Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
FALLON
"Oh my god, I'm stuffed." I lean back in my chair, rubbing my belly with both hands, feeling pleasantly overwhelmed by how much I've eaten.
The tacos sit heavy and satisfying in my stomach—good food, good company, everything I've been missing for years without even realizing the depth of that absence until this moment. "Thanks, Beck."
He waves me off with that easy smile of his. "You did most of the work anyway."
"No, I didn't." I reach for the pitcher, the condensation cool and slippery under my fingers as I pour myself another margarita from the batch Ash made earlier.
The tequila burns pleasantly going down, just enough to make everything feel warm and loose around the edges.
Three of these might have been too many, but they are so good.
Beck and I cooked together while Ash played bartender, mixing frozen margaritas with the kind of meticulousness that suggests he'd done this many times before.
Kade and Havoc sat at the bar the whole time, watching us work like spectators at some domestic theater performance.
Kade's eyes followed my every movement—reaching for spices, chopping lettuce, laughing at something Beck said—while Havoc offered occasional commentary that made everyone laugh, his dry humor cutting through the kitchen noise.
The whole evening has been like this. Easy. Natural. Like I've been part of their world for years instead of days.
Ash and Kade played more rap music that I didn't know, songs with heavy bass and lyrics I couldn't quite catch but rhythms that got under my skin anyway.
That's one of the few things that reminds me how young Kade is—I don't know any of the music he listens to.
The artists, the references, the cultural touchstones that shape his generation are foreign territory to me.
The beats are good though, infectious even, making my hips move without conscious thought as I worked at the stove.
Eventually Havoc put on some classic rock—Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, songs from my childhood that made me feel a little less out of place in this house full of men years younger than me.
That makes me wonder about the others.
"Havoc?" I turn toward him and he looks up from his beer, eyebrows raised in question. "What's your real name? I know your parents didn't name you Havoc."
"Well, they did."
"No way." I lean forward, studying his face for the lie, searching for the telltale twitch around his mouth. "You're fucking with me."
"Yeah, I am." His mouth curves into something resembling a smile—the most expression I've seen from him all night. "It's Tyson."
"Oh, I like that." The name fits him somehow—strong, solid, real. More honest than the road name that makes him sound like a natural disaster. "Why do they call you Havoc?"
Ash and Kade crack up immediately, exchanging looks that speak volumes about stories they're not going to tell me. Their laughter has that quality of shared history, inside jokes built over years of brotherhood.
"Because he creates trouble everywhere he goes," Ash explains, still grinning like this is the understatement of the century.
The words remind me these guys are in a motorcycle club.
It's so easy to forget because I just see them here in their home and they're so nice to me—making dinner, mixing drinks, treating me like family instead of like Kade's inappropriate older lover.
But there are darker sides to them, especially Ash.
The easy smile hides something more dangerous underneath, something that probably comes out when the leather cuts go on and the bikes start rolling.
I know this. I've always known this. But sitting here in their kitchen, full of good food and strong drinks, it's hard to reconcile the violence I know exists with the men who just made me feel more welcome than I've felt anywhere in years.
"And they call you Jr., right?" I ask Ash, curious about the hierarchy and relationships that structure their world.
He nods, answering my next question before I can ask it. "My uncle—Kade's dad—is Reaper, so they call me Reaper Jr. It was annoying as fuck, so I settled for just Jr."
"Oh." The word comes out small. I wonder what Kade's dad did to earn the nickname Reaper, what kind of violence or reputation would attach that particular title to a man. Then I immediately decide I probably don't want to know. Some questions are better left unasked.
"Alright, Peaches." Kade stands up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a sound that cuts through the comfortable atmosphere. His eyes are dark, intense, focused entirely on me. "I'm done sharing you with these fuckers."
"You scared she's gonna like us more?" Beck asks, his tone teasing as I stand, steadying myself against the table. The margaritas hit harder than I expected—the room tilts slightly when I move too fast.
