She doesn't pull away. Doesn't flinch. Just holds my gaze with those steady blue eyes that see straight through every defense I've ever built.
"You're a good man to me."
Something cracks. Some wall I didn't even know was still standing, some last defense I've been hiding behind for seven years. It crumbles like it was never there at all.
I'm on my feet before I decide to move. One hand buried in her hair, the other curved around her waist. Her back hits the edge of my desk and she gasps, but she doesn't push me away.
"Tell me to stop."
She pulls me closer. Fists her hands in the leather of my cut. "Don't you dare."
I kiss her.
It's not gentle. I've been holding back for two weeks, watching her, wanting her, and all that restraint burns away the second her lips touch mine. I kiss her like I'm drowning and she's air.Like she's the only thing in the world that matters. Like I've been waiting my whole life for this exact moment.
She gasps against my mouth and I swallow the sound. Her hands tighten on my cut, leather creaking under her grip. I lift her onto the desk without breaking the kiss, and she wraps her legs around me, pulling me closer.
Heat. Need. The desperate urgency of something long denied.
I bite her lip, gentle, testing, and she moans. The sound shoots straight through me, makes me want to lay her out on this desk and spend hours learning what other sounds I can pull from her.
But not like this. Not in my cramped office with the door unlocked and half the club lingering in the hallway, any one of them able to walk in and interrupt what should be private between us.
I pull back, breathing hard, forcing myself to break the kiss even though every instinct screams to keep going. I rest my forehead against hers, our ragged breaths mingling in the narrow space between us.
"Sparrow."
"Jett." My name, not my road name. Not the identity I wear like armor around everyone else. Something shifts in my chest when she says it, like a lock tumbling open. Something settles deep in my bones.
"If we do this..." I struggle to find the right words, my thoughts tangled and clumsy. I'm not good with words. Never have been. Action has always been easier than explanation. "I don't do casual. I don't do temporary. You need to understand that before we go any further."
She cups my face in her hands, and I lean into the touch despite myself. Her palms are warm against my jaw, anchoring me. Her thumbs trace the stubble I forgot to shave this morning, the gentle touch sending sparks across my skin.
"I haven't felt safe in two years," she says quietly, and there's a tremor in her voice that makes my chest ache. "You make me feel safe. That's not casual. That's not temporary."
I kiss her again, slower this time. Gentler. Learning the shape of her mouth, the taste of her. Claiming her in a way that has nothing to do with possession and everything to do with protection. Memorizing the taste of her mouth and the way she sighs when I deepen the kiss, the small sound of contentment that vibrates against my lips.
When I finally pull away, her lips are swollen and kiss-bruised and her eyes are dazed, unfocused.
"Okay," I say, my voice rough.
"Okay?" She blinks at me, still looking beautifully disheveled.
"Okay. We do this."
She smiles like the sun coming out after a storm. Like I've given her something precious instead of promising her a life tangled up with violence and danger.
I don't deserve that smile. But I'm going to spend every day trying to earn it.
We leave my office looking wrecked.
Her hair is mussed, her lips swollen. My cut is askew, and there's lipstick on my collar that I don't bother to wipe away.
Whiskey takes one look at us and bursts out laughing. "About damn time."
Gears nods like he expected this. Preacher looks between us, sighs, and mutters something about "complications" before heading for the door.
I don't care what any of them think. My hand is on her lower back, and everyone can see it. She's mine. The whole club knows it now.
