Chapter 7 - Reaper
"Not anymore," I say, the words carrying more weight than I intended.
"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep."
I shouldn't be surprised by her mistrust. Hell, I'd be concerned if she wasn't suspicious. But something about it still cuts deeper than it should.
"Why would you think I don't mean it?" I ask.
She shifts on the bed, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
"Look, you've been... better than I expected. But let's be real. You're an MC president. You've got a club to run, territory to defend, business to handle. You don't have time for some stray woman, especially not damaged goods like me."
The term "damaged goods" ignites something in me. A slow-burning anger not at her, but at everyone who's ever made her feel that way. At a world that discards people like they're nothing.
I move toward her without thinking, stopping directly in front of where she sits. She looks up at me, those eyes wary but not afraid. I do something then that I've never done in my life, except for my daughter. I kneel before her, bringing myself to her level, and take her hands in mine.
Her skin is soft despite the healing marks around her wrists. I run my thumbs gently over her knuckles, feeling her pulse jump at the contact.
"Listen to me," I say, my voice low and intense. "You are not damaged goods. You're a strong, honest woman who life has been cruel to. But that's over now. You won't have to worry again."
She shakes her head, disbelief written across her face. "You don't know that. I'm cursed, Reaper. Always have been. The moment I leave this clubhouse, life will punish me for daring to believe I could have anything normal."
"Then don't leave." The words come out before I can think twice. "Stay. Work at the bar if you want. We've been looking for a waitress anyway. The clubhouse has been getting more traffic from people passing through."
A bitter laugh escapes her. "Right. I'd love to work getting groped by a dozen guys every single day."
I chuckle—not on purpose, it just comes out. The idea of anyone touching what's mine is fucking ludicrous. The thought stops me cold. What's mine? Since when did I start thinking of her that way?
I rise to my feet, flexing my shoulders as I tower over her again. "No one would dare to touch what belongs to me."
She gulps visibly, eyes widening. "Is that how you see me? Nothing more than a belonging?"
Fuck. I clench my fists, mentally kicking myself.
"No. That's not what I meant." I run a hand over my face, frustrated with my inability to express myself clearly.
"You're your own person, Evelyn. But you need to understand…
As long as you're here, especially in my room, everyone will assume you belong to me.
And if they think that, no one will touch you. You'll be safe."
She stands, her legs trembling slightly, and takes a step toward me. "Are you really willing to protect me?"
"Yes." No hesitation.
She seems nervous suddenly, dragging her tongue across her lips in a way that makes my blood heat. "Is that all you want?"
The question catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"Do you only want to protect me? Or do you want more than that?" Her voice drops lower. "Is there a payment due?"
Before I can process what's happening, she grabs the hem of her borrowed shirt and begins pulling it upward. I catch her wrist, stopping her.
"What the fuck are you doing?" My voice is harsher now. "I'm not buying you or anything like it. Christ, Evelyn, after everything, you think I expect payment?"
She tries to shove me away, her small hands pushing against my chest with barely enough force to register.
"I don't understand you," she says, frustration evident in her voice. "You don't want me to leave, but you don't want me either. What am I to you? Are you just taking care of me to get karma on your side or something? I'm trying to rationalize all this."
I sigh, looking down at her. She's beautiful in a way that defies simple description—like a ragged doll that life has tossed aside until someone picks her up and lets her flourish.
I want to be that someone. I want to take care of her and discover what's hiding underneath all that pain, to see the real Evelyn emerge.
"It's not about karma," I say quietly. "It's about you."
I lean closer, drawn to her by something I can't name.
She leans in too, as if I'm about to share a secret, but now she's too close.
Her warm breath brushes against my beard, and I notice a few tiny scars next to her left eyebrow I hadn't seen before.
She's looking at me like I've just promised her the world, and I can't resist anymore.
All hell breaks loose inside me. I let myself go, placing a hand on her cheek—my palm spanning nearly her entire face—and kiss her.
Her lips are soft and moist, and to my surprise, she kisses me back, gripping my shirt like she's afraid I'll pull away, like she's begging me not to stop, not to go anywhere.
And I know I won't. I'm here and I'll stay. I'll protect her.
We almost dance around my room, locked in the kiss, until we knock against the wall. She takes a step back, half-lidded eyes staring back at me with something I recognize all too well.
