Epilogue #2
I stop in front of her. “You good?” I ask.
She sighs. “There it’s. The terrible question.”
“Answer me, woman.”
“I’m good.” Her smile softens. “Better than good.”
Milo groans. “Please don’t become sentimental near the ribs.”
Harper doesn’t look away from me. “I’m proud of Crimson.”
“So am I,” Milo says. “Growth is sexy.”
Crimson, behind us, chokes on his beer.
Fury points at him. “That’s the first time anyone has called you sexy for personal development.”
“Fuck off,” Crimson mutters.
Raven slides off the truck. “This party has everything. Meat. Emotional accountability. Threatening eye contact. I’m moved.”
Savage looks at her. “You don’t look moved.”
“I move internally.”
“You threaten internally.”
“Also true.”
The music gets louder, and someone starts a drinking game near the picnic tables.
Tyler tries to dance with his crutch and nearly takes out a prospect.
Mama M threatens to feed everyone salad if they don’t stop acting feral.
And Milo tells Saint he has “serial killer cheekbones,” and Saint looks like he doesn’t know whether that’s an insult or a proposal.
Harper leans into my side like she has always belonged there. My arm slides around her waist. Her skin is warm under my hand. Her laughter is still in my ears. Her words are still in my chest.
‘Good with him.’
She tips her face up. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That must be painful.” She jokes, poking me in the ribs.
“Yes.”
“What about?” she asks with a smile.
I lean down until my mouth is near her ear. “You.”
Her breath catches, and I smile. I love that tiny hitch that tells me her body remembers mine even with the whole club ten feet away, half drunk and louder than sin.
“What about me?” she asks. Her voice is steady, but her pulse isn’t. I feel it where my thumb rests against her waist.
“How good you look here.”
Her mouth curves. “At a barbecue?”
“In my yard.”
Her brow lifts. “Your yard?”
“The club’s yard.”
“That sounds better.”
“With my hand on you.”
Her eyes darken. “Careful, Marcus.”
My legal name in her mouth is a bad idea. I pull her closer, just enough for her to feel what she does to me. Her eyes widen. Then narrow.
“You aren’t subtle.”
“Never said I was.”
“We’re outside.”
“Call it a change of scenery.”
“Everyone is here.”
“They are.”
“And you’re hard against my hip.”
“Your observation skills are impeccable.”
She bites her lower lip to hide a smile. But that does nothing to help the situation.
Raven appears beside us with Milo at her shoulder, both of them wearing expressions that mean trouble has formed a committee. Raven looks at Harper. Then at me. Then at where my hand rests on Harper’s waist.
“Oh, good,” she says. “The sexual tension portion of the evening has arrived.”
Harper closes her eyes. “Why are you like this?”
“Trauma. Good hair. Low tolerance for denial.” She holds up a finger with each point she makes.
Milo nods. “As an emotionally invested bystander, I support this summary.”
I look at him. “Do you want to live?”
“Obviously. That’s why I stand near Harper.” Harper laughs, but it turns into a breath when my thumb strokes once beneath the hem of her shirt.
Raven sees it and her smile turns wicked.
“The garage is empty,” she says.
Harper’s eyes snap to hers. “Raven.”
“What? I’m discussing property availability.”
Milo gasps. “Are we enabling?”
“We’re creating logistical opportunity.”
“I support women in logistics.”
Harper’s cheeks go pink, and I lower my mouth to her ear. “You want to slip away?”
Her fingers curl in my shirt but not enough for anyone else to see. Just enough for me.
“That depends,” she says.
“On?”
“Whether you’re asking nicely.”
Heat hits like a fist. I turn her toward me, blocking her from the yard with my body but not hiding her. Giving her room to look up at me without twenty drunk outlaws watching her face change.
I keep my voice low. “Come with me, Harper.”
Her pupils flare. “Where?”
“The garage.”
“Why?”
I brush my mouth over the shell of her ear. “Because I want to put my hands on you while the party keeps going outside. I want your mouth against my neck so you can try to stay quiet. I want to hear you fail.”
Her breath shudders.
Raven says, “I can still hear you, Steel.”
I don’t look away from Harper. “Then walk away.”
Milo whispers, “That was very hot and very rude.”
Raven grabs him by the arm. “Come on. We’re going to distract the idiots with cupcakes and reckless lies.”
Harper nods with a small smile.
“You’re sure?” I ask.
Her expression softens despite the heat in her eyes. “Always with you.” My chest tightens. “Also, if we don’t leave now, I’m going to start questioning your follow-through.”
I take her hand and move.
Fury whistles, Tyler cheers, and Crimson laughs for the first time without sounding like rust. Milo yells, “Hydrate!” and Mama M throws a roll at his head.
