“Alright,” he said, low enough just for me, “let’s go make trouble.”
Ignoring his exhaustion, he lifted me effortlessly and carried me through the hallway. The noise of the clubhouse trailed after us—laughter, clinking bottles, the scrape of chairs—but it already felt miles away. Brothers slapped his back as we passed, shouting encouragement, but nobody stepped in our way. They’d seen the claim, and they knew what it meant. Every step must have jolted his bruises, every shift of his grip pressed raw knuckles against my side, but he never faltered.
Inside his room, the chaos fell away completely. The air smelled of leather and soap, faint smoke lingering in the wood. The single lamp glowed soft and golden, throwing shadows across the walls. He placed me gently onto my feet. His kutte landed heavy on the chair, the patched leather scarred from years of wear.
He helped me out of my clothes, hands steady, then eased me onto the bed like I was something precious. My pulse raced, not from fear, but from the sheer relief of having him here, alive, close enough to touch and hold.
He undressed slowly, careful with every motion, eyes never leaving mine. When he finally sat by my side in his boxers, I reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm, his hair damp with sweat. Up close, I could see the fresh cuts, the bruises layered over old scars.
“You came back to me,” I whispered.
“Always,” he murmured.
His fingers traced gentle patterns across my arm, grounding me. The war outside, the scars inside, they all faded in that touch.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly, and I heard the crack in his voice.
“You won’t,” I promised, voice steady though my chest ached with how much I meant it.
“You’re mine,” he said, eyes fierce, “and I’m not letting go.”
A shaky breath left me, and I smiled, relief washing through me. He was there, he came back and was mine. Finally.
He rolled on top of me, slow, wincing in pain. “Hey, we don’t have to.”
“I want to... I need to,” he rasped as he dragged my panties down my legs, pushing his boxers down he settled back between my thighs.
“Lie down, Jay. Let me take over.” Something sparked in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. He pressed a kiss to my forehead and lay on his back.
I swung my leg over him, straddling his hips, and the sudden shift in control sent a thrill racing through me. For the moment, he wasn’t the President, the reaper, the man holding the world on his shoulders. For the moment, he was mine to touch, mine to claim.
His gaze burned into me, pale blue turned navy, his chest rising and falling hard beneath my palms. I traced a slow path down his sternum with my fingertips, savouring the way his breath caught, the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to take back control.
“Lucy...” His voice was a growl, rough and frayed.
“Shh.” I pressed my finger to his lips then leaned down to kiss him, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. He answered with a groan that vibrated into my mouth, his hands caressing my breasts, fingers tweaking my already hard nipples.
Gripping his shaft in my hand, I lined it up with my entrance and sank onto him slowly. I rolled my hips against him, and his head dropped back onto the pillow, eyes squeezed shut. The sound he made, raw and desperate, was enough to unravel me and I clenched around him.
“Open your eyes,” I whispered.
They snapped back to mine, blazing, vulnerable in a way that broke me wide open. He wasn’t just surrendering his body. He was giving me every part of himself he’d kept locked away.
I bent down, lips brushing his ear, voice trembling with the force of how much I meant it. “You’re mine too, Jay. Always have been.”
“Luce.” His fingers bruised my hips as he guided me up and down at the pace he needed, and I was happy to let him.
The relief I felt a having him home, safe, in my bed was fuelling my need for him. I dug my fingernails into his chest, upping the pace, rising fast and crashing back down onto him.
We orgasmed together, both trembling, eyes locked onto each other’s, before I collapsed off to the side, not wanting to hurt him, though our bodies lay in a sweat-slicked tangle.
Chapter 55
Reaper
The room was quiet, just the hum of the old lamp and the distant thrum of laughter down the hall. She was beside me, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. For the first time in too damn long, I felt still.
Lucy was not a shadow in the background anymore, a reminder of everything I’d lost. Instead, she was there, close enough that I could count the freckles on her cheek, close enough that every rise and fall of her chest felt like proof I hadn’t failed completely.
