Chapter 8
I keep my voice low, meant only for her, but I know every fucking man in this room is straining to hear. "You ready to show them who you belong to?"
Savannah's eyes hold mine, blue as high-country sky, wide but not afraid. Not anymore. There's something else there now—determination. Spite, maybe. The kind that carries you through disappointment.
She stands up from my lap, slow and deliberate, like she's got all night and we're the only two people in the room. Every head is turned this way. All eyes on her bare back, on the curve where her spine disappears into my jeans riding low on her hips. But she doesn't acknowledge them. Not once.
Her focus is a physical thing, like hands on my skin. She doesn't look away from my face as she kneels down in front of me and reaches for my belt. Her fingers work the buckle with practiced ease.
"Lift," she whispers, and I raise my hips so she can tug my jeans down.
My cock falls out. It lies along my thigh, hard and thick.
She licks her lips, then whispers, "Beautiful," like we're alone.
Somewhere behind her, Diesel coughs. Chains mutters something I can't make out. I don't give a fuck. Not when Savannah's hands are sliding up my thighs.
She tugs at my jacket, and I lean forward so she can pull it off and down my arms. The cut comes off next. Then my shirt follows, up and over my head.
Now we're even. Both half-naked in a room full of fully-dressed men. Both vulnerable. Both choosing this.
Her hand wraps around my cock, and I hiss through my teeth at the contact. Her palm is soft, her grip firm as she strokes me, base to tip, slow and measured.
"That's it," I murmur, just for her. "Show me what that hand can do."
She works me steadily, her rhythm perfect, her eyes never leaving mine. I slide down in the cushions a little more, giving her better access, spreading my legs wider.
"Fuck, Savannah," I breathe, as her thumb circles the head, spreading the wetness there. "Yeah, baby. Just like that."
The room around us fades. The men, the smoke, the worn-out couch beneath me—it all disappears until there's nothing but her grip on my shaft and her eyes locked with mine.
Savannah licks her lips and I nod. “Yes,” I say, giving her permission. “You can suck me off now, baby. Take my cock in your mouth.”
She leans down, and the first touch of her mouth against my cock is pure bliss. Warm and wet. Her lips part to take me in and I can't stop the groan that escapes. My hands find her hair, tangling in the soft strands, not to guide, but to anchor myself. To remind myself this is real.
"Christ, you're perfect," I tell her as she takes me deeper, her tongue flat against the underside. "Look at you, you perfect fuckin' angel. Taking my cock so good. Like you mean it."
She hums around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. Her eyes are on mine, pupils blown wide, as she works me with her mouth.
"That's it, baby," I encourage, my voice rougher now. "Fuck, you're so beautiful with your lips stretched around me."
She hollows her cheeks, sucking harder, and I tighten my grip in her hair.
"You like that?" I ask, knowing she does. "You like the taste of me?"
She nods slightly, never breaking rhythm, never looking away.
"Tell me," I demand, needing to hear it. Needing everyone to hear it.
She pulls off with an obscene pop, her lips wet and swollen. "I love it," she says, loud enough for the room to hear. "I love the way you taste. The way you feel in my mouth."
Then she's back on me, taking me deeper this time, until I feel the back of her throat.
"Fuck," I groan, lifting my hips up, pushing myself deeper. Unable to hold back. "Just like that, Savannah. Take it all."
Her hand works what her mouth can't, twisting slightly on the upstroke in a way that makes my thighs tense. Every time the tip of my head hits the top of her mouth, I grit my teeth. My breathing gets heavier, more ragged as she finds a rhythm that's pushing me toward the edge faster than I want.
I'm dimly aware of the room around us—the shuffling of feet, the clink of bottles, the heavy silence of men watching something sacred and profane all at once. But none of it matters. Nothing matters but the woman kneeling before me, claiming me as thoroughly as I'm claiming her.
"Eyes on me," I remind her when her gaze starts to drift. "Look at me while you suck me off."
She obeys instantly, her eyes locking back on mine. There's a flush spreading across her chest now, up her neck to her cheeks. She's getting turned on by this—by pleasuring me, by being watched, by the power she has even on her knees.
"That's my girl," I praise, voice tight with restraint. "Taking me so deep. Making me feel so good."
Her rhythm speeds up, her hand and mouth working in perfect tandem. She moans around me, the sound vibrating through my cock, and I know she's getting wet. Know she's aching for me to touch her too.
Soon. But not yet.
"You gonna make me come?" I ask, my voice barely more than a growl. "You want my come down your throat, baby? Want everyone to see what you do to me?"
She nods, eyes never leaving mine, and takes me deeper still.
My hand tightens in her hair, holding her steady as my hips start to move, small thrusts I can't control.
"Fuck, Savannah," I groan. "Nobody's ever made me feel like you do. Nobody."
And it's true. No one else has ever stripped me bare like this—not just my body, but something deeper. Something I thought was buried too far down to reach.
She's found it though. Found me. And now she's showing everyone that I'm hers as much as she's mine.
Her tongue swirls around the head of my cock on the upstroke, and I feel the tension building at the base of my spine. Not yet. Not fucking yet.
"Slow down," I command, tugging gently on her hair. "I'm not done with you."
