Raven
Samuel Morgan.
The man who’s been orbiting, disrupting, and quietly consuming my life since I was sixteen. The man who owns my heart in ways I can’t even hide from myself.
The problem?
He’s my older brother, Knox’s best friend.
The VP of the Blackwater MC.
And handpicked, personally, by my father.
Which makes him off-limits in ways that go far beyond age or reputation.
Sam’s always been a complicated man. A quiet storm wrapped in a stoic exterior. His family moved to Ashbourne when his father retired from the military. My dad, president of the club back then, brought him into our world as if he’d always been waiting for him.
One veteran trusting the son of another.
One day, he was helping out around the clubhouse and the garage, and the next, he was practically family.
Brotherhood works like that here.
It’s fast, fierce, and permanent.
I’ll never forget the first day I saw him.
I’d just gotten home from school. I was still in my uniform, my backpack half open and slipping off my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen, expecting to find Knox raiding the fridge or Pop sneaking cookies before dinner.
Instead, I saw him.
He was leaning against the counter like he belonged there. His dark hair was longer then and messy like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He was wearing tight jeans and a black T-shirt that pulled across his chest. Sixteen-year-old me forgot how to breathe.
But it was his deep amber eyes that ruined me.
They held a thousand stories. A thousand scars. A thousand things I longed to understand.
I remember thinking, naively, stupidly, that some people meet and something in the universe just shifts.
That’s what it felt like.
A silent click.
In that minute, I knew this wasn’t just some guy Knox brought home from the clubhouse. I knew he was someone special. That we belonged to each other.
Unfortunately, he only saw me as Knox’s kid sister—wide-eyed and too young. Someone to protect instead of want.
He never noticed the way I watched him. Or maybe he did and pretended not to.
Either way, it didn’t stop me from falling.
Falling hard.
Falling so completely that no one else ever stood a chance.
That was three years ago.
Somewhere along the way, things changed.
It wasn’t overnight or all at once. There wasn't a moment I can point to and say that's when it happened.
One day, Samuel was just Knox's best friend—the guy who was always around, always fixing something, always treating me like an annoying little sister.
Then, somewhere along the way, I started catching him looking at me differently when he thought no one noticed.
At first, I told myself I was imagining it. But then there were the little things. The way his gaze lingered a second too long. The way he pinched the bridge of his nose the first time we argued, like he was trying not to say something he'd regret.
Or maybe I've always belonged to him, and he just finally stopped fighting it.
Whatever the reason, the line he swore he’d never cross? We crossed it months ago.
It was the night Knox got jumped outside Murphy’s Bar. Dad was out of town, but the MC handled it fast. Samuel brought home a bleeding and furious Knox, who was pacing the living room like a caged animal.
He stayed after everyone else left.
I’d been sitting on the stairs in one of Knox’s old hoodies, pretending I couldn’t hear them arguing about what went wrong. But when Knox finally stormed off to shower, the house went quiet.
Samuel stood there in the living room, hands braced on his hips, breathing hard. His shirt was torn. His lip was busted, and his knuckles were split open. He looked wrecked. Dangerous. And unspeakably beautiful.
“Samuel?” I said his name as I stepped down one stair. Then another.
At first, he didn’t look at me.
“Wolf?” I whispered.
His head lifted slowly. Our eyes met, and a soft gasp slipped past my lips. The bruise along his jaw stood out even in the dim light, and there was dried blood near his temple.
He huffed out a breath. “I’m fine.”
It was a lie. A bad one.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped closer. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You always say that.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t move. Just watched as I stopped in front of him. I reached for his cheek, my fingers brushing his jaw lightly.
He caught my wrist. Gently, like I was something breakable. “Raven,” he warned.
I swallowed. “What?”
“You know what.”
I shook my head. “I know what I want.”
His grip tightened, just slightly. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I whispered. “Don’t want you? Don’t touch you? Don’t notice the way you look at me when you think I won’t see?”
His jaw flexed, and his eyes shut for half a second.
That was all it took.
When he opened them again, the restraint he’d been clinging to for years was gone.
“Raven,” he said my name like an oath a second before he pulled me in, his mouth crashing against mine.
