Tia
We stay tangled together in the big bed for a long time afterward.
Kraken’s strong arms wrap around me tight like he never plans to let go.
His chest rises and falls steady under my cheek.
Our skin still feels warm and a little sticky from everything we just did.
I trace one finger slowly over the kraken tattoo on his ribs.
The ink feels raised and alive under my touch like the tentacles might move if I press hard enough.
I tilt my head up to look at him. His stormy-gray eyes meet mine in the dim light. “How did you grow up? I mean before you became the big scary president everyone listens to without question.”
He runs his hand slowly up and down my bare back.
His rough palm feels good against my skin sending little shivers everywhere he touches.
“My dad was Royal Bastards. Key West chapter through and through. That life was always my future. Club in my veins. In my blood from the day I was born. I grew up around engines that roared louder than thunder and guns that got cleaned at the kitchen table. Men who lived hard and laughed harder. Learned early how to throw a punch and how to take one without crying about it.”
His voice stays low and rough like gravel under tires.
I listen while he talks. It feels important.
Like he doesn’t share this part of himself with many people.
“Dad died on a run gone wrong when I was eighteen. Fresh prospect at the time still trying to prove I belonged. Watched them bring his body back wrapped in a tarp. That night changed everything for me.”
I squeeze him a little tighter and press my face into his chest. “I’m so sorry Kraken. That must have been awful.”
He shrugs one broad shoulder under me. “Jameson from the New Orleans chapter pulled me aside after the funeral. Looked me dead in the eyes and said one day I would run the Key West chapter. Told me the club needed men like me. Told me to accept my fate. So I did. Never looked back. Built everything I have with these hands and this patch.”
I can picture him young and angry and already carrying the weight of the world. It makes my chest ache for the boy he once was. I press a soft kiss right over his heart. “You carry a lot on these shoulders. More than most people could handle.”
He grunts and tucks me closer. His hand slides down to rest on my hip. Fingers flex like he needs to remind himself I’m really here. “What about you? Tell me about growing up. Your mom. Your dad. I want to know everything about the girl who talks to plants and apologizes to vending machines.”
I smile against his skin and trace another line along his tattoo while I think.
“My mom died when I was nine. Car accident on a rainy night. After that it was just me and Dad. He tried so hard to keep things normal for me. Made pancakes every Sunday even when he burned them half the time. The kitchen always smelled like smoke and syrup. Taught me how to change a tire before I could even drive. But he always worried. Still does. I think protecting me gave him purpose after Mom.”
I let out a small sigh. “I worry about him now too. He seems restless since I grew up. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he’s not watching out for me. I hope he’s okay out there. That he’s not doing anything dangerous just because he misses having someone to look after.”
Kraken’s fingers flex on my hip again. “Gunny is tough. He’ll be fine. Right now my only job is keeping you safe. And I take that job very seriously.”
We talk for a while longer. The words flow easier in the quiet room with the ocean as our soundtrack.
He tells me small stories about growing up around the club.
About his two younger brothers Ryder and Rhett.
How he stole his first bike at fourteen and rode it until the gas ran out.
How the older members made him clean toilets as a prospect until he earned their respect.
The trouble he got into as a kid that usually ended with bloody knuckles and bigger lessons.
I laugh softly and tell him about naming all my houseplants after 90s boy band members.
Kevin is actually Backstreet Boys Kevin.
I confess how I once tried to bake cookies from scratch and set off the fire alarm in our old apartment.
Dad came running in with a fire extinguisher only to find me waving a towel at the smoke while singing along to the radio.
Kraken actually chuckles low at that one. The deep sound vibrates through his chest and makes me smile against his skin. “You’re trouble,” he says. His hand strokes my hair. “The best kind of trouble.”
I tilt my head up again. “Do you ever regret it? The club life I mean. All the danger and the responsibility.”
He stays quiet for a moment. His fingers keep moving through my hair. “Sometimes. But it’s who I am. The club is family. Blood or not. And now you’re part of that too.”
My heart does a silly little flip at his words.
We keep talking. Soft voices in the dim light.
He asks about my tech job and the weird signals I noticed.
I ask about his favorite ride and what he does when he’s not being all president scary.
The conversation feels easy. Natural. Like we’ve known each other longer than we really have.
Eventually the words slow. The air between us grows thicker again.
Kraken shifts and rolls me gently onto my back.
He looks down at me with those intense eyes full of heat and something deeper.
Then he leans in and kisses me. Slow at first. Then deeper.
Like he’s claiming every part of me all over again.
I melt into it completely. My arms wrap around his neck and pull him closer. The world outside fades away. Right now there’s only us. Only this. And I never want it to end.