Chapter 19
MASON
The feds had been sniffing around for three straight weeks.
Every time a black SUV rolled up the driveway to the forty acres, my hand twitched toward the piece at the small of my back.
Too many people had gone missing the same day the Oakley dumping ring got blown open—Dr. Harlan, two cartel runners, the suit Sienna watched get dropped in that dry wash.
The suits in cheap ties kept circling my wife like she was the linchpin.
They sat her down in a gray room twice, asked the same questions in different orders, tried to trip her up.
She never cracked.
Sienna held up like a goddamn rock—calm, professional, the same scientist voice she used on me when I was being an asshole.
“I was collecting routine samples. I heard shots. I ran. That’s all I know.
” Every single time. They finally backed off, but the look in their eyes said they knew they’d just dodged a bullet.
The club had buried the bodies deep, scrubbed the scene, and planted enough misdirection to keep the heat off us. For now.
Still, I stayed on alert.
Her old apartment was a no-go. Cramped, middle of the city, impossible to guard without half the brothers sleeping on her couch.
She flat-out refused to move into the clubhouse—“I’m not living with a bunch of loud, horny bikers who leave their boots everywhere.
” Couldn’t blame her. So I did what I do best.
I ordered a yurt from England.
Big, insulated, canvas-and-wood beauty that could handle the desert heat and the winter cold. When the box showed up, Regan was already snooping over my shoulder on the laptop like she had a sixth sense for anything that smelled like a project.
“Oh my God, Mason. A yurt? On your land? This is perfect.” She clapped her hands like a kid on Christmas. “You need a platform. You need a fire pit. You need string lights and a garden area so she can grow things. I know exactly what ladies like.”
Next thing I knew, Regan had a crew of prospects and half the old ladies out on my forty acres with power tools and fairy-tale vision.
They built a solid raised platform, dug a stone fire pit, strung lights along the perimeter, and even planted a little native garden bed she swore Sienna would love.
I stood there with a beer in my hand, watching the circus. “Regan, is this my land or your new homestead project?”
She grinned, wiping sweat off her forehead. “Just making it nice for your wifey. I know what ladies like, Mason. Trust me.”
I trusted her enough to let her run wild, but I still put up my own shit.
Eight-foot metal fence with razor wire on top, cameras every twenty feet, motion lights that lit up the whole perimeter like midday.
I even built Bandit a catio—a fancy enclosed run attached to the yurt with tunnels, shelves, and a heated bed so the little traitor could come and go as he pleased but stay safe at night.
Half indoor, half outdoor, just like he liked it.
He’d been coming and going like a king ever since he showed back up, fat and smug, like the desert had never happened.
Tonight I was done waiting.
Sienna had been crashing at a safe house with a prospect on the door for too long. I wanted her home. With me. On our land.
I pulled up to the safe house in Dolores—now fully hers again, emerald green and mean—and killed the engine. She stepped out in jeans and one of my old henleys, hair loose, looking tired but still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Sienna, babe,” I said, opening the passenger door for her. “I’ve never really courted you or dated you. Not properly.”
She slid in, giving me that half-smile that always made my chest tight. “Yeah. Every time I tried the whole dating thing, it ended sadly anyway. Figured we skipped straight to the shotgun wedding and the desert shootout. Why change the script now?”
I just grinned and drove.
The sun was setting behind the mountains as we turned onto the long dirt road that led to the forty acres.
The sky was doing that canyon-desert thing—deep oranges bleeding into pinks and purples, the kind of colors that made a man feel small and lucky all at once.
Sienna was quiet, watching the light change, her hand resting on my thigh like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.
When the headlights hit the platform, her breath caught.
The yurt sat there like it belonged—round, white canvas glowing under the string lights Regan had insisted on, warm golden bulbs wrapped around the railing and hanging from the platform roof.
The fire pit was already crackling, flames licking at the mesquite logs I’d stacked earlier.
The little garden bed was freshly turned, ready for whatever she wanted to plant.
