Those words break me, and I come apart completely. My vision goes hazy as my pussy grips his length and his knot fills me entirely. The stretch is just the right amount of overwhelming as he moans in my ear before dropping his headagainst my neck, gliding his lips over the spot he’s chosen for his mark.
He’s gentle as his teeth sink into me, branding me as his. My orgasm continues to rip through me as our connection forms and I feel him, truly feel him.
I can’t help the tears that spill out over my face from the overstimulation and happiness. I can finally feel Tate, and it feels like I’m finally home.
I’m where I’ve always wanted to be, and it’s in his arms.
Tate kisses the mark reverently as we both breathe heavily, our heartbeats thumping in sync while we hold one another. He moves slow as he shifts us onto the bed so we’re lying on our sides. It’s not an easy feat to do while knotted together, and he may have groaned in discomfort on the way down.
He grabs a worn patch quilt blanket and tosses it over me.
“You’re still dressed,” I note with a laugh.
He shrugs behind me but holds me tighter. “Seemed like you liked it. I think you got off on me wearin’ my cut while we fucked.”
He’s not wrong.
“We’re bonded,” I breathe out in a whisper.
He nuzzles my neck, the feeling of contentment flowing through the bond, and I’m not sure Tate has ever had that feeling in his life.
“Yeah, we really are. Thank you,” he says softly.
It’s as if words can’t fully express what we’re feeling, but the bond between us does. We lie there in silence, just basking in the afterglow of our bonding.
Even when Tate’s knot releases us, he stays inside of me for a while; I find it more comforting than I should.
Tate is the one that breaks the silence. “We should shower,” he whispers, and I nod.
My back aches slightly when I get up, but I’m distracted when Tate takes my hand in his as he walks us to his attached bathroom. I’m so fucking lucky he has a room with a bathroom. The idea of using the communal bathroom in the hallway of the club makes me want to curl up and die.
Tate finally undresses, and I get to see every lovely inch of him. He has the Dead Palms signa tattooed on his back, and a few tattoos scattered over his chest. I can’t help it when my fingertips graze every single one.
As soon as the water is warm, we file into the shower, and I wrap my arms around him. I can’t help but feel like bonding with Tate has somehow healed a part of my heart, and I refuse to let myself feel guilty about the way I chose to heal myself.
“If you don’t quit babyingme, I’ll take you over my fucking knee,” Cash complains as I try to help him take his shirt off.
“You have a skull fracture and like eight million stitches in your head!” I shout back, and he winces, making me feel guilty. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“No, I’m sorry. I fucking hate feeling like this.”
“As soon as your head is better, I’ll let you boss me around all you want. I promise,” I counter sweetly.
“Stitches come out in five days anyway,” he grumbles like he’s trying to talk himself down.
I straddle his lap where he lies on the mattress. He hates being stuck in bed, but the amount of headaches and general tiredness forced us to keep him confined in this room.
“You’ll be back up, scowling at everyone but me, in no time.”
His large hands grip my hips, and he squeezes. He finally seems semi-settled, obviously still pissed about being in this bed, but he doesn’t seem on edge like he did when he first came home. We both know there are still threats out there, and who knows if we can ever truly let our guard down, but there have to be some peaceful moments in between all of life’s chaos.
As I look at his handsome face, I can’t help smiling at him. I can sense that he feels loved and taken care of through our bond, and that’s all I ever wanted.
“I like seeing you smile again, baby girl,” he says quietly.
I feel shy at that moment, but I nod my head. I’ve been working through the guilt, and maybe part of me is still in denial about everything that happened, but I know I’ve got to live. If not for my sake, for my pack’s, and for Leon’s.
“I’m working on it,” I promise him.
