Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Jersey
I shift my head against the softness of the pillow, the sensations he’s coaxing from me more carnal and exotic than any fantasy I’ve ever harbored, leaving me balanced on the edge of a breakdown.
When the intensity becomes a physical weight and I try to shove him back, my fingers tangling in his thick hair, he only digs in more firmly.
He snatches my wrists in his hands, pinning them to the mattress and holding them hostage at my sides as he continues his relentless, intoxicating assault.
“Slayer,” I whimper, his name a broken prayer as I arch my back, driving my head into the cloud of the bedding.
“Please,” I plead, the word escaping me in a frantic hitch even though I’m navigating uncharted territory.
My history with men is a shallow, empty well, and this intoxicating pressure he’s building has my core feeling as if it’s about to ignite.
“Patience, baby,” he murmurs. “Enjoy the ride.”
A scream of release bellows from my chest as wave after wave of ecstasy hits me.
It’s a total collapse of my defenses, a violent, beautiful shattering of the walls I’ve spent years building.
As the tremors rack my body, I realize I’m not just losing myself in the pleasure, I’m finding a version of the woman in me that finally knows what it means to be whole.
He wipes his face on my belly as he climbs over me until his face is hovering over mine.
The weight of him is a comfort, a solid presence that tells me I’m no longer alone in the dark.
He lowers his mouth onto mine as he notches his dick at my entrance, slowly penetrating my body and my heart.
With every inch he takes, he’s sealing the promise he made on the porch—that I am his.
That I am safe.
That I belong.
His absolute claim on my body steals the very air from my lungs. He’s far more massive than I ever imagined him being, his thick girth stretching me wide as he finally settles home.
“Mine,” he growls, his pelvis grinding into mine until there isn't a sliver of space left between us. We stay there for a heartbeat, lost in the power of our union. “Say it, Jersey. Admit that you belong to me.”
“Yours. I’m yours, Slayer. I belong to you,” I whisper, the admission feeling like a final surrender and a beautiful beginning all at once.
“Damn right you do,” he claims, his tone thick with a fierce pride as he begins to move, his large hands securing my hips to the mattress.
He pulls back slowly, prolonging the delicious friction, before pushing back in with a rhythmic, focused intensity that hits my G-spot with precision.
He picks up his speed, repositioning us every so often so he can bury himself deeper inside of me.
Flipping me onto my stomach, he grabs my hips between his hands and thrusts back inside of me, stealing my breath from my lungs.
The change in position sends a new wave of ecstasy through my system.
I bury my face in the pillows, my muffled cries lost in the quiet of the trailer as he claims me with his unyielding strength.
Again, I find my release quickly approaching and I squeeze my thighs together, trying to prolong our lovemaking.
The friction is a white-hot spark that threatens to consume the last of my resolve.
I want to stay in this moment forever, locked in the eye of the storm with the only man who truly sees me.
“Slayer,” I call his name, my voice breaking under the weight of the pleasure. “I’m close.”
“Come one more time, Jersey. Give it to me, baby.” His voice is a low, vibrato rumble against my back, a directive I’m all too eager to follow as the world finally shatters into a thousand brilliant pieces of bright light dancing behind my eyelids.
I scream his name, losing all strength and collapsing against the mattress, my muscles twitching in the aftermath of the explosion.
He readjusts and lays on top of me, his heavy frame a comforting weight that I never want to lift.
Even as the peak passes, his hips never stop their pounding, a slow aftershock encases me, one that ensures I’m thoroughly claimed, reminding me with every heartbeat that I am finally, irrevocably home.
Because at the end of the day, home isn’t a place, it’s a person, it’s Slayer.
He follows shortly after, his body tensing as he finds his own release, shouting my name into the quiet of the room as he spills himself into me.
His sweat-drenched body sticks to mine as we both moan, the sound a tangled harmony of exhaustion and absolute completion.
When his weight becomes too much and I grunt, he slides to the side with a heavy, satisfied huff.
He stays intimately connected with me as he draws me into his arms, clutching me to him as if he’s still afraid I might vanish.
The words I love you stall on my tongue, the weight of them staggering.
It’s too soon, the logic of my past warns me.
This new world is volatile, and the man holding me is a King who lives by a code written in blood.
Even if that’s exactly what I’m feeling, a deep, soul-stirring affection that has finally filled the crevices of my lonely life, I’ll keep it to myself for now.
I’ve only just found my footing and this sense of belonging, I won’t risk scaring him off or breaking the fragile, blooming life we’re building.
I squeal as he chases me to the bathroom, my laughter echoing off the walls.
The playfulness is a welcome contrast to the heavy silence that defined my childhood home.
Here, in this cramped trailer, the air is full of life and joy.
