Chapter 27 #3
Her smile grows a little more real. “I want to.” I see the quiet fight she’s waging. The strength it takes just to stand here. The story still waiting to be told. Later. In her time.
Someone turns the music back up. Laughter swells again. Tiny wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. “You good?” he asks.
I look around the room, taking in its noise, imperfections, and the loyalty that favors honesty over flawlessness.
“I’m home,” and this time, the word feels comforting rather than intimidating.
It feels like something sacred, settling in my chest. Home isn’t a trap or a hiding spot.
It’s a place I’ve chosen, and in some way, they’ve chosen me in return.
Tiny’s arm stays around my waist as the night rolls on. The music grows louder again. Laughter starts in waves, pockets of noise blooming throughout the room. Plates pass from hand to hand. Bottles keep appearing like magic.
Royal Bastards' weddings aren’t delicate. They’re not quiet. They’re not polished. They’re alive.
Tiny keeps me tucked against his side, as if he can’t help staying in contact.
Every few minutes, his hand slides from my waist to my lower back, his thumb tracing small circles, grounding me.
The gesture is protective, but something else is woven into it now.
Possession that’s devotion rather than control.
I catch him watching me more than once, his gaze heavy, hungry, and still a little stunned, as if he expects the moment to dissolve if he stops paying attention.
I rise onto my toes and press a kiss to his jaw, feeling the faint rasp of his stubble against my lips. “You’re staring,” I murmur.
Tiny’s mouth lifts slightly. “I’m allowed. You’re my wife.”
My breath catches, even though it shouldn't surprise me. I said vows. I took his colors. I stood before the club and chose him. It feels real. But hearing it from him, in that deep voice that can shake walls, makes it hit differently.
“I like it,” I whisper.
Tiny’s eyes darken. “Good.”
He pulls me closer, and his mouth brushes my ear. “Because I want you, Syvannah. All damn night.”
Heat curls through me, low and slow. I tilt my head back just enough to meet his gaze. “Then take me.”
Tiny freezes. His hand tightens at my hip. “Baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
“I’m not scared,” I remind him, soft yet firm. “I’m not fragile. I want this.”
His pupils flare, and his breathing thickens. He leans down, kissing me deeply and slowly, claiming. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You sure?”
My hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his cut. I feel the patch under my fingertips. I feel him beneath it, solid, warm, and steady. “Yes. I want to finish what we started out there. I want us to go private and make it real in every way.”
Tiny exhales and kisses my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth, as if he can’t stop touching me even with a roomful of people around.
“We’re gonna slip out,” he murmurs.
I nod. “Okay.”
Tiny’s gaze sweeps the room. His expression shifts into Road Captain mode, the man who reads a room like a map and finds the safest path through chaos. His eyes catch Capone’s first. Capone nods once, already understanding.
My gaze finds Daisy and Monica. They notice the change in us immediately, their women’s intuition sharp as blades.
Danyella gives me a soft smile. Daisy grins, as if proud of me.
Kensi catches my eye and lifts her glass in a small salute.
Nadia’s smile is gentle. Aerianna watches with approval that feels like respect rather than sentiment.
Jezebelle’s gaze flicks over Tiny, as if silently warning him not to waste this gift.
I glance toward Exleigh and find her near the wall again.
Her shoulders are still tight, but she’s watching the room rather than hiding from it, her eyes narrowed as if she’s fighting her demons with her teeth bared.
When our gazes meet, she gives me a small nod.
It is not joyful. It is not easy. It is real, and it twists my heart for her.
Tiny shifts his stance, shielding me with his body as he guides me down the back hallway. We slip through the hallway, past familiar doors, leaving the clubhouse's hum behind. Each step makes the world feel smaller, more intimate, and more intense. My skin tingles with anticipation.
Tiny’s hand stays locked in mine, his grip firm. His other hand slides down to my hip again as we reach our door.
He pauses at the threshold, turning to look at me. Tiny’s gaze lingers on my face, as if he’s savoring the sight of me. His eyes soften, then sharpen, then soften once more. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers.
I step closer until my body presses against his. “I’m not something you own.”
Tiny’s throat works. “I know.’ His hand slides up my back, careful yet firm. “I mean mine, like you chose me. Like you stayed.”
