25. CJ
CJ
Apale gray dawn slips through the curtains, brushing the room with soft light. I surface from sleep slowly, the warmth and the faint scent of sandalwood wrapping around me. Hawk’s quiet breathing rumbles somewhere at my back.
But it’s another sound that draws me fully awake—a low, breathy moan that sends shivers straight into my chest.
I open my eyes.
Marcy lies on her side in front of me, facing away from Ryder.
Her blond hair spills over the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
Ryder’s behind her, one big hand curved gently around her throat—nothing rough, just that firm, claiming hold that makes her shiver every time.
He slides into her in a slow, measured thrust, then pulls back and drives deep again, harder this time.
Her plush hips rock with the motion, soft belly rippling, tits bouncing with each push.
I go still, watching the way her body welcomes him. How her thick thighs part wider, how her back arches to take every inch he gives. She gasps Ryder’s name, voice husky with sleep and need.
My hand drifts over her waist, fingers playing across the gentle curve that will soon become round with our child.
The thought makes something fierce and protective swell inside me.
I palm her belly, thumb stroking the spot just below her navel.
She whimpers, eyes fluttering back to find mine, and that look—trust, heat, love—hits harder than any bullet ever could.
“Morning, sweetheart,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
Ryder’s pace quickens, his thick cock sliding in and out with slick sounds that tighten every muscle in my body. Each thrust sends a ripple through her curves. Her tits jiggle, rosy nipples brushing the sheet before Ryder cups one heavy breast, kneading gently as he rocks into her.
“Feels so good,” he growls against her ear, and she moans, nails scraping the pillow.
I trail my hand up, covering Ryder’s over her breast, squeezing together. Her nipple pebbles under our palms, and she cries out, body clenching around him.
“CJ!” she gasps, the word a plea.
“I’m right here, baby.”
I lean in, kissing her jaw, then her parted lips.
Her tongue strokes mine, sweet and desperate.
Ryder’s thrusts turn erratic—hard, fast, each one making her whole body quake.
I hold her belly, feeling everything—the life inside, the pleasure flooding through her, the way Ryder’s breaths stutter as he edges closer.
“Let go for us,” I whisper against her mouth.
She breaks with a ragged cry, thighs shaking, tits bouncing as she clamps around Ryder. He groans, hips slamming deep once, twice, then he’s spilling inside her, body taut, hand still gentle at her throat.
The room goes quiet except for harsh breaths and the thud of three racing hearts. I kiss her shoulder again, Ryder brushes hair from her damp forehead, and Marcy smiles, sated.
Fuck, I love that smile.
Before the tremors fade, I ease her onto her stomach, palms skimming the soft slope of her hips.
“One more for me, baby.” I part her peach round cheeks, the sight of her slick, swollen entrance making my cock throb.
I guide the thick head against her and sink in slowly—easy, gentle—until I’m buried to the hilt.
She groans, cheek pressed to the pillow, body still tender from release.
I start a slow rhythm, long strokes that glide along her sensitive walls. Each measured thrust drags a soft whimper from her lips. Her hips rise to meet me.
“I love you,” I breathe into Marcy’s ear, kissing the shell of it while my fingers stroke along her ribs. “Love you, love you.”
The words spill in a rough chant, and she shudders, climax rippling through her until her limbs go liquid.
After a final, deep thrust, I spill inside her, burying my face against her shoulder, breathing her name.
I stay sheathed in her a moment longer, palms smoothing over her hips, before easing out and gathering her against my chest. Ryder settles on her other side, an arm draped protectively over both of us.
“I love you, too, CJ,” Marcy murmurs.
My heart squeezes. This is the first time we’ve said the word out loud. Ryder looks at me, and there’s not a trace of jealousy on his face.
Marcy turns towards him. “And you, Rockweiler. I love you so much.”
“Marcy… I love you, sweetheart,” Ryder says. I can see how much he’s holding back.
The room is quiet, with only the crackle of the dying fire downstairs and the slow, even breaths of Hawk, asleep at the foot of the bed. Wrapped in tangled sheets and each other’s warmth, we drift off, sated and safe.
Hours later, more sunlight filters through the curtains. I blink awake to find Marcy still sleeping soundly, lashes resting on flushed cheeks, one hand splayed over the gentle curve of her belly. Ryder’s soft snores rumble behind her. Hawk hasn’t moved an inch.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and smile. We’ve got a court date, a vengeful senator, and half the world gunning for us. But right now, in this quiet morning haze, all I feel is peace.
Downstairs, sunlight streams through the kitchen window, washing over us as Ryder pours three mugs of coffee. Hawk leans against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly still half-asleep but wearing that satisfied grin he always has after a good night.
Marcy’s upstairs, getting dressed, leaving the three of us to talk in quiet voices.
“So,” Ryder starts, pushing a mug toward me, “this changes things.”
I nod, leaning back against the counter, fingers tight around the warm ceramic. “Yeah, a lot.”
Hawk chuckles softly, stirring cream into his coffee. “Gonna need more space,” he muses. “Kid’s gonna need a yard. Maybe even a dog.”
“A bigger house,” Ryder agrees, serious but calm as always. “Somewhere Marcy can breathe. Safe neighborhood. Quiet.”
“Maybe a place near the edge of town,” I say, thinking out loud. “Less attention. Good schools.”
“And definitely,” Marcy’s voice drifts in as she pads into the kitchen, pulling a sweater over her head, eyes sparkling, “a bigger bed.”
Ryder laughs. Hawk smirks, setting his coffee down and pulling her close. She kisses him softly, then moves on to Ryder, leaning into his gentle touch. When she reaches me, her lips press softly against mine, lingering, warm. I wrap an arm around her waist and let myself enjoy it for a moment.
Just then, my eyes drift past Marcy into the living room. The TV is on, the sound muted, but the closed captions scroll rapidly across the bottom. Jake’s face, polished and confident, fills the screen. He’s standing behind a podium with a cluster of microphones aimed at him.
My gut clenches. I reach for the remote and unmute the TV. Jake’s smooth voice floods the room, each word carefully rehearsed and razor-sharp.
“…allegations of serious criminal activity by members of the motorcycle gang known as the 12 Devils MC, including possession and distribution of narcotics, weapons violations, and possible involvement in acts of violence.”
My fists tighten at my sides.
“As a public servant and a father, it’s my duty to protect our community,” Jake continues, a solemn mask covering the smugness I know lies beneath.
“My office will cooperate fully with authorities until this dangerous situation is resolved. And I will make sure these hooligans never get a penny from the public for funding their illegal activities.”
I snap the TV off, plunging the room into a heavy silence.
Marcy steps closer, her eyes wide with worry. “CJ…”
I draw in a breath, jaw clenching. The anger is familiar, a hot, controlled burn. I look at Ryder, then Hawk—their expressions grim—then back to Marcy.
No more hiding. No more half-truths.
“It’s time,” I tell her gently but firmly. “We have to tell the truth. Everything.”