He didn't answer immediately. His eyes stayed on Irish and Declan, something wistful and uncertain in his expression.
"Maybe," he finally said. "I don't know. I've never really let myself think about it."
"You've got time to figure it out." I squeezed his shoulder. "And whatever you discover, you've got people here who'll accept you."
He nodded, throat working. Then he mumbled something about needing water and disappeared toward the kitchen.
Another kid realizing he had options.
Night fell like a held breath.
The clubhouse quieted, members drifting to their posts or their beds. Tomorrow, the real preparation would begin—scouting missions, supply runs, coordination with allies Hawk had called in from other MCs. Tonight was for rest.
I found Axel in his room, standing at the window, staring out at nothing.
"Hey." I closed the door behind me. "You've been quiet all day."
"Thinking." He didn't turn around. "About what's coming. About whether I'm leading these men into something we can't win."
I crossed to him, slid my arms around his waist from behind, pressed my cheek to his shoulder blade. He was warm and solid and tense in all the ways I'd learned meant he was carrying weight he wouldn't put down.
"You're not alone in this," I said.
"I know." His hand covered mine. "But that’s what scares me. You being by my side means I could lose you." His voice roughened. "I can't lose you, Kai."
"You won't."
"You can't promise that."
"No." I pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. "But I can promise I'll fight to stay alive. We both will."
He turned in my arms, and the look on his face made my heart clench. Vulnerability, desire, something that looked terrifyingly like love. "I need you," he said. "Tonight. I need to feel you, be inside you, make you mine in every way I know how."
Heat flooded through me. "Yes."
"I've never—" He swallowed. "Not this. Not with a man. I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." I pulled him down for a kiss—slow, deep, full of promise. "I'll show you. We'll figure it out together."
"Together," he repeated, like the word was sacred.
We undressed each other slowly.
No rush tonight. No desperation. Just layers falling away—shirts, jeans, boxers—until we laid skin to skin over the sheets. I let myself look at him. The breadth of his shoulders. The ridges of his abs. The scars that told stories I was still learning. His cock, thick and hard, jutting toward me like an offering.
"You're staring," he murmured.
"I like the view."
I pulled him toward me, laying back against the pillows, letting him settle over me. His weight was grounding, his heat overwhelming. When he kissed me, I tasted need and nerves in equal measure. "Tell me what to do," he said against my mouth.
I reached for the nightstand, found the lube I'd stashed there days ago. Pressed it into his hand.
"Fingers first. One at a time. Go slow."
He slicked his fingers, watching me with that intense focus I'd come to crave. When he reached between my legs, traced my entrance, I forced myself to relax.
"Okay?" he asked.
