Chapter 39 #2
She pulled off and looked up at me. Her lips were swollen, her eyes dark. “Then don’t.”
“I want to be inside you.”
She climbed up my body and settled over me. I could feel the wet heat of her against my cock and my hands went to her hips, gripping hard.
My hand tightened on her hip. “You covered?”
“IUD. And no one else in fourteen months.” She held my gaze. “I always hoped we’d find our way back to each other.”
She reached down between us and guided me in. Sank down slow, taking me all the way, and we both went still.
“Fuck, Holden.” Her hands braced on my chest. “You feel—”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t manage more than that. She was tight around me, hot, every nerve ending I had focused on the place where we were joined.
She started to move. Rolling her hips in a slow grind, finding her angle, her nails digging into my chest. I watched her — the way her body moved, the way her breasts shifted with each roll, the way her eyes closed and her lips parted when she found the right spot.
I sat up. She made a surprised sound and then her legs wrapped around my waist and I was deeper, the angle changed. She gasped against my mouth as she felt it. I held her there — one arm around her back, one hand gripping her hip — and thrust up into her.
“Harder,” she said.
I gave her harder. Drove up into her while she held onto my shoulders, her forehead pressed against mine, her breath coming in short bursts that matched the rhythm of my hips.
I could feel her tightening around me, her whole body coiling, and I reached between us and pressed my thumb against her clit.
She came with a sound I’d never heard from her — raw, broken, loud enough to carry.
I thought about all the times before she’d whispered my name into my shoulder so no one would know.
Not tonight. Tonight the whole clubhouse could hear, and she didn’t care.
I followed her over two thrusts later, burying myself deep.
We lay there for a while, tangled, breathing.
“You okay?” I asked once I’d caught my breath.
“Better than okay.” She shifted, turned to face me. In the dim light I could just make out her expression — the satisfied smile on her face. “I missed you. Every day. I just wouldn’t let myself dwell on it.”
“I know.” I traced a line down her arm. “I missed you too. I didn’t handle it right. Any of it.”
“No. You didn’t.” She said it without heat. Just fact. “But you’re handling it now.”
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. She settled against my chest and I thought she was falling asleep. I counted her breaths until they slowed. Then her hand moved — tracing down my stomach, over my hip, back up the inside of my thigh. Not accidental.
“I thought you were asleep,” I said.
“I was thinking.”
“About?”
Her hand moved higher. Found me. I was already hardening again under her touch. “About how we have fourteen months to make up for.”
I rolled her onto her back. She laughed — the quiet, warm laugh I had spent the better part of fourteen months trying not to want — and pulled me down.
This time was different. No caution left. No measuring. I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and she arched up into me, her eyes dark and wanting. I kissed my way down her body — throat, breasts, ribs — biting softly at the curve of her hip, and she writhed under me.
“Holden, I swear—”
“What?” I pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, inches from where she wanted me. “Tell me.”
“You know what.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
She looked at me. Flushed, breathing hard, her wrists still above her head even though I’d let go. “I want your mouth on me.”
I gave her my mouth. Slower this time — long, dragging strokes of my tongue, drawing out every sound she made. She was swollen and sensitive from the first time and she came faster, her thighs clamping tight around my head.
I didn’t let her come down. I was inside her before the aftershocks had finished, and she wrapped her legs around me and pulled me deeper.
“Don’t hold back,” she breathed.
I didn’t. I drove into her hard enough that the headboard knocked the wall, her nails raking down my back, Bea crying out with every thrust. I hauled her hips up, changing the angle, and she cried out louder. I held her there and didn’t stop until she shattered again, dragging me with her.
We lay in the wreckage of the sheets, sweat cooling, breathing ragged.
“We might have woken someone up,” I said.
“I don’t care.” She turned her head and looked at me. Her hair was a mess, her mascara was smudged, and she looked like the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “Do you?”
“No.”
She settled back against my chest. I pulled the sheet up over us and held her.
?
I woke with Bea still in my bed. Her back against my chest, my arm across her waist, her breathing slow and even. I didn’t move. Didn’t want to break it. The room smelled like both of us — her shampoo, sex, sweat, the particular warmth of two people who’d spent the night finding their way back.
She stirred. Pressed back against me, still half-asleep. My body responded before my brain caught up — I was hard against the curve of her ass and she made a soft, sleepy sound and pressed back harder.
“Morning,” she murmured.
“Morning.” I kissed the back of her neck. The knob of her spine. The spot behind her ear.
She reached back and found me, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking lazily. “You’re up.”
“You’re in my bed.”
“Fair point.” She guided me between her thighs, and I slid into her from behind — slow, easy, the morning version of what we’d been doing all night. She rocked back against me and I matched her rhythm, my hand finding her breast, her nipple hard under my palm.
This time was slow. No urgency, no desperation. Just the steady rocking of two bodies that knew each other, that had spent the night remembering. I pressed my face into her hair and breathed her in. My hand slid down her stomach, between her legs, and I circled her clit in time with my thrusts.
She came quietly — a long, slow shudder, her hand gripping my forearm, a single breathless “oh” — and I followed her, my hips pressing deep, my arm tightening around her waist.
We lay there for a while. Not talking. Not needing to.
“Bea.”
“Mm.”
“You’re not going anywhere today.” Not a question. A statement.
She turned in my arms and looked at me. In the morning light her eyes were clear, and I could see everything in them — the fourteen months, the hurt, the careful rebuilding, and underneath all of it, still there, still stubborn — love, plain as anything.
“I’m not going anywhere, Holden. Not today. Not ever.”
“Yeah.” I pulled her closer. “That’s what I thought.”
She kissed me. Soft. No hurry, no question in it.
I held her. The Road Captain in me had nothing left to plan. No routes. No exits. Just this moment, and the next one, and every one after. Biker domestic bliss. Mine this time, for keeps.