He turns me in his arms, moss-green eyes swirling with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. He looks at me like I’m a miracle he’s still trying to understand. He reaches out, thumb tracing the dark mark on my neck—the brand he left there to tell the world I’m taken.
"You aren't running anywhere," he growls, face inches from mine. "I’ll build the walls higher. I’ll keep the fire hotter. You’re my home, Avery. My heart. My soul."
He kisses me then, not the desperate hunger of the workshop, but a slow, reverent claiming. It tastes of whiskey, woodsmoke, and a love so deep it feels like bone-deep impact. I melt into him, fingers tangling in his beard, pulling him closer until there is no air left between us.
We move to the bed, the quilts cool against my skin until his heat follows me down. He worships me in the dark, his hands memorizing every curve, voice a constant, low praise that makes me feel like a queen. There is no radio crackling. No mission calling him away. Only the sound of our hearts beating in sync and the wind howling fruitlessly at the door.
I fall asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the steady, heavy thrum of his heart. The only lullaby I'll ever need.
Hours later, the cabin is silent. I wake to the sight of the moon peeking through the clouds, reflecting off the fresh white driftspiled high against the window. Oliver still holds me, even in sleep, his grip possessive. Certain.
I look toward the sideboard where the radio sits, silent and dark. The storm is still out there, buried in the ravine and swirling over the peaks. A monster of a whiteout. A legendary event that will change the mountain forever.
I watch the snow fall, thick and heavy, erasing the roads and hiding the world. Somewhere down in the valley, the lights are flickering out. Somewhere near mile marker four, a car is sliding into the dark, and a different kind of man is getting ready to find his own storm.
But here, in the high ridge, the fire is still burning.
I press a kiss to the center of Oliver’s chest, right over the scar on his heart. He stirs, arm tightening around me instinctively, pulling me back into the warmth.
"Go back to sleep, Avery," he mutters, voice a thick rumble. "I’ve got you."
The End
Dear precious reader, thank you so much for readingClaimed by the Outlaw!
I couldn't say goodbye to Oliver and Avery without showing you the moment this scarred protector finally gives his "Little Bird" the one thing she’s never had—a permanent place to belong. Witness the raw, lethal intensity in Oliver’s moss-green eyes ashe hands Avery the keys to her new fortress and his own home, proving once and for all that she is his forever. You won't want to miss this heart-pounding conclusion to their story.
CLICK HERE AND GET YOUR BONUS EPILOGUE NOW
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P.S. If you enjoyed Oliver’s relentless possession, then I think you’ll enjoyTrapped by the Presidenttoo! Logan is the lethal club president who decides that being snowed in is the perfect excuse to keep his woman exactly where he wants her. Swipe to the next page for a sneak peek…
TRAPPED BY THE PRESIDENT (PREVIEW)
Trapped in a blizzard with an alpha male.
The MC president just claimed me as his.
A mountain road. A dead engine. A howling storm.
Then Logan Gunnar rumbles out of the whiteout on a Harley.
He throws me over his shoulder and hauls me to his secluded cabin.
One bed. No neighbors. No escape.
He strips off his leather cut, and every tattooed inch of him screams danger.
I’m a virgin just passing through town.
He’s a mountain king who says I’m staying in his bed to keep warm.
Logan worships my curves and swears I was his the moment he saw my car.
Am I his lucky rescue, or the prey he’s never letting go?
SAVANNAH
