“Yours,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Mine.”
I kiss her then. Not rushed. Not frantic. A slow, deep slide of lips that feels like a vow. Her hands go to my chest, then up around my neck, pulling me closer like she needs me inside her skin.
I walk her backward, never breaking the kiss, until her back meets the wall. My hands slide down to her hips, gripping tighter. “You sure you’re ready for what that means?” I ask against her mouth. “Because I don’t half-love anything.”
Her eyes are dark and sure and blazing. “I don’t want half of you. I want all of it.”
I smile. Dangerous. Certain. Gone. “Good,” I say, my forehead against hers, breath shaking because of how much I fucking love this woman. “Because you already have all of me.”
I lift her thigh up higher on my hip and she gasps into the kiss. My other hand presses at the small of her back, bringing her flush against me, right where she fits.
“I’m claiming every piece of you,” I rasp. “Not just in front of the club.” I kiss her jaw, her neck, her pulse. “Right here.” Another kiss, lower. “Right now.”
She lets out the softest sound, one that shoots straight through my spine.
And I swear I get light-headed from how lucky I am.
Her breath is shaky against my mouth. “Claim me then.”
Yeah. That does it.
I turn her gently, guiding her backward until her hips meet the wall. I press my body into hers slow, letting her feel every hard inch of me. My hands bracket her waist, sliding up under that oversized sweater like I’m unwrapping something precious.
“You thinking I just meant words tonight?” I ask, lips brushing her throat. “You thinking I claimed you at church and that was enough?”
She swallows hard, back arching into my touch. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Baby.” I lift her chin so she has to look right at me. My voice drops low. “I meant every word, but I’m not done. Not even close.”
My fingers trail up her ribs, thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts. She sucks in a breath and I smile because I own that sound now.
“You are my old lady,” I say, brushing her lips with mine. “Meaning I protect you, I ride with you, I put you first. You get every part of me. Every part of my fucking life.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt, knuckles white. “Blade…”
“And in return,” I murmur, my hand sliding down to grip the curve of her hip tight, “you wear my touch everywhere you go. Anyone looks at you too long, they remember who put their hands on you first. Who gets to touch you always.”
Her knees press together and I step between them, pushing them apart again. Gentle. Firm. Owning. She lets me.
“You like that?” I ask, my voice dipping into a growl. “You like being mine?”
She nods, eyes dark with need. “Yes.”
“That’s not enough.” I kiss her hard, stealing her breath. When I pull back, she’s panting. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she whispers.
I shake my head slowly. “No. Say it like you mean it.”
Her nails scrape down my chest and she breathes the words like a prayer. “I’m yours, Blade. Only yours.”
“Good girl.”
Her thighs tense around me at that. I feel it. I feel her.
And I lose whatever restraint I had left.