Bandit was perched on the railing like a gray gargoyle, tail flicking, watching us pull up.
I killed the engine. “I know it’s not even a house. No plumbing yet. Just a big fancy tent with a king bed and a wood stove. But—”
Sienna was already out of the truck before I could finish.
She walked straight up the steps, eyes wide, fingers trailing over the smooth wood of the railing. The string lights caught in her hair and turned her skin soft gold. When she turned back to me, her face was lit up in a way I’d never seen before.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
Then she was in my arms, kissing me like she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact moment. No hesitation. No overthinking. Just her mouth on mine, soft and hungry and real.
I kissed her back, hands sliding under the henley to find warm skin. “You became a scientist to get out of buildings and cubicles and walls,” I murmured against her lips. “Figured this might feel more like freedom than four walls ever could.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes shiny. “I don’t know if I ever want you to build me a house, Mason. This… this is perfect.”
I laughed low. “We’ll add plumbing eventually. And a bathroom. But for now, it’s ours.”
Bandit jumped down and wound between our legs, purring like a broken engine, then took off into the dark desert to hunt. He’d be back before dawn to curl up in his heated catio like the spoiled little shit he was.
I took her hand and led her inside the yurt.
It smelled like fresh wood and the faint vanilla from the candles Regan had left. The king bed took up most of the round space, piled with soft blankets and pillows. A small wood stove sat ready in the corner. The round skylight overhead showed the first stars coming out.
I didn’t waste time.
I backed her toward the bed, peeling the henley over her head, then the jeans, until she stood there in nothing but a simple black bra and panties.
I took my time undressing her completely, kissing every inch I uncovered—collarbone, the soft underside of her breast, the dip of her stomach, the inside of her thigh.
When she was naked I laid her down on the blankets and stripped myself. My cock was already hard, thick and heavy, aching for her. I crawled over her, settling between her spread thighs.
“Look at me, wife.”
Her eyes met mine, dark and needy.
I pushed inside her in one slow, deep stroke. She was wet, hot, gripping me like she never wanted to let go. I groaned at the feel of her—tight, perfect, mine.
“Fuck, Sienna. Still so goddamn tight for me.”
I started slow, rolling my hips, dragging the thick head of my cock over that spot inside her that made her back arch. Her nails dug into my shoulders. I picked up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the yurt.
She came first, clenching around me, crying out my name as her pussy fluttered and squeezed. I didn’t stop. I fucked her through it, grinding against her clit until she was shaking and begging.
I flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up, and sank back in from behind. The angle let me go even deeper. I reached around and rubbed her clit in tight circles while I drove into her.
“Come again,” I growled against her ear. “Want to feel you fall apart on my cock while I fill you up.”
She did—harder this time, sobbing my name into the pillow. I followed right after, burying myself to the hilt and coming with a low groan. Thick, hot pulses of my seed flooded her, spilling deep, leaking out around my cock as I kept rocking through it.
We stayed locked together for a long minute, breathing hard, my chest to her back.
Later, after I’d cleaned her up and pulled her into my arms under the blankets, we lay on our backs and looked up through the skylight at the stars.
Bandit scratched at the door sometime after midnight. I let him in; he jumped onto the foot of the bed, circled twice, and curled up like he’d always belonged here.
Sienna’s head rested on my chest, her fingers tracing the ink over my heart.
“I don’t know your favorite food yet,” she whispered. “Or your favorite color. But I know you’re mine. And you’re my soulmate, Mason. We skipped the dating, the small steps, and went right into the big one. But it fits. It works. It’s us.”
I kissed the top of her head and held her tighter.
“Yeah, baby. It’s us.”
Outside, the desert wind whispered through the string lights. Inside, my wife slept safe in my arms, my cum still warm between her thighs, my ring on her finger, and my patch on her back the second we got the cut made for her.
The feds could keep digging.
The Oakleys could keep bleeding money.
The cartel could keep looking over their shoulders.
None of it mattered.
I had her.
And the desert finally felt like home.