear club colors every day.
Don’t see a need to shower with it, too. ”
“Hm, so you just can’t think of anything worth having on you forever? I guess that makes sense. I have more than a few. Every one of them means something different to me. Some I got when I was angry, some when I was sad. They’re a form of therapy in an odd way.”
I got my first tattoo at eighteen and just fell in love with it. Yeah, it hurts and itches like a bitch when it’s healing, but I love the end result. “I’m just glad you didn’t say you don’t like them. I know they’re not for everyone.”
“Now what kind of a biker would I be if I didn’t like tattoos?” Sarge says, sarcasm lacing his words. “No, I like them just fine. Especially the ones that decorate your beautiful skin.” His fingers trace over the simple outline of the Virgo symbol on my hip bone.
He kisses my shoulder just as a phone rudely interrupts us. When he reaches over, he realizes it’s his and answers. I can only hear his side of it, which isn’t much to go off of.
He ends the call. “That was Bear, he says they have the results from your blood work.”
His words snap me out of my haze. For a moment, I’d forgotten all the crap that went down just forty-eight hours ago.
Sarge continues, “he didn’t want to give details over the phone, other than the results came back positive.”
Positive.
I don’t know why that reality hits me so hard. I knew there was no way that alcohol alone affected me like that, but having the proof? That makes it all so real.
I’ve heard of women getting drugged; it’s more common than it should be. Hell, it shouldn’t be a thing at all.
But, in my mind, it’s something that only happens in big, crowded bars or clubs. Not some dive bar in Tucson, Arizona. No, it’s not a nice or fancy place, but still. I just didn’t think I’d find myself in this situation.
“Why did they do this to me? It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know them or anyone else at that bar.” I feel so violated.
I try not to think about what might have happened to me if Gizmo hadn’t been there.
“I don’t know yet,” he says, “but I think it has something to do with me. And you bet your sexy ass I’m going to find out.”
He lifts my chin with one finger, so I’m looking right at him. “They’re not going to get away with this, Butterfly. The fucker who did this will pay.”
He kisses me so softly and with such certainty that for a moment, I believe every word.
He rolls over, sets his phone on the nightstand, and picks up mine.
“Unlock your phone, please? I want you to be able to contact me anytime you want or need to.” He hands it to me gently.
Of course. I would’ve forgotten to get his number again. The fact that he’s thinking about this, contacting me, makes something warm settle in my chest. I unlock my phone silently and hand it back.
“There.” He says a moment later, “I texted myself, so I’ve got your number too. Don’t ever hesitate to reach out, Butterfly.” He leans in and kisses my forehead.
It’s hard not to melt into the warm, fuzzy feeling he gives me. I keep telling myself to stay skeptical, stay grounded—but I allow myself to enjoy this little moment anyway.
“Hey,” he says, drawing my attention again. “Tomorrow is the club’s weekly pancake breakfast. I’d love to take you, introduce you to everyone, and show you the clubhouse. Coffee, pancakes, bacon. You like breakfast foods?”
My eyes go wide. “Do I like breakfast foods? Um, does a bear shit in the woods? Yes, I love breakfast foods. I would love to join you.”
This is so surreal. He wants to take me to meet people he considers family. Bring me into his world. The thought stirs something fluttery in my stomach. I’m excited. Terrified. Completely wrapped up in him... in whatever this is becoming between us.
I lean into his chest without even thinking, letting the quiet moment settle around us. The adrenaline, the emotion, the everything finally catches up to me, and a soft yawn slips out before I can stop it.
Sarge brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle in a way that never matches the rough edges he shows everyone else. He pulls me close and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Get some sleep, baby. Tomorrow’s going to be a good day.”
I let my eyes fall shut, breathing in his scent and allowing the safety of him to pull me under.