His hands slid into my hair like he'd been waiting years to touch me this way. A shaky breath escaped me as he backed me into the wall, a rough sound rumbling low in his throat.
He broke the kiss for a split second, forehead pressed to mine.
“This is wrong,” he ground out.
“Then stop.”
He didn’t.
His lips were on my neck again before the words had fully settled between us. His hands slipped beneath my hoodie, his fingers brushing my skin and drawing a tremor from me.
“Tell me to let you go,” he said against my throat, his voice ragged with restraint.
I hooked my fingers into his shirt and pulled him closer. “I won’t.”
“Raven,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly who I want.”
That was it. The final crack in his armor.
Strong hands closed around my thighs as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the low groan that escaped him despite his best efforts to hold it back.
The trip down the hall was silent. Controlled. Tense enough that I could feel it in every muscle of his body.
He paused outside my bedroom door.
The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat, but I felt it.
The weight of every reason we shouldn't be doing this. Every consequence waiting on the other side. Then he nudged the door open with his shoulder. The moment it clicked shut behind us, something inside him gave way.
My back met the door as he crowded close, looking down at me like he was losing a battle he'd been fighting for far too long.
“This is a bad idea,” he said against my mouth.
The look in his eyes nearly unraveled me. Like he was breaking and holding himself together at the same time.
“But God help me,” he said softly, “I want you too.”
Without letting me go, he crossed the room and lowered me onto the bed—gentle enough to be careful, deliberate enough to tell me he'd run out of reasons to keep fighting this a long time ago. His hands lingered at my waist, like letting go wasn't something he was ready to do.
“Raven,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I don't.”
His eyes darkened like my words undid something inside him. Then he kissed me again. Not rushed or desperate like before. Intentional, like he needed to savor the moment he’d sworn he would never let himself have.
His hands slid up my sides, warm and steady, learning my body inch by inch. He lifted my hoodie over my head, dropping it to the floor behind him. The cool air hit my bare skin, only to be replaced by the heat of his body a second later.
“Have you ever—”
The question died between us.
I shook my head.
“No?” he asked quietly.
“No.” My voice barely rose above a whisper. “I've dated. A few times. But it never got that far.”
His expression tightened. “Because you weren't ready?”
I swallowed. “Because they weren't you.”
“Raven.” My name came out like a warning. Or a plea. “You don't understand what you're giving me right now.”
I cupped his cheek. “Yes, I do.”
He caught my wrist gently, holding my hand against his skin. “Sweetheart, if this is your first time, it should be with someone who—”
“It is with someone,” I said softly when he tried to protest. “You.”
His breath left him in a slow, shaky exhale. For a long moment, he didn't move. Didn't speak. He just looked at me.
“I know this might hurt, and God knows if I could take that from you, I would,” he said quietly, his fingers grazing my cheek.
The look in his eyes nearly broke me.
“But if it gets to be too much, you tell me. I'll stop. No questions asked.”
I wrapped my hand around his wrist. “I trust you, Wolf.”
A low sound rumbled from his chest, and he closed his eyes like my trust meant more to him than I understood.
When he finally moved, it was gentle, patient, and unbearably tender. It was the moment everything changed forever.
“I’ll take care of you,” he breathed, voice breaking as his lips brushed my cheek. “I swear.”
“I know.”
His thumb swept over my lower lip, slow and reverent, before he lowered his mouth to my shoulder, kissing a path down my skin like he was mapping a place he’d never expected to touch.
He drew back just enough to look at me. His eyes traced every inch of me like I was something holy. His hands were careful as he hooked his fingers into my waistband, pausing, waiting, giving me one last chance to change my mind.
I didn’t. I lifted my hips for him.
His breath hitched. Then, slowly, agonizingly, he slid my shorts and underwear down my legs, his hands warm against my skin. He didn’t rush. Not once. He treated me like I was something precious, breakable, irreplaceable.
When I was bare beneath him, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured as his thumbs brushed the curve of my breasts. “I’ll remember you like this for the rest of my damn life.”
Heat flooded through me as he kissed a slow path down my stomach, each touch sinking me deeper beneath him. His hands skimmed my waist, my hips.