Chapter 6
six
. . .
Vance
Walking through the compound with Wynter at my side feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
I'm a man of violence—my hands have broken bones, drawn blood, ended threats.
The other members part for us like water, their eyes showing respect tinged with disbelief.
They've never seen me with a woman before, not like this.
Not one I'm treating like she's made of something precious.
And she is. My little wife is my fucking opposite in every way—soft where I'm hard, light where I'm darkness, innocent where I'm corrupt to the bone.
But she's mine now, and watching her take in my world makes my chest swell with a pride I've never felt before.
"This is the main garage," I explain, guiding her with a hand at the small of her back into a cavernous space filled with motorcycles in various states of repair.
The smell of oil and metal hangs heavy in the air.
"We customize and repair bikes here. Some for us, some for paying customers. Legit business."
She nods, taking it all in with those big eyes that miss nothing. "You're actually mechanics?"
"Some of us. Diesel's the best. Can bring any machine back from the dead." I gesture to where he's bent over a vintage Harley, hands blackened with grease. He looks up and nods at us, giving Wynter a cautious smile.
I'm watching the club brothers like a hawk, noting every glance, every reaction to my wife. So far, they're being respectful—more out of fear of me than anything else, but I'll take it.
"And over there's the armory," I say, pointing to a reinforced door. "Off limits to you."
She raises an eyebrow. "You have an actual armory?"
"Protection is important out here." I don't elaborate. She doesn't need to know the details of club business. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
We continue the tour—the mess hall where most members take their meals, the common areas, the training yard where we spar and keep our skills sharp. With each new area, I find myself oddly anxious for her approval, watching her reactions closely.
"It's like a small town," she observes as we walk across the dusty compound yard.
"That's the idea. Self-sufficient. Protected." I squeeze her waist. "Safe."
The mess hall is filling up for lunch when we enter. Conversations pause as heads turn our way. I straighten to my full height, arm tightening possessively around Wynter.
"Listen up," I announce, voice carrying to every corner. "This is Wynter. My wife." The words still send a surge of satisfaction through me. "She's under my protection. Treat her with respect."
Murmurs ripple through the room, but no one would dare question me openly. Not if they want to keep breathing.
We get food and sit at a table that clears magically as we approach. The power of being the club president. Wynter picks at her plate, clearly still overwhelmed but making an effort.
"They're staring," she whispers, eyes on her food.
"They'll get used to you." I take her hand, thumb stroking her knuckles. "So will you."
To my surprise, she doesn't pull away. Progress.
As lunch continues, I notice her gradually relaxing, even smiling slightly at a joke from across the room. Something in my chest loosens at the sight. She's adaptable, my little wife. Stronger than she knows.
After lunch, I take her to the back of the compound where a small garden struggles against the desert heat. It's Diesel's project—the tough bastard has a soft spot for growing things. The incongruity of it seems to delight Wynter.
"It's beautiful," she says, genuine warmth in her voice for the first time since we arrived.
The sound of her happiness hits me like a physical blow. I realize I've been waiting to hear it—craving it—since I first saw her in that casino.
"I knew," I say suddenly.
She looks up at me, confused. "Knew what?"
"That you were the one." I take her hands in mine, dwarfing them. "From your laugh."
Her brow furrows. "My laugh?"
"In the casino bar. Before you even saw me.
You were laughing at something on your phone.
" I remember it perfectly—the way her head tilted back, the pure, unguarded joy of the sound cutting through the artificial din of slot machines and drunken conversations.
"It hit me here." I place her hand on my chest. "Like I'd been waiting my whole life to hear it. "
Her eyes widen, surprise and something else—something softer—flickering in their depths. "That's…that's crazy," she whispers, but there's no bite to the words.
"Maybe." I stroke her cheek. "Doesn't make it less true."
For a moment we stand there, something new and fragile building between us. Then a voice breaks the spell.
"Damn, boss. If I'd known they grew 'em this sweet in Vegas, I'd have volunteered for the last run."
Hammer. One of the newer prospects, still proving himself. Still, apparently, too fucking stupid to know when to keep his mouth shut.
I turn slowly, feeling the familiar darkness rise. "What did you say?"
The kid pales, suddenly realizing his mistake. "Just…complimenting your taste, is all."
"By imagining yourself with my wife?" My voice drops to the dangerous register that makes smarter men back away slowly.
"N-no, I didn't mean—"
I'm across the space before he can finish, my hand closing around his throat, lifting him until his feet barely touch the ground.
"Vance!" Wynter's voice sounds far away through the blood pounding in my ears.
"You so much as think about her again, and I'll cut your fucking tongue out," I growl, squeezing until his face turns purple. "She's mine. Clear?"
He nods frantically, clawing at my hand. I drop him, and he collapses to his knees, gasping for air.
"Get out of my sight," I snarl.
He scrambles away, throwing one terrified glance back at us. Smart boy. Finally learning.
I turn back to Wynter, still breathing hard, the beast in me not fully contained. Her eyes are wide, but I don't see fear there—at least, not only fear. There's something else, something that makes my cock harden instantly.
"We're done with the tour," I announce, voice still rough with rage.
