Chapter 9 Miles #2
“Fuck me, Dixon,” she cries out and who am I to deny her. Only after I work her through the aftershocks do I stand to slide off my jeans while she slides out of her panties. Climbing over her onto the chaise, I twist us as I move up the piece of furniture.
“Ride me, baby,” I instruct as I set her over me, straddling me. My cock goes in slowly as my girth takes a bit to stretch her even in her slick present desire. Once she’s taken all of me, I grip her hips. She leans in to kiss me and I shake my head.
“Let me see you, Danae. Don’t hold back.”
That little encouragement is all she needs. She sits up over me, back arched, tits pert as I press my fingers into her hips and rock her over me. Up, down, all around, she moves and it is fucking stunning.
Every inch of her is beauty. Every noise coming from her is a motherfucking symphony.
I feel it building as I watch her slide up my shaft and back down, my cock disappearing inside her.
I throw my head back in ecstasy. The walls of her pussy tighten and release.
Feeling my climax building, I slid my right hand down between us, pressing my thumb against her clit rubbing in small circles.
The urgency builds from her as the rhythm becomes unsteady.
“Come on, Danae, I’m close, baby, you gotta come.” She drops her head to mine, our lips collide and teeth clank as I feel her tighten, freeze, and I’ll be damned if she doesn’t draw every ounce of come from my body up into her womb as her own climax washes over us both.
She collapses over me out of breath. My cock pulses inside her softening but I don’t want to slide out of her. This connection, her body interlocked with mine settles something inside me I can’t explain.
After we both return to regularly breathing, I kiss her softly before finally sliding out of her.
“Dixon,” my name on her lips has me getting hard again. “I didn’t come here for that. I want you to know I’m not normally like this.”
I laugh, “baby, believe it or not, neither am I. But something about you, I can’t get enough.”
Casually I run my hands up and down the soft flesh of her back before eventually getting up and leading her to my bedroom.
In there, I pull her close to kiss her like I mean it.
Not for things to go farther, but because I want to taste her again.
Her hands slide up my stomach and chest to my neck, her fingers moving slowly like she’s memorizing me. Maybe she is.
In my bed, we have sex again. Slow, grounding, calming all the things inside me. I feel full. I can’t put it into words, but something about her in my personal space being just us takes away every bit of need to breathe right out of me. I feel content. Settled.
And I don’t know how to process that. So I choose to stay in the moment. Her in my arms, satisfied.
She falls asleep against me like it’s natural.
Like she’s always belonged there. I wake before dawn, instinctively, the way I always do.
And she’s still here. Her hair is tangled against my chest, her breath warm, her body heavy with sleep and trust. The sight of her like this—unafraid, unguarded—hits me harder than any ride ever has.
This is it, something inside me whispers. Not the road. Not the miles.
This.
I don’t move. Don’t even breathe too deeply. I just lay here and let myself want it, let myself feel the terrifying, grounding truth settle in. For the first time in my life, waking up somewhere doesn’t make me want to leave.
It makes me want to stay.
Morning is completely different when I don’t wake up alone. I don’t rush it. Don’t slip out of bed like I usually do, quiet as a ghost. Danae is still asleep when I finally ease up on one elbow, shifting from under her. I let myself look.
Really look.
This isn’t a woman passing through my life. My gut knows that, even if my brain hasn’t caught up yet. The road dog in me—the part that’s always itching to move—stays silent. No pull. No restlessness. Just a strange, steady calm I don’t trust but don’t want to let go of either.
Eventually she stirs, blinks up at me like she’s orienting herself to a new world.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
“Morning,” I say with a damn smirk because this shit feels good in a way I can’t put into words.
She smiles, small and real, and that’s enough to wreck me for the rest of the day. “Probably should start the day, buddy.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Buddy? That’s what I am?”
She shrugs, “yeah, it was fun. You can be my buddy. But life is life, friend, and I have a cousin to get back to.”
The ease between us is nice, but I can’t help but notice the way my gut knots up being called her buddy and friend.
Why? I don’t know. I’ve never cared what any woman called me, from being a God in bed to an asshole, it was all the same to me.
So why does her boxing me up into this weird space piss me off a little bit?
