Chapter 9 - Ranger
I wake up to sunlight streaming through the window and Delilah curled against my chest like she was made to fit there.
For a moment, I just lie still, taking inventory the way I always do after sleep: no immediate threats, secure location, everyone accounted for. Then my brain catches up to where I am and who's in my arms, and the standard tactical assessment changes into something else entirely.
Delilah.
Her name alone does something to my chest, tightens it and opens it simultaneously in a way I don't have tactical language for.
She's still asleep, breathing deep and even, one hand resting on my chest right over my heart.
Her curls are a wild mess spread across the pillow and my shoulder.
There's a faint mark on her neck from where I sucked too hard last night, and I can see the beginnings of finger-shaped bruises on her hips where the sheet has slipped down.
Evidence. Proof that last night actually happened, that I didn't imagine the entire thing in some exhaustion-fueled fever dream. I had sex with her. Took her virginity. Made her scream my name twice and marked her inside and out as mine despite knowing her for less than twenty-four hours.
I should feel guilty about that. Should feel like I took advantage of someone vulnerable, scared and desperately seeking comfort in the worst possible circumstances.
Don't feel guilty at all. I feel satisfied. Possessive. Like something that was missing finally clicked into place.
Like she's mine and I'm keeping her.
Delilah shifts against me, making a small sound in her sleep. Her eyes flutter open slowly, unfocused for a moment before they find my face. Then she smiles.
"Hi," she murmurs, her voice rough from sleep and screaming.
"Hi yourself."
"You're still here."
"Where else would I be?"
"I don't know. I half-expected to wake up alone and realize last night was a dream." She stretches slightly, then winces. "Okay, definitely not a dream. I'm so sore."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. I meant what I said. I wanted to feel it." She traces patterns on my chest with one finger, not looking at me. "I've never done the morning-after thing before. Don't really know what I'm supposed to say."
"Say whatever you want. There's no script."
"Okay. Then I'll say that was the best night of my life, and I don't regret any of it, and I really want to kiss you right now if that's okay."
I answer by pulling her up and claiming her mouth. Kissing her feels as natural as breathing. Her body melts against mine, and I can feel myself getting hard again despite having had her twice last night.
She feels it too, the press of my cock against her thigh, and makes a small sound into my mouth.
"Again?" she asks when we break apart, her eyes dark with pure desire.
"Can't help it. You're in my bed, naked, and every time you move, I remember how you felt wrapped around my cock."
She shivers. "We probably shouldn't. Everyone already heard us last night. If we do it again, I'll never be able to look anyone in the eye."
"They're bikers. They've heard worse. Hell, half of them probably did the same thing their first night with their old ladies."
"Still." But she's kissing my neck now, her teeth scraping my skin, her hand sliding down my stomach toward my cock.
I catch her wrist before she can reach it. "If you touch me right now, I'm going to fuck you again regardless of who might hear. So, decide what you want, Delilah, and decide fast."
She looks up at me with those huge brown eyes, desire and uncertainty warring in her expression. "I want you. I just... I also want to be able to face people today without dying of embarrassment."
Fair point.
I shift us so she's on her back and I'm hovering over her, caging her in with my arms. "Then let me kiss you. Touch you. Make you feel good without going all the way. Would that work?"
"Yes. Please."
I take my time, kissing her deeply while my hands explore every inch of her body I can reach. Mapping the curve of her waist, the softness of her stomach, the full weight of her breasts. She's responsive to every touch, arching into my hands, making small sounds that go straight to my cock.
When I finally slide my hand between her legs, she's already wet.
"So ready for me," I murmur against her mouth. "Even sore, your body still wants mine."
"Always," she breathes. "I think I'll always want you."
Fuck. We've known each other less than a day. There's no logical reason her saying "always" should feel like a promise instead of just heat-of-the-moment talk.
But it does.
I work her with my fingers, finding the rhythm that makes her gasp and clutch at my shoulders. She's tight and swollen from last night, but she takes two fingers easily, her body welcoming them despite the soreness.
"Graham," she pants. "I'm close already. How are you so good at this?"