When his beefy arms wrap around me and he lifts me up and spins me, I become dizzy with happiness.
All of my angst vanishes when I’m in his grip.
As he sets me down, his eyes burning with a light that tells me I’m everything to him, I realize that I don’t need to say the words yet. We’re living them every single day.
“The kids will be back soon,” he warns me, his voice a low rumble as his hands linger on my waist, reluctant to break the connection. “I wish we had more time alone, Jersey. I don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t,” I say, turning in his arms and placing my head over his chest, listening to the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat.
“Stay. Move in.” I know it’s ballsy of me to ask this of him, but if he’s truly interested in making us a real family, this is the next step, the only right one for us.
He goes still, his breath catching for a heartbeat before he buries his face into the crook of my neck.
I can feel the tension bleeding out of his large frame as he exhales, his voice muffled against my skin as he asks, “Are you sure, Jersey? Once I bring my belongings here, there’s no going back to the way it was. ”
“I’m positive,” I promise, tightening my hold on him.
“I want your things mixed with mine. I want to see your boots by the door and your cut on the coat hook. I want to wake up beside you every morning, cook you meals, laugh with you until we’re breathless, and cry with you when the weight of the world gets too heavy.
I’m tired of being alone and running from things that scare me, Slayer.
I want to build a home with you. You said I was yours, doesn’t that make you mine? ”
“Of course it does,” he rumbles, the vibration of his chest grounding me. “Nothing will change that, Jersey. Ever.”
“Then move in with me,” I plead, my voice small but unwavering.
“Nothing would make me happier,” he rumbles.
“Let’s hit the shower, track down some boxes, and get my belongings ready to move.
” I let out a giddy squeal and launch myself at him, my legs locking around his waist as I wrap my arms around his neck.
I pepper his lips with quick kisses before leaning back, the joy radiating from me.
“I’d do whatever it takes to keep that look in your eyes, Jersey girl.
I’m damn glad that having me under your roof does that for you. ”
“Our roof,” I correct him. The word feels right, solid and permanent, replacing the fleeting, temporary life I’ve become accustomed to.
“Ours,” he repeats, walking us to the shower and starting it.
The sound of the water hitting the tiles echoes in the small space, a soundtrack to the new beginning we’re forging.
When it reaches the temperature he desires, he steps into the stall with me still clinging to him like a spider monkey.
As the warm spray envelops us, I wash away my past and embrace my future.
A few hours later, the reality of our new arrangement begins to take physical shape. The sound of boots on the clubhouse stairs and the low rumble of masculine voices fill the hallway as Slayer’s move officially commences.
“Are you sure about this, sis?” Britton asks, her voice hushed and laced with concern as she stands beside me in the clubhouse corridor.
She watches as Slayer and LoneStar lug the heavy boxes and overstuffed suitcases out.
She knows my history better than anyone, the way I have always protected my space and my solitude.
I look at the men, seeing the way Slayer pauses to offer me a wink, his gaze possessive and tender even while his ribs likely protest the heavy lifting. He’s better, but he’s not one hundred percent healed. Reaching out, I grab Britton’s hands with mine, squeezing them to reassure her and myself.
“Without a shadow of doubt,” I state, my voice laced with clarity. “I’ve spent my entire life looking for a place where I didn’t have to hide, and I found it in his arms. The fear that used to be my constant companion has been crowded out by a burgeoning sense of belonging. He’s my home, Brit.”
“If you’re sure, then I won’t stand in your way.
I know from personal experience how you’re feeling.
It’s the same way as I do each and every day with LoneStar.
” She offers a soft, supportive smile, acknowledging the profound connection that has rewritten my story.
She understands that in this volatile world, finding a person who makes you feel safe is the ultimate victory.
We stand together in the hallway, two sisters by choice who have found their place, watching as the final pieces of Slayer’s life are moved into my—our home.
“We found it, didn’t we, Jersey?” Britton asks, her eyes sparkling with a knowing look.
I know exactly what she’s asking. We’ve found the small-town romance she spends her days writing about, only ours isn’t filled with white picket fences and Sunday socials.
Ours is visceral, loud, and full of chrome and leather.
“We did, Britton. And I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep it,” I vow, the steel in my voice surprising even me.
But as I speak, a cold shadow passes over my heart.
What I haven’t mentioned to anyone, not even to Slayer or Britton, is that my parents’ threats have become increasingly bold lately.
The emails from my sperm donor and incubator have shifted from desperate pleas to predatory demands for my inheritance.
I’ve been tempted to just throw every cent I have at them just to make them go away forever.
The only problem with that plan, the one that keeps me awake at night, is the realization that it will never be enough for them.
They are bottomless pits of vice and addiction, and as long as I am earning a dime, they will never truly go away.
They see me not as a daughter, but as a final resource to be drained.