Raven calls, “If anyone follows them, I’ll stab first and explain boundaries later.”
Savage says, “Raven.”
“What? It’s romantic.”
Harper is laughing when I pull her into the garage, but that laughter dies the moment I shut the side door and lock it. The noise outside dulls, music becomes nothing more than bass through walls, and voices become muffled chaos.
The garage smells like oil, rubber, and leather. My bike is parked near the center bay, chrome catching strips of sunset through the high windows. Tools line the walls. A workbench sits against the back. The big bay door is closed, but not enough to block out the party.
Harper turns to face me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“Subtle,” she says.
“I don’t do subtle.”
“I know.”
“You like it.”
Her mouth curves. “Unfortunately.”
I cross the space between us, and she doesn’t back up. Not until my body reaches hers. Then she lets me walk her backward against the workbench, her hands going to my chest, my cut bunching under her fingers.
I stop before touching more than her waist. Always. Even with my blood burning. Even with her mouth inches from mine. Even with the whole club outside and every filthy thought I’ve had about this woman clawing at my control.
“Say yes,” I tell her.
Her eyes darken. “Yes.”
“For what?”
Her breath catches. She knows this game. She likes this game even though she’ll never admit how much.
“For you to touch me,” she says.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
“Not enough.”
Her lips part, and her hands slide under my cut, pushing it off my shoulders. She catches it before it hits the floor and drops it on the table behind her with a heavy slap. Outside, someone laughs too loudly.
Inside, Harper’s voice drops. “For you to put your hands under my clothes and make me forget there’s a yard full of bikers ten feet away.”
My control cracks, and I lift her onto the workbench in one smooth motion.
She gasps, legs parting to make room for me, and I step between them before the sound finishes. “Good girl.”
Her eyes flash. “Careful.”
“No,” I say, leaning in. “Not tonight.” Her breath catches, and I drag my mouth along her jaw, stopping near her ear. “Tonight you’re going to take the praise, Harper. Every word. Every touch. Every fucking second of what you do to me.”
She shivers, and I feel it through both of us. “I thought you were asking nicely.”
“I did.” My teeth graze her throat. “Now I’m telling you what I want.”
Her hands fist in my shirt. “And if I tell you no?”
“I’ll stop.” I stare into her eyes.
She slides one hand to the back of my neck. “Don’t stop.”
I kiss her hard. We have done patient. Careful.
Soft enough for bruises and healing skin.
This is not that. This is one month of wanting her in every corner of my life.
One month of her walking through my yard as if she belongs to herself, of sleeping in my bed because she chooses it, of kissing me goodbye before shifts and telling me to “behave like a semi-functional adult” like I know what that means.
This is Harper laughing in my clubhouse. Harper taking my hand after Crimson apologized. Harper standing in the sun with sauce on her fingers and life in her eyes.
Our mouths crash together, teeth and heat and tongue, and she kisses me back like she has been waiting all night to become a problem.
Her hands tear at my shirt, and buttons scatter, but I don’t care.
I grab her hips and pull her to the edge of the workbench, grinding against her until she gasps into my mouth.
“That’s it,” I growl. “Make that sound again.”
“So fucking bossy.” The words are more a moan than a complaint.
“Yes.”
“Do you like hearing me lose control?” she asks.
My hand slides up her thigh. “I like knowing you trust me enough to.”
Her face changes, soft for half a breath, then wicked. She spreads her knees wider. “Then earn it.”
Fuck.
I drop to my knees on the concrete, and her breath stops.
Outside, the party roars louder. Someone starts chanting something obscene that has nothing to do with us, probably Fury being an idiot.
The sound should pull me back, it doesn’t.
Nothing exists but Harper above me, braced on the workbench, looking down with heat and trust and that sharp mouth parted like she forgot how to use it.
I run my hands up her calves, over her knees, along the inside of her thighs, and her fingers grip the edge of the bench.
“Steel.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re teasing.”
“I know.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s control.”
Her eyes narrow. “I thought we were doing out of control.”
I smile against her thigh, and she inhales sharply.
“We are,” I say. “Let’s see how much control you have.”
I undo her jeans, and she lifts her hips enough to help, and that small cooperation nearly ruins me.
I pull the denim down her legs, taking her boots with them because my patience is officially dead.
Her underwear follows, and then she is bare on my workbench, flushed, breathing hard, and staring at me like she might murder me if I take too long.
Perfect woman. I kiss the inside of her knee, then higher, and her head falls back.
A muffled cheer comes from outside, and Harper laughs, breathless. “They’re right outside. Should we go to your room?”