"Oh, she definitely likes me the most." Ash winks at me, voice dropping into mock-seduction that's probably not entirely mock. "Isn't that right, Peaches?"
"That's Teach to you." I shoot back, reaching out to rub Kade's arm, feeling the need to mark his territory for him even as the nickname makes me smile. The muscle flexes under my touch, warm and solid. "Only he can call me Peaches."
"Fucking right."
The next thing I know, Kade's throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all, like I'm not a full-grown woman but something small and easily carried. The world tilts sideways and I squeak, grabbing onto his back for balance.
"Kade! You know I can walk, right?"
I hear all three guys laugh as we head toward the stairs, their voices fading behind us into good-natured ribbing I can't quite make out. The sound of their amusement follows us up, warm and accepting.
"Yeah, but I like this way better." His hand settles possessively on the back of my thigh, thumb rubbing small circles over my skin. The touch sends heat pooling low in my belly. "Let's shower."
My stomach flips—anticipation mixed with desire and the warm buzz of tequila making everything feel heightened, more intense, like every nerve ending is suddenly more sensitive.
This is my last night here. My last night in this safe space before I have to go back and face Daniel and the reality of my marriage and all the reasons why this thing with Kade can't continue.
I don't want to think about that right now. Don't want tomorrow to exist yet.
Right now, I just want Kade's hands on me and the promise of what's coming next. Want to lose myself in him one more time before reality comes crashing back.
Right now, I just want to feel alive.
He sets me on my feet when we reach the bathroom, his lips finding mine in a kiss that promises everything to come.
His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with surprising gentleness given the hunger I feel in his mouth.
I melt into him, letting myself have this moment, this feeling of being wanted instead of owned.
Then he pulls away and walks to the shower, turning the water on, adjusting the temperature with careful precision. Steam begins rising almost immediately, filling the space with warmth and humidity that makes the air feel thick and intimate.
I stand there awkward, shifting my weight from foot to foot, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.
I need to do period things and even though he's done all kinds of things to me while I'm bleeding—things that should embarrass me but somehow don't when it's him—I still don't want him watching me deal with the logistics of it.
The clinical reality of tampons and blood feels too vulnerable in a different way than the physical intimacy we share.
"You want me to undress you?" He walks back over, reaching for the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head in one smooth motion before I can answer. The fabric hits the floor with a soft whisper of cotton. His eyes roam over my exposed skin, dark and hungry.
"No, I can do it." The words come out softer than I intended, almost apologetic.
"Then what are you waiting for?" His tone is teasing, patient, but there's heat behind it that makes my breath catch.
Heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks. "I have to do... you know."
His smile turns wicked, dangerous in a way that makes my stomach flip. "Woman, I'll pull your tampon out with my teeth if you want me to. There's no reason to act shy about it."
And god, I know he will do it. The thought makes something clench low in my belly—part mortification at how crude the statement is, part arousal at how little embarrasses this man.
He has no shame when it comes to my body, treats it like it belongs to him completely and he has every right to every part of it.
"Can you go for just a minute?" I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him, trying to soften the rejection, trying to make him understand I'm not pushing him away—I just need a moment alone. "I'll get in, then you can come back. Please?"
He groans against my mouth and pulls me into him, kissing me deeper, harder, one hand tangling in my hair while the other grips my hip possessively.
His tongue sweeps against mine until I'm breathless and clinging to his shoulders for balance, until the room spins and all I can feel is him. Then he pulls back, leaving me gasping.
"I'll go get us clothes."
"Thank you." I press one more kiss to his lips, soft and grateful.
As soon as he leaves, I strip down quickly and take care of business.
Then I hop in the shower and rinse off, letting the water pound hot against my skin, washing away the remnants of dinner and tequila-induced warmth.
I dip my head under the spray, getting my hair wet to wash it, when I feel Kade press into my back—solid muscle and wet skin and the unmistakable hardness of his erection pressing against my lower back.