“I’m going to fuck you now, Darla,” I growl, my cock throbbing, straining painfully against the thin cotton of my boxers. “When I do, I want you to know that I’m claiming you as mine.” The words spill from my lips, raw and primal. I watch the realization wash over her, a mix of exhilaration and trepidation that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Claim me?” she breathes, her voice a soft tremor as she meets my gaze, her vulnerability laid bare. “What does that mean for us?”
I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers. “It means you’re safe with me. I’ll protect you from everything, even from yourself if I have to.”
Darla bites her lip, her eyes searching mine. “And what if I don’t want to be claimed? What if I want to fight my own battles?”
A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face, and I can’t help but smile, my heart racing at her defiance. “Then we’ll fight them together. But right now, let me show you what it feels like to be wanted.”
Her eyes search mine, a million fragile emotions swirling in their depths. She gives a single sharp nod, her voice a rough whisper. “Okay.”
With an animalistic growl, I pull her even closer, my lips crashing against hers as I wrestle with the waistband of my boxers. I’m clumsy, my hands shaking with a desperate need seven years in the making. I shove them down, and my erection springs free, thick and heavy, throbbing with anticipation. Darla’s eyes widen, her gaze dropping to my cock,but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she lifts her hips, a silent, breathtaking invitation.Fuck, yes.
Without further encouragement, I move between her open, trembling thighs, my skin branding hers. My hips angle, guiding me to her wet entrance. Her pussy is so slick from my mouth; her heat is a tangible thing calling to me. I take a deep breath, savoring the moment. The anticipation of finally,finallyjoining our bodies is almost more than I can bear. I press the head of my cock against her, just a tease, and she whimpers, her hips lifting, trying to take me.
“Easy, princess,” I rasp, needing to draw this out. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, I enter her.
Holy. Fuck. Her tightness engulfs me, her inner walls squeezing my cock like a hot, velvet fist. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt. Her nails dig into my back, and she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut as I fill her completely. I stay buried to the hilt, just letting us both feel it. Her, full of me. Me, finally inside her. More than just sex, I found a piece of my past I thought was gone forever. This is home.
“Look at me,” I growl, the intensity of my voice cutting through the thick air between us. She obeys, her gaze locking onto mine, those deep irises swirling with a tumultuous mix of pleasure and pain that sends a thrill racing down my spine. “You’re mine now, Darla. Mine alone.” The weight of my words hangs in the air, heavy with promise and possession. She doesn’t respond verbally, but her body speaks volumes, her pussy clenching around me, her hips arching into mine with an instinctual need that ignites every nerve ending.
I move, pulling back slowly, agonizingly, until just the tip of my cock is inside her, before thrusting deep again. She cries out at the feeling, a raw, needy sound that feeds the animal inside me. Her hips move in perfect sync with my rhythm. It’s a dance as old as time, drawing us deeper into this primal connection.Each thrust sends waves of sensation coursing through us; the raw, electric energy pulses between our bodies. The heat radiating from her skin envelops me, and I watch the pleasure build on her face. Her lips are parted, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that are the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
As a playboy, I know how to make a woman scream. But this isDarla. I don’t just want her to come; I want to worship her, to brand this moment into her soul. Reaching between us, my thumb finds her clit, already pebbled and hard from my mouth. Circling it with teasing pressure, I continue to thrust, slow and deep.
“You feel so good, princess,” I rasp, my voice thick. “So fucking tight. My cock was made for your pussy, don’t you think?”
Her body responds instantly, arching against me, a soft gasp escaping her lips as pleasure surges through her. I can feel her tighten around me as I continue to move. I watch her face, captivated by the way her expression shifts from surprise to bliss, her eyes fluttering shut as waves of sensation crash over her. “East,” she breathes, her voice a desperate plea. I increase the pressure on her clit, my thumb rolling faster, my hips slamming into her, feeling the slickness of her arousal against my fingers. She cries out, her back arching, and her orgasm washes over her like a tidal wave. Her pussy pulses and milks my cock as violent, beautiful tremors wrack her body.
The sight of her unraveling beneath me, her inner walls clenching and gripping my cock, shatters my control. As her moans fill the air, I lose myself in the moment, my thrusts becoming deeper, harder, more desperate. The overwhelming heat builds within me, coiling like a spring, tighter and tighter until it has to snap. I still feel her pulsing around me as I drive in one final, deep thrust. “Darla!” I roar, my release tearing frommy throat, a primal growl as I come, emptying myself into her. My body pulses with the intensity of our shared climax.
In that moment, we are one—lost in a whirlwind of sensation, our breaths mingling, hearts racing, each pulse echoing the promise of what we’ve just shared. I collapse onto her, my weight a heavy, sated thing, my face buried in the crook of her neck. She smells like sex, citrus, and home. Her arms are weak, but they come up to hold me, her fingers tracing the damp skin of my back. The connection between us solidifies, binding us in a way that transcends mere physicality, leaving us both gasping for air, yet craving more.
The real world intrudes as my phone buzzes on the nightstand. The sound is a harsh, unwelcome violation. I grab it. A text from Malachi.
War room. 30 minutes.
The peace shatters. I look down at Darla, who is already looking up at me, her expression shifting from soft and sated to sharp and resolute. The war is waiting.
The ride to the clubhouse is different. We meet up with Nash and Rider a few blocks from my house, falling into a formation of black and chrome that feels like a promise of violence.
When we arrive, the parking lot is already full. The entire club is here. Knox and Sloane pull in right behind us. The women—Candace, Ruby, Frankie, Maggie—are already gathered by the door, a silent council of support. This isn’t a party. It’s an assembly.
I press a hand to Darla’s shoulder as we walk toward the war room. She doesn’t follow me with her eyes, but I feel her gaze on my back.
The war room door shuts behind us, and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees. I take my usual chair as the brothers settle in. Malachi sits at the head of the table, his face carvedfrom stone. He drops a stack of files; the sound is a gunshot in the quiet room.
“We need to talk about Donovan,” he begins, and my focus sharpens. He lays it all out—the trail he found in Cornelius’ old storage unit. The whispers about Alice Brighton. The confrontation with James.
Then he taps the final sheet. “But this one? This is local.”
Knox frowns. “Graves?”
“Graves.” Malachi spits the name like poison. “Winston Graves was leveraged. He helped bury Cornelius’ investigation into my siblings’ disappearance.”
The name hits me like a physical blow. A key. It’s the lynchpin connecting the club’s oldest wound to the man who tried to sell Darla.
“The shipyard,” I murmur in a rough voice. Every eye in the room snaps to me. “It all makes sense now.”