She eases back, her pace becoming torturous, deliberate. Each stroke of her tongue, each hollowing of her cheeks, each press of her lips is measured now. Designed to keep me right on the edge without pushing me over.
"That's it," I encourage. "Nice and slow. Show me how much you want it."
Her eyes never leave mine, and in them, I see everything—desire, determination, a hint of defiance. But most of all, I see choice. She's choosing this.
Choosing me.
Choosing us.
And fuck if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.
"Stop," I command, my voice rough with need.
She pulls off immediately, lips slick, eyes questioning.
"Take your pants off."
Savannah stands without hesitation, thumbs hooking into the waistband of my borrowed jeans. They slide down her thighs, pooling at her feet. She steps out of them, standing before me in nothing but her own skin.
The bruises on her thighs are purple shadows, and I swallow hard at the sight of them, anger and desire warring inside me.
I pat my lap, cock still hard and wet from her mouth. "Come here."
She climbs onto me, straddling my thighs, her hand wrapping around my length again. Her touch is confident, sure, like she's handled me a thousand times. And she has—but never like this, never with eyes on us.
I grab her breasts. They're perfect—full and heavy in my palms as I cup them, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they harden.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I murmur, leaning forward to take one nipple into my mouth.
"Oh god," she gasps, her head falling back, arching as I suck hard, then gentle, then hard again.
Her hand keeps working me, steady and relentless. I switch to her other breast, giving it the same attention, feeling her thighs tense around mine.
I glance up, taking in the room without breaking rhythm. The bar's gone quiet except for the occasional clink of glass and low murmurs. Every eye is on us—on Savannah's back as it arches, on my mouth at her breast, on her hand stroking my cock.
Some of the guys have their women now, pulling them onto laps, hands wandering under shirts. Diesel nods at me from across the room, approval in his eyes. Brick stands near the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always.
The door swings open, and more men file in—patched members and pledges alike, heeding the call to come vote in church tomorrow. Others who'd been out on runs. They stop short, taking in the scene, then move to the bar for drinks, eyes never leaving us.
Every patched member will be here soon. Every one of them will see Savannah choose me—choose us—over everything she's ever known.
It burns that it has to be this way, that she has to prove herself like this. But I'm relieved too, because I think we'll win the vote.
I think they'll let her stay.
I refocus on Savannah, on the woman I've loved since I was too young to understand what love even meant. There's never been a day since that first time at the silo when I didn't tell her I loved her at least once in my head.
In prison, her name was a prayer I whispered into my pillow.
A promise I made to myself every morning when I woke up in that concrete box.
Now, with her here, as part of the club, she'll be mine for real. Nothing will ever come between us again. No family, no money, no bars, no time.
"Lift up," I tell her, voice low and urgent.
She rises on her knees, understanding immediately. I position myself at her entrance. She's wet—so fucking wet—and the knowledge that this turns her on as much as it does me makes my cock throb.
"Sit down on my cock, baby," I whisper against her ear. "Show everyone who you belong to."
She sinks down slowly, taking me inch by inch, her breath hitching as I fill her. When she's fully seated, I cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone.
"You feel that?" I ask, voice raw. "Feel how perfect we fit together? Like you were made for me."
"Yes," she breathes, eyes locked on mine. "Only you, Legion. It's only ever been you."
I smooth sweaty strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear. My hand lingers on her cheek, a tender gesture at odds with the filthy words spilling from my lips.
"Your pussy's so tight around me, so fucking wet. You like them watching us? Like them seeing how good you take my cock?"
She nods, a moan escaping her as I thrust up slightly.
"Say it," I demand. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me," she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I want them to see that I'm yours. Only yours."
That's all I need to hear. I wrap my arms around her waist and start moving in earnest, driving up into her as she grinds down on me. The couch creaks beneath us, the sound almost lost under Savannah's moans.
"That's it, baby," I encourage, voice tight with restraint. "Take what you need. Show them how good I make you feel."
She rides me hard, her nails digging into my shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. I grip her hips, guiding her, setting a rhythm that has us both panting.
"Fuck, Legion," she gasps, head thrown back. "Just like that. Don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping. Not when she feels this good, this right. Not when every thrust brings me closer to something I've been chasing for more than a decade.
"You gonna come for me?" I ask, voice rough. "Gonna come on my cock with everyone watching?"
"Yes," she moans, movements becoming more frantic. "I'm close. So close."
I slide one hand between us, finding her clit with my thumb. She jerks at the contact, a sharp cry escaping her.
"That's it," I urge. "Let go, Savannah. Let them hear you."
She shatters around me, walls clenching tight as she comes with a wail that echoes through the room. Her body trembles, her nails drawing blood as she clings to me.
The sight of her coming undone pushes me over the edge. I thrust up hard one last time, burying myself deep as I come, her name a broken sound on my lips.
For a moment, we're frozen like that—connected, breathless, trembling. Then she collapses against me, face buried in my neck, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her close.
Around us, the room shifts back to life.
Conversations resume, pool balls crack against each other, women laugh as they settle onto their men's laps.
It's like someone turned the volume back up on a scene that had been muted.
We sit there on the couch, sweaty and satisfied, still joined.
I stroke her back, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow against my chest.
She fits against me perfectly, like she always has.