"Claim me," she whispers. "Right here. Right now."
"Are you sure?" I have to ask, though every cell in my body is screaming to take what she's offering.
"I'm sure," she says, her voice stronger now. "I need you to replace the bad memories. When I think about someone touching me, I want it to be you. Someone I chose for myself."
Goddamn it. I know I must give her my all, to make sure those bad memories are obliterated when I claim her. I pick her up easily, laying her on the bed before sliding down her pants while kissing her neck and collarbones. She flinches slightly under my touch but doesn't tell me to stop.
She's so small compared to me, delicate in a way that makes me aware of my strength. I grip her curvy hips and pull her against me, wanting her to feel how hard I am, how much I want her.
I slide my hand beneath her panties, watching as her hands grip the sheets when I brush my fingers against her clit. Moving to the edge of the bed, I look up at her.
"Can I take these off?" I ask, fingers hooked in the waistband of her panties.
She doesn't speak, just nods, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I pull the fabric down her legs, revealing her completely.
Her pussy is beautiful, her clit more swollen than I'm used to, like it's begging for attention.
My hands—hands that have caused so much violence—now tremble slightly with the need to please her, to protect her, to show her there's more to life than pain.
I lower my head between her thighs, running my tongue along her folds. She squirms, biting her lower lip to hold back sounds. Fuck, she tastes amazing. Sweet and tangy and uniquely her. I can't get enough. I'm ravenous for her, my tongue licking, sucking, tasting everything she has to offer.
She arches her back, still silent except for tiny, strangled sounds.
"Don't hold back," I tell her. "These walls are soundproof. No one can hear you but me."
The permission breaks something loose in her. "Fuck!" she cries out, the word seeming to come from deep inside her, like she's been holding it back not just for minutes but for months, maybe years.
The sound drives me wild. I double my efforts, sucking her clit while sliding a finger inside her. She's tight—so fucking tight—and wet enough to tell me she wants this as much as I do. I add a second finger, curling them to find that spot that makes women see stars.
"Reaper!" Her voice breaks on my name, her thighs trembling on either side of my head.
I pull back just enough to look up at her, my beard glistening with her arousal. "Jackson," I correct her. "When we're like this, I'm Jackson."
"Jackson," she repeats, testing the name on her tongue.
I return to my task, determined to make her come on my mouth before I take her properly. She deserves that, to know this is about her pleasure, not just mine. I work her with tongue and fingers until I feel her body tensing, her inner walls clenching around my fingers.
"Let go," I urge her. "I've got you."
She shatters with a cry that might be my name, her back arching off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets. I ease her through it, gentling my touches as she comes down from the high.
When she catches her breath, she looks at me with something like wonder. "I've never... it's never been like that."
Pride surges through me. Not the arrogant kind, but something deeper, more primal. I've given her something good to replace the bad. It's a start.
I stand, unbuckling my belt, never taking my eyes off her. "We're just getting started, sweetheart."
She watches me undress, her eyes widening slightly when my cock springs free. I'm big—I know this without ego—and for a moment I worry I might hurt her.
"We can stop," I tell her, despite every instinct screaming otherwise. "Just say the word."
She shakes her head, sitting up to pull off her shirt and bra, leaving her completely naked before me.
Her body is a revelation. Curves in all the right places, skin pale from months without sunlight.
Beautiful, despite the marks of her captivity still visible on her wrists, her ankles, a fading bruise on her ribs.
"I don't want to stop," she says. "I want all of you."
I join her on the bed, covering her body with mine, careful to keep most of my weight on my forearms. The feeling of her skin against mine is electric, better than any high I've ever chased.
"Tell me if I hurt you," I murmur against her lips. "Promise me."
"I promise."
I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock sliding through her wetness. Fuck, she feels amazing already and I'm not even inside her yet. I push in slowly, just the tip, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.
Her eyes widen, her breath catching.
"More," she whispers, lifting her hips to take me deeper, “I need more.”
I sink into her inch by inch, gritting my teeth against the need to thrust hard and fast. She's so tight, so perfect around me, like she was made for me and me alone. When I'm fully inside her, I hold still, giving her time to adjust to my size.
"Okay?" I ask, my voice strained with the effort of control.
She nods, her hands finding my shoulders, nails digging in slightly. "Please move."