We head over to Raff’s late morning. Danae insists on bringing coffee, because that’s who she is—never shows up empty-handed, never walks into a house without thinking about what the people inside might need.
The place is alive when we get there.
Justice is in the yard with a scuffed-up soccer ball, Raff already outside with him, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from a rushed shower. Josie’s inside with the baby, the house humming with that quiet newborn rhythm—soft voices, squeaking floorboards, life settling into new grooves.
Danae slips inside without a word, already halfway into caretaker mode, and I catch Raff watching her through the window before he looks back at me.
Justice barrels toward me. “Miles!”
I brace just in time as he crashes into my legs. “Hey, man.”
“You gonna play?” he asks, eyes hopeful.
I glance at Raff. He grins. “You’re up.”
We spend the next hour kicking the ball around the yard, Justice laughing loud enough to carry down the block. It’s easy. Easier than it should be. Raff moves like a man who finally knows exactly where he belongs, and I’m content. That realization sneaks up on me sideways.
At some point, Raff nods toward the porch. “Water break.”
Justice flops down dramatically, gulping from his bottle. Raff and I step a few feet away, the easy silence of men who don’t need to fill every space.
Raff studies me for a moment. “So,” he says.
I sigh. “There it is.”
“There it is,” he agrees. “What’s the deal with Danae?”
I lean back against the railing, eyes drifting toward the window. I can see her inside, rocking Journey gently, Josie watching her with something like awe.
“I didn’t plan this,” I begin..
Raff snorts. “Nobody ever does.”
I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “I met her on a run. Back in Arkansas.”
Raff’s brows lift. “Before all this.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Got tied up in some shit, she was there. That was the first time. Then the fool I am had another run for Wrath and the Saint’s, decided to check in on her. One night. No names. No plans.”
“And you just what?” he asks. “Let it go?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I tried.”
Raff waits. He’s good at that.
“I went back,” I admit. “More than once. Not to see her—she didn’t know I was there. I just needed to be close. Watched from a distance.”
Raff turns fully toward me now. “You stalk her?”
“No,” I snap, then exhale. “Not like that. I just needed to know she was okay.”
He studies me carefully. “That’s not nothing, Miles. And to some laws that would be stalking, brother.”
“I know.” I stare out at the yard, at Justice kicking at the grass. “I got stabbed,” I say quietly.
Raff stills. “What?”
“Couple months back,” I continue. “Nameless Ones MC, they had problems with Saint’s. Blade in my gut. Didn’t even feel it at first.”
Raff curses under his breath.
“I was laid up,” I share. “Could barely ride. I managed to get to the hospital. Didn’t want to answer questions.
I waited for shift change. She came out.
” I glance back toward the house. “Being around her—Raff, she’s fuckin’ fearless.
That shit doesn’t happen in our world. She didn’t flinch or hesitate.
Took me home and stitched me up. Made sure I was good and she didn’t even know my fucking name.
She didn’t ask questions and she didn’t once falter or have an ounce of fear. ”
Raff exhales slowly. “You got it bad.”
I huff. “Yeah. I think I do. Because my ass keeps going back just for glimpses. Half the trips she doesn’t even know I was there.”
Raff leans his elbows on the railing beside me. “Here’s the thing, brother. Her life isn’t here.”
I don’t argue, because he’s right.
“She’s got responsibilities,” he continues. “Family. A whole world somewhere else.”
“I know,” I say.
“So how does this shit work?” Raff asks. No judgment. Just honesty.
I don’t have an answer. That scares me more than anything. Inside, Danae laughs at something Josie says, the sound carrying through the open window. It settles right in my chest, heavy and warm.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “All I know is I don’t want to let her go.”
Raff nods slowly. “Then don’t rush to solve it. Just don’t pretend it’s not real. And don’t fucking run from her but also don’t run from your family here.”
Justice bounds back over, ready to play again, and the moment fractures, but it doesn’t disappear.
Later, sitting inside with the baby asleep on Danae’s shoulder, watching the way she moves so naturally through this family, I realize something I never expected to.
This isn’t a phase.
This isn’t a detour.
Whatever this is—it’s already changing the shape of my life.
And for once, I’m not afraid of where it might lead.