"Because I pay attention. Learn what you like. What makes you fall apart." I curl my fingers, “Like this. You love when I do this."
"Yes! Oh god, yes!"
She comes with a small cry, her pussy clenching around my fingers, her whole body trembling. I work her through it gently, then withdraw slowly and bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting her.
"Fuck, you taste good."
She's staring at me with wide eyes, her chest heaving. "That was... you just..."
"What?"
"Tasted me. From your fingers. That's so hot I can't even process it."
I grin and lean down to kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She moans into my mouth, her hands sliding into my hair. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard and I'm so hard it's almost painful.
"Your turn," she says, reaching for my cock.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Show me how to touch you. Please."
Fuck.
I guide her hand to my cock, showing her the pressure I like, the rhythm. She learns fast, her grip gentle at first but growing more confident as I start to react.
"Like this?" she asks.
"Yeah. Just like that. Fuck, Delilah…"
She watches my face as she strokes me, left eyebrow arched. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"Thinking about how good your hand feels. How much better your pussy felt. How I want to be inside you again already." I thrust into her grip, chasing the pleasure. "Thinking about keeping you. Making this real. Not letting you go when this is over."
Her hand stills. "You want to keep me?"
"Yeah. I know it's crazy. I know we just met. But I want to try this, see where it goes. See if what we feel right now is real or just adrenaline." I cover her hand with mine, guiding her back into motion. "What do you think about that?"
"I think I want the same thing," she whispers. "I think I might be falling for you, Graham Nash. And I know that's insane and we barely know each other, but I can't help it."
Her words push me over the edge. I come with a groan, spilling over her hand and my stomach, my whole body shuddering.
She watches the whole time, her eyes wide with wonder.
"That was beautiful," she says.
"You're beautiful." I pull her against my chest, ignoring the mess between us. "And I think I understand now."
"Understand what?"
"What my brothers meant. Phoenix and Judge and all the rest. How they knew so fast. How they fell so hard for their women despite terrible timing and impossible circumstances.
" I press a kiss to the top of her head.
"I used to think they were just impulsive.
That they let emotions override logic. But it's not that at all, is it? "
"What is it?"
"Recognition. Knowing when you've found something worth keeping. Worth fighting for. Worth throwing all the tactical planning out the window because some things are more important than strategy."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "So what does this mean? For us?"
"It means we try. We see where this goes. When the situation with the Vipers is resolved and you're safe, we figure out what we want long-term. Dating. Relationship. Whatever this becomes."
"What if it becomes nothing? What if this feeling goes away when the crisis is over?"
"Then we deal with that when it happens. But I don't think it will." I tilt her chin up so she's looking at me. "I think this is real, Delilah. As real as anything I've ever felt."
"Me too," she whispers.
We lie there for a while longer, wrapped around each other, and I let myself imagine what it could be like.
Delilah staying at the clubhouse. Becoming part of the family the way the other old ladies have.
Me coming home to her every night instead of to an empty room.
Building something permanent with someone who sees me clearly and wants me anyway.
It's a good image.
A really fucking good image, but a knock on the door interrupts the moment.
"Ranger? You in there?" Diesel's voice, loud enough to be heard clearly through the door.
Delilah tenses against me, her face going bright red. "Oh god. He knows you're in here. Everyone knows."
"Everyone knew last night, baby. This isn't news."
Another knock, more insistent. "Phoenix and Judge want to see you both. Conference in Phoenix's office in twenty minutes."
I sigh and call back: "Copy. We'll be there."
"You really are in there," Diesel says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice even through the door. "Thought this was the guest room where we put the witness."
"Stop smirking, Diesel. One day the same thing will happen to you, and I'm going to enjoy watching you lose your mind over some woman."
There's a pause. "Love's not unknown to me, brother. Just... complicated. Story for another time."
That catches me off guard. Diesel's always been the most closed-off about personal shit, even more than me. The idea that there's a story there, some woman who got under his skin, is unexpected.
"Maybe you should go for it," I tell him. "Whatever it is. Life's too short for complicated when you could have simple."
"Simple." He laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "Yeah. Maybe. See you both in twenty."
His footsteps retreat down the hallway.