Without waiting for a response, I scoop her up, throwing her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry. She squeaks in surprise, but doesn't struggle as I stride purposefully back toward our quarters, ignoring the knowing looks from club members we pass.
Inside, I kick the door shut and carry her straight to the bedroom. My blood is still hot with possessive fury, with the need to claim, to mark.
"Vance," she says as I set her down beside the bed, her voice trembling slightly. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." I cup her face in my hands, gentler than I thought I could be in this state. "No one talks about you like that. No one even thinks about you like that. Only me."
"He was just being a jerk," she says, but her pupils are dilated, her breathing quick.
"He was disrespecting what's mine." My hands move to her shoulders, then down her arms, feeling her shiver under my touch. "And now I need to remind you who you belong to."
Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away.
Unlike before, I take my time undressing her. Each inch of skin revealed gets my touch, my kiss, my worship. By the time she's naked before me, she's trembling, her nipples hard peaks begging for attention.
"On the bed," I order softly. "In the middle."
She complies, watching with those big eyes as I strip efficiently, revealing the body that's earned me both fear and respect in the club—broad shoulders, thick arms, chest and abs defined by years of violence, thighs like tree trunks.
My cock stands at attention, already leaking at the tip from anticipation.
I join her on the bed, caging her beneath me, taking my weight on my forearms so I don't crush her. For a long moment, I just look at her—this miracle that somehow ended up mine.
"So beautiful," I murmur, tracing the curve of her cheek with one rough finger. "My baby doll. My wife."
I kiss her then, deep and thorough, but without the frantic edge of before. This isn't about quick release. This is about claiming, about connection. About making her understand to her bones that she's mine. Erasing all thoughts of every leaving me from her mind.
My mouth travels down her body, worshipping each inch—the slender column of her throat, the delicate curve of her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts. I spend long minutes there, sucking and nibbling at her nipples until she's arching beneath me, gasping my name.
"Please," she whimpers when I move lower, kissing down her stomach, my hands gripping her thighs to spread them wide.
"Patience, little girl," I murmur against her skin. "Daddy's going to take care of you."
The word makes her shudder now, her body already conditioned to respond to it. I smile against her inner thigh, nipping lightly, leaving marks that will remind her of this moment later.
When I finally reach her pussy, I take my time there too, licking softly at first, then with increasing pressure as her hips begin to rock against my face. She's so responsive, so perfect. Her hands find my hair, gripping tight as I suck her clit between my lips.
"Vance," she gasps, thighs trembling on either side of my head. "I'm going to—"
"Come for Daddy," I growl against her flesh, sliding two thick fingers inside her as I say it. The combination of penetration, stimulation, and that forbidden word sends her over the edge, her body arching off the bed as she cries out my name.
I don't give her time to recover. While she's still pulsing around my fingers, I move up her body and push inside her in one smooth thrust, groaning at the tight, wet heat that envelops me.
"Fuck," I pant, holding still to savor the sensation. "So perfect. So tight around my cock."
Her eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide with pleasure as she adjusts to my size again. I begin to move, setting a pace that's deep and steady rather than frantic—each thrust deliberate, hitting spots that make her gasp and clutch at my shoulders.
"Do you feel that?" I murmur, grinding against her in a way that puts pressure on her clit with each thrust. "Feel how perfectly we fit together? Like you were made for me?"
She nods, beyond words now, her body responding to me with a honesty her mind might still resist.
I shift, hooking her legs over my elbows, folding her nearly in half to drive even deeper. The new angle makes her cry out, her inner walls clenching around me.
"That's it," I praise, feeling my own release building but holding it back through sheer will. "Take all of Daddy. Take every inch."
My pace increases gradually, my control slipping as the familiar tightening builds in my balls. The breeding urge that's been with me since I first saw her roars to life again, unstoppable.
"Gonna fill you up, baby doll," I groan, hips pumping faster now. "Gonna put my baby deep inside you."
Her eyes fly open at the words, locking with mine. I expect resistance, denial. Instead, her hands grip my ass, pulling me deeper.
"Yes," she whispers, the single word a surrender more powerful than any scream.
That breaks me. With a roar, I bury myself to the hilt and come harder than I ever have in my life, pumping her full of my seed. Through the haze of my own pleasure, I reach between us to circle her clit, determined to take her with me.
"Come with me," I command, voice ragged with exertion. "Come on Daddy's cock while he breeds you."
She shatters again, her body milking me for everything I have, her cry of release the sweetest sound I've ever heard.
Afterward, I gather her close against my chest, unwilling to separate our bodies just yet. I stroke her hair, her back, murmuring praise against her temple.
"Such a good little girl," I whisper, feeling her trembling slowly subside. "Letting me pump you full. You're gonna look so pretty swollen with my baby."
She makes a small sound against my chest, not quite agreement but not denial either. Progress.
"Rest now," I tell her, finally withdrawing from her body with reluctance. I arrange us so she's tucked against me, my arm a protective band around her waist, her back to my front. "I've got you."
As she drifts toward sleep, I feel something unfamiliar expanding in my chest. Something I've never felt for another person. Something terrifying in its intensity.
Mine.