Chapter 21 #3
“I’ll tell you something else too . . . that night.
It wasn’t just sex. I marked every inch of your body and came inside you.
” I go to turn my head, but his hold on my chin tightens, forcing my eyes to remain locked with his.
“I ain’t never done that before, and I didn’t give a fuck about the consequences.
Still don’t. I ain’t nobody’s first pick for a husband, and I probably would make a shitty father, but you’re the only person I want any of that with.
” He pauses, his nostrils flaring as he pulls in a deep breath.
“Now, I don’t know what you need from me to make you realize this is real.
You want me to claim you to all my brothers?
Done. Nightmare already has a broken nose to prove it.
You want me to fuck you in front of every saddle bunny?
Line ‘em up and let’s give them a show, baby.
If I’m lucky, I’ll knock you up. Ain’t nothing says mine more than you carrying my baby. ”
I don’t know what the hell is going on, but the man doesn’t play fair. He’s killing me. Feeding me glimpses of a future I never knew I wanted. A future that I didn’t even think I could have when I woke up from the coma, because the only thing I wanted was to die.
“Or we can keep it simple, and you can put me out of my misery by agreeing to be my ol’ lady. Wear my property patch and ride on the back of my bike. Let me fucking love you for the rest of my days. Be my wife for real. In all the ways that count.”
My heart is hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears.
“Are you proposing to me?” I hiccup. “After I just asked you for a divorce?”
His hands move to cradle my cheeks, and he kicks my legs apart, pressing himself against me. “I’m telling you I love you.” His thumb traces over my lower lip. “And you can fuck off with that divorce bullshit.”
I stare at him—this man who is covered in blood and dust and the evidence of whatever hell he just walked through, and the only thing I can think of is how much I want him.
Every flaw and all his sins.
I want to be the keeper of them all.
But most of all, I just want to be his.
His wife.
His ol’ lady.
His one and only.
“I won’t get down on one knee,” he continues.
“That ain’t my style. You want a ring? I’ll get you whatever ring you want.
I’ll tattoo your name on my ring finger, so the whole fucking world knows I belong to you.
Down the line, if we have some kids, I’ll tattoo their faces on every available inch of skin on my body.
We can go to the courthouse or stand in front of a chaplain and say vows.
Whatever you want to make it feel real, but it’s already real for me. I just need you to get on board.”
My hands come up to cover his, wrapping around his wrists, my fingers trembling against his pulse points.
“You love me,” I whisper. It’s not a question. It’s confirmation of every desperate hope I’ve been carrying since he stayed in the hospital with me, holding my hand and counting through every nightmare.
“Yeah, baby.” His voice cracks, and something in my chest splits wide open. “I fucking love you.”
I tighten my grip on his wrists, holding him there as I stare into his eyes.
“No more saddle bunnies,” I say firmly.
“I haven’t been with a saddle bunny or any other woman since you got injured.” His eyes burn into mine. “You’re the only one, Jess. You have been for months.”
I press my lips to his, and he kisses me as if he’s starving. His mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping past my lips, claiming every inch of me. His hands slide from my cheeks to the back of my neck, fisting my hair, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss.
It’s filthy and possessive.
His teeth drag across my lower lip, his tongue licking into my mouth as if he’s trying to consume me whole. His body pins me to the wall, and I feel every hard ridge of him—his chest, his stomach, his hips—pressed flush against me.
When I finally break the kiss, I’m gasping, my lips swollen, my heart racing.
“I love you, Lucifer.”
His eyes darken, and he crashes his mouth back to mine.
This kiss is different—slower, deeper, more deliberate.
His hands slide down my back, over my ass, and he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.
I feel him growing hard against me through the denim, his cock pressing insistently against my pussy, and I arch into him, my hands clawing at his body.
He groans into my mouth, his hips rolling against me in a slow, grinding rhythm that makes my head fall back against the wall. His mouth finds my neck, his teeth scraping over the bruises he left there three nights ago, and I whimper, my fingers tangling in his hair.
Then he pulls back.
His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, and his jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath the stubble. He sets me down carefully, his hands lingering on my hips as he steadies me.
“I need a shower,” he rasps. “I’ve got blood and God knows what else on me, and I’m not putting my hands on you again until I’m clean.”
I blink up at him, dizzy from the kiss.
He reaches past me, grabbing my hand, and starts pulling me toward the hallway. “Pack a bag. Enough for a few days.”
“A bag? Where are we going?”
“To the clubhouse.” He stops in the mouth of the hallway and turns to face me. The hunger in his gaze makes my skin flush hot. “I want a shower. I want to fuck. And I want sleep. All in that order, and I want to do it with my wife.”