Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
KARINA
I stop by the office on my way to Clay’s.
The Hearts United office is quiet when I walk in. Ty's at his desk, laptop open, frowning at the screen. He startles when I knock on the doorframe.
“Karina.” He closes his laptop quickly. “What are you doing here?”
I wave the folder. “Need your signature before the printers start tomorrow.”
“Right. Of course.” He takes the folder but doesn't open it. His knee is bouncing under the desk, like he’s excited. “How's the setup going?”
“Great. Really great. The Ridge Renegades have been amazing.” I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. “Clay especially.”
Ty's expression flickers. “You’ve got to know him?”
“He's been really helpful.”
“Mm.” He flips open the folder, scans the first page without really reading it. “Just be careful, Karina. Bikers can be... unpredictable.”
“He's not unpredictable. He's actually very—”
“I'm sure he's wonderful.” Ty's voice is tight. He signs the contracts with quick, sharp strokes. “I just don't want you getting distracted from the event. We've worked too hard for this.”
He hands back the folder. Behind him, the laptop screen has gone dark, but not before I caught a glimpse of what he was looking at. Flights. One-way, from the look of it.
“Going somewhere?” I ask.
“What?”
“Your laptop. Looked like flight information.”
“Oh.” Ty waves a hand. “Conference next month… a nonprofit leadership thing. Very boring.” He glances at his watch. “Was there anything else? I have a call to make.”
“Nope. That's it.”
I leave with the contracts and a weird feeling in my stomach. Ty's always been a little scattered, a little secretive about the backend stuff. I've never questioned it because he's the expert and I'm just the event girl.
But a one-way flight? And the way he flinched when I mentioned Clay?
I push the doubt down. Ty's stressed because this is a big event and he’s on edge. Besides, I have a date with a hot biker who promised to cook me dinner, and I refuse to let anything ruin my mood.
Clay lives in a ranch house outside Ember Heart Ridge, set back from the road with a gravel driveway. No pink flamingos or garden gnomes; it’s all clean lines and practicality.
He opens the door before I knock, like he was watching for me. He's changed out of his usual jeans and cut into... different jeans and a black henley that stretches across his chest. His feet are bare.
Something about Clay barefoot in his own home makes my heart squeeze.
“You found it,” he says.
I smile, stepping inside. The interior matches the exterior: sparse, functional, masculine.
There’s a leather couch, a big TV, and no throw pillows.
A bookshelf packed with books, thrillers and history, some recipe books.
The kitchen is open to the living room, and whatever’s cooking smells incredible.
“Is that garlic bread?”
“Homemade.”
“I might cry.”
His mouth twitches. “Save the tears for the bolognese.”
I follow him into the kitchen and watch him move. He's efficient and completely at ease. This is a man who knows his way around a stove. He hands me a glass of red wine without asking if I want one.
“What can I do?” I ask.
“Sit. Watch. Try not to distract me.”
“I'm distracting?”
He looks at me over his shoulder. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. “Extremely.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I sit on a barstool at the counter and sip my wine, watching him finish the pasta. His muscular forearms flex as he tosses the noodles; I'm staring and I don't care.
“Your house is very...” I search for the right word.
“Empty?”
“I was going to say minimalist.”
“It's empty.” He plates the spaghetti with practiced hands. “I don't spend much time here. The clubhouse, the shop, wherever I'm needed. This is just where I sleep.”
“That's sad.”
He sets a plate in front of me. “Is it?”
“Home should be more than a place to sleep. It should be... warm. Safe. Full of things that make you happy.”
He sits across from me, watching my face. “And what makes you happy, cupcake?”
“Books and podcasts. Twinkle lights sparkling while I crochet. My cranky three-legged dog.” I twirl pasta on my fork. “Good food. Good company." I meet his eyes. “This.”
A muscle leaps in his jaw and for a moment, he doesn't say anything.
Then: “It’s ready. Eat your dinner.”
The bolognese is perfect. We don't talk about the event.
He asks about my family, and I tell him about my successful siblings, and my parents who love me but don't understand me.
He talks about Colt, his twin brother, and Knox, the youngest, who's off in Snowflake Falls doing something mysterious he won't elaborate on.
“Your turn," I say. “What makes you happy?”
He considers the question. “My club. My brothers. Knowing the people I care about are safe.”
“That's very protective of you.”
“That's who I am.”
I reach across the table and touch his hand. “I like who you are.”
His fingers turn over, catching mine. His thumb strokes across my knuckles, slow and deliberate.
“Karina.”
“Yeah?”
His voice is low, rough. “I don't do casual or halfway. If we do this, you're all mine. That's not negotiable.”
My breath catches. “That's very...”
“Too much?”
I shake my head. “I was going to say hot.”
He's out of his chair before I can blink, and his hands find my waist as he pulls me to my feet, flush against him. Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is different from the one at my door.
That was claiming; this is devouring. I grip his shoulders to stay upright.
His hands slide down to cup my ass, and then he's lifting me, setting me on the edge of the table.
Plates clatter, but I don't care. His hardness is pressed between my thighs, and even through our clothes, I can feel how much he wants me.
“Bedroom,” I gasp.
“Sure?”
“If you stop what you’re doing, I won’t be responsible for my actions...”
He laughs, a low rumbling sound, and carries me down the hall.
His bedroom is as sparse as the rest of the house. Big bed, dark sheets, and a lamp on the nightstand. But I barely register any of it because he's lowering me onto the mattress, covering my body with his, and I can't think about anything except how good he feels.