I
His eyes glass over, but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t hide. “I’ve never had this,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Not like this.”
I kiss him slowly, letting him feel every ounce of my promise. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against his. “Then let yourself have it,” I whisper. “Tonight and every night after.”
Tiny’s breath shudders. His arms lock around me, holding me like a man who has finally stopped bracing for loss. Then he lifts me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My arms wrap around his neck, and my legs tighten around his waist as he carries me into our room.
“This is our vow,” he murmurs. “Not just words.”
I brush my nose against his. “Then keep it.”
Here, in the hush, in the warm dim of our room, in the space where no one else can see us, Tiny sets me down slowly. As if he’s about to worship, not take.
His hands slide to my face again, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. His voice drops to an intimate, shaky tone. “I’m gonna love you the way you deserve,” he promises.
My chest tightens as heat blooms through me, soft yet powerful. “I know,” I whisper. “Now show me.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
He closes the space between us and kisses me hard. His hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. When his mouth moves against mine, I feel it in my stomach first. The sweet ache of anticipation.
I make a soft sound into his mouth, and his grip tightens. He breaks the kiss only to press his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
“You have no idea,” he whispers.
“I do,” I breathe back. “I’ve been thinking about it since you looked at me in that yard.”
Tiny growls low in his throat, and the sound sends a shiver straight through me.
He slides his hands down my body, slow and deliberate, taking his time like he wants to memorize every inch.
His palms skim my waist, my hips, the curve of my ass, and when he squeezes, firm and possessive, it is not playful. It’s a promise.
“I’m gonna make you feel it,” he says, voice thick. “Every word we said out there.”
“Yes,” I whisper instantly.
Tiny’s eyes flash. He hooks his fingers in the hem of my dress and lifts it over my head. His gaze drags over me like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, and the devotion in his expression makes my throat tighten.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice quiet now.
I step closer, pressing my body against his. “So are you.”
Tiny exhales, then he starts undressing too. He pulls off his cut first and hangs it with care.
When his shirt falls, I see him fully. Every scar. Every mark of violence and survival. The old, jagged one near his ribs. The faint line over his shoulder. The thick, pale scar across his bicep I have traced a hundred times in the dark.
He watches my eyes as if he expects me to look away, but I don’t. I lift my hands and touch him, palms smoothing over ink and scar tissue alike.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper.
Tiny’s jaw clenches hard. “Never said I was.”
“Yes, you did,” I murmur, stepping closer until my body is flush against his.
“Not out loud, but you’ve carried it like a confession.
” His hands go to my hips again, gripping tight.
I rise onto my toes and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his throat, where his pulse pounds.
“Tonight, you don’t get to carry that. Tonight, you get to be loved. ”
Tiny’s breath shudders. Then his hands slide under me, lifting me and setting me back on the edge of the bed with a control that makes my whole body tighten with want. He steps between my thighs, hands braced on either side of me, towering, powerful, lethal.
Mine.
His gaze pins me. “You want me?”
I laugh softly, breathless already. “Tiny, I’m married to you. What do you think?”
He drops his forehead to mine. Then he kisses me again, slower this time, deeper. His mouth moves over mine like he knows exactly how to undo me, exactly how to draw the soft sounds from me that make him lose control.
His hands slide down my thighs, and he spreads me gently yet firmly. I grip his shoulders, my nails pressing into his skin, and Tiny groans in pleasure.
“Tonight is ours,” he says. “Nothing chasing us. Nothing taking from us.”
My chest aches at the truth in it.
Tiny kneels between my legs, and the sight of him like this makes my stomach flip. A giant on his knees. His hands grip my thighs with care, spreading me wider, and he looks up at me with eyes dark and burning.
He’s not asking. He’s promising.
Tiny’s mouth touches my body, and everything erupts into sensation, heat, pleasure, worship.
Tiny moves his tongue slowly at first, almost maddeningly, as if savoring every reaction. His hands hold me steady as his mouth moves with deliberate skill, and I can’t stop the sounds that spill from me.
My fingers twist through his hair. “Tiny,” I gasp, my voice breaking.
He hums against me like he loves hearing his name from my mouth. The pleasure builds, steady and relentless. I come hard, trembling, breathless, crying out his name without shame.