"You got Diesel to cook for us?" I ask, amused by the gruff biker's transformation into chef.
"Best cook in the club," Vance confirms, leading me to the table. "Don't tell him I told you, but he trained at some fancy culinary school before finding his true calling as a mechanic with a criminal record."
The meal is surprisingly excellent—steak cooked to perfection, roasted vegetables, even a chocolate dessert that melts on my tongue. Diesel serves each course, then disappears, giving us privacy between rounds. As the sky darkens and stars appear, Vance reaches across the table for my hand.
"Happy?" he asks, something vulnerable in his expression.
"Very," I say truthfully. "I never thought I could be this happy in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by bikers, married to a man who terrifies most people who meet him."
He laughs, the sound rumbling through the night air. "Yet here you are."
"Here I am," I agree, squeezing his hand.
Diesel serves coffee, then packs up his equipment and drives off in a second vehicle I hadn't noticed parked behind some scrub. The distant sound of his engine fades, leaving us truly alone under the vast desert sky.
Vance pulls me from my chair and into his lap, his hands immediately finding their way beneath my sundress. "Finally," he growls against my neck. "Been wanting to touch you all night."
"You've been touching me all night," I point out, already breathless as his fingers trace patterns on my inner thigh. "Under the table during dessert, if I recall."
"Not enough," he insists, finding me already wet through my underwear. "Never enough."
His kiss is hungry, possessive, tongue claiming my mouth the way his hands claim my body. I melt against him, still amazed at how quickly he can reduce me to need and want and heat.
"Stand up," he orders, voice rough with desire.
I comply, watching as he clears the dishes to one side of the table with a sweep of his arm. The fine china teeters dangerously close to the edge, but I can't bring myself to care as he lifts me onto the table's edge.
"Lie back," he commands, and I do, the linen tablecloth cool against my bare shoulders as he pushes the sundress straps down.
He works methodically, stripping me with practiced ease until I'm naked on the table, exposed to the night air and his hungry gaze. The position should make me feel vulnerable, but all I feel is powerful—the ability to reduce this dangerous man to desperate need is a heady thing.
"Look at you," he murmurs, hands skimming up my sides to cup my breasts. "Spread out for Daddy like a feast."
The word still sends illicit thrills through me, making me arch into his touch. "Please," I whisper, not even sure what I'm asking for.
"Please what?" he teases, thumbs brushing over my nipples. "Tell Daddy what you need."
"Your mouth," I manage, bolder now in expressing my desires. "I need your mouth on me."
He grins, pleased with my directness. "Where, baby doll? Here?" He bends to flick his tongue over one nipple. "Or here?" His mouth travels lower, pressing kisses down my stomach.
"Lower," I gasp, beyond embarrassment now. "Please, Daddy."
He rewards my begging by settling between my thighs, draping my legs over his broad shoulders. The first touch of his tongue has me gripping the tablecloth, hips rising to meet him.
"That's it," he praises, hands holding my thighs apart. "Let Daddy taste his good little girl."
He devours me with single-minded focus, alternating between broad strokes and precise attention to my clit until I'm writhing on the table, coherent thought impossible. When he adds two thick fingers, curving them to hit that perfect spot inside me, I shatter with a cry that echoes across the empty desert.
Before I can recover, he's standing, unbuckling his belt, freeing his cock. He pulls me to the edge of the table, positioning himself at my entrance.
"Such a perfect little girl for Daddy," he praises as he pushes inside, stretching me deliciously. "Taking me so well."
The table rocks with the force of his thrusts, the remaining dishes rattling ominously. I don't care if everything crashes to the ground—all that matters is this connection, this claiming, this man who has become my entire world.
"Mine," he growls, pace increasing as his control slips. "All mine."
"Yours," I agree breathlessly, legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper. "Only yours, Daddy."