He pulls back just long enough to yank his henley over his head and I let out an involuntary moan.
His chest is a work of art. Tan skin stretched over hard muscle, tattoos winding across his pecs and down his ribs.
A trail of dark hair leads down his stomach and disappears into his jeans.
I reach out and trace one of the tattoos, a snake coiled around a dagger, and his muscles jump under my fingers.
“Your turn,” he says, and his hands find the hem of my sweater.
He pulls it over my head, and I’m sitting there in my underwear with Clay looking at me like I'm a feast and he's been starving.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, kissing me again.
He reaches behind me to unhook my bra, one-handed, which is annoyingly impressive, and then his mouth closes over my nipple. I gasp, back arching off the bed. His tongue swirls and I'm already trembling.
“Clay—”
He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention while his hand slides down my stomach. “Lift up. I want you naked, cupcake.”
I raise my hips while he tugs my jeans down, taking my underwear with them. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling like he's been running. He doesn't say a word, just drops to his knees.
The sight of this huge, powerful man kneeling in front of me steals my breath.
“Spread your legs and lie back,” he orders.
My legs are trembling as I obey. I lie back against his pillows, and he settles his big body between my thighs.
“I’ve thinking about this,” he says, kissing a path down my stomach. “About getting my mouth on you.”
“Clay—”
“Shh.” He spreads my thighs wider, his breath hot against my core.
His mouth finds me, and I stop thinking.
He doesn't tease. Doesn't circle or explore. He seals his lips over my clit and sucks, hard, and the pleasure is so intense I nearly come off the bed. My hands fly to his head, grabbing fistfuls of his short hair as his tongue circles my clit.
“Oh my god—”
He groans against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. His tongue is relentless, flicking and stroking while his hands hold my hips pinned to the mattress. I'm writhing, gasping, making sounds I've never made before.
“I’m going to come…”
He pulls back. I whimper at the loss.
"Not yet." His voice is rough, wrecked. "I want to feel you come around me."
Before I can protest, he's standing, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one motion. My eyes go wide. His cock springs free, thick and hard and even bigger than I expected. Which is saying something, because I expected big.
He grins. It transforms his whole face, making him look younger and carefree. I want to see that grin every day for the rest of my life.
“We're not done yet.” He pulls a condom from the nightstand drawer and rolls it on, then settles back between my thighs. His cock nudges my entrance, hot and insistent, and I hold my breath.
He doesn't ask if I'm ready. He watches my face instead, reading every flicker of expression as he eases forward. The stretch is intense, just on the edge of too much, but he moves slowly, giving my body time to adjust.
When he's fully inside me, we both go still.
“Fuck.” The word comes out like a rasp. His arms are braced on either side of my head, muscles trembling. “You’re so tight and wet...”
I shift my hips experimentally, and we both groan. He pulls back, then pushes in again, a slow, deep stroke that lights up every nerve in my body. I moan and grab his shoulders, nails digging in.
“Harder.”
He makes a rough sound in his throat and picks up the pace. Each thrust drives deeper, hits something inside me that makes my vision blur. I'm gasping, clinging to him, my legs wrapped around his waist.
“That's it.” His voice is like a growl. “Take all of me.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
He growls and flips us, pulling me on top without slipping out. I brace my hands on his chest and stare down at him, overwhelmed.
“Ride me,” he orders.
I start to move. It's clumsy at first, I've never been great at being on top, but he grips my hips and guides me, sets the rhythm, shows me exactly how he wants it. The angle is different, deeper, and every stroke drags against a spot inside me that makes me moan.
“Touch yourself,” he says. “I want to watch you come.”
My hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit. I'm so sensitive from before that it only takes a few circles before I'm trembling on the edge.
His grip tightens on my hips. “Let me feel you come.”
I come hard, clenching around him, gasping his name. He thrusts up harder and faster, making my breasts jiggle, then he's coming too, groaning my name, pulling me down against his chest.
We stay wrapped together, sweaty and breathless. His heart pounds against my cheek. His hands stroke up and down my spine.
Later, I’m still buzzing. He's traced every curve of my body with his hands and mouth. He's made me come three more times. And now he's holding me against his chest, stroking my hair and pressing soft kisses to my forehead.
“Stop thinking so loud,” he says,
“I'm not thinking. I'm basking.”
“Basking?”
“In the afterglow.”
His chest rumbles with a laugh while his arm tightens around me.
I snuggle closer, pressing my cheek to his heartbeat. His skin is warm, and he smells like cedar and sex. I could stay here forever.
“Clay?”
“Mm.”
“Don’t get mad, but I think I'm falling for you.”
For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, and I wonder if I've made a terrible mistake. Then he shifts, rolling me onto my back so he can look down at me. His expression is intense, almost pained.
“Karina.” His voice is rough. “I—”
“You don't have to say it back. It's too fast, I know. It's crazy. My family would say it's such a Karina thing to do, falling for a biker after less than a week." I'm babbling, but I can't stop. “I don't care. I just wanted you to know.”
Clay kisses me. It’s slow and achingly sweet.
He pulls back. “You deserve better than me.”
“I think I get to decide that.”
“You’re stubborn, cupcake.”
“Very.”
He pulls me back against his chest. His hand strokes up and down my spine, slow and soothing. I'm warm and happy, perfectly content as I fall asleep in his arms.