Page 38 of Property of the Bikers

He kisses down the slope of my breast, across my ribs, and presses open-mouthed kisses all over my belly. His tongue traces the tight skin while his hands stroke and worship every curve. I feel exposed and owned and so fucking turned on I can barely stand.

“Bed,” he says finally.

He guides me down onto the mattress, arranging pillows behind me so I’m comfortable and propped up. Then he strips the rest of my clothes off slowly, eyes devouring every new inch of skin. When I’m completely naked, he stands back for a second, still mostly dressed with his cut still on, cock straining against his jeans.

“So fucking beautiful,” he growls. “Pregnant and marked as ours.”

He drops to his knees beside the bed and spreads my thighs. His mouth finds my pussy, and he eats me like a man possessed, licking and sucking my clit while two thick fingers push inside me. I’m soaked from all the attention to my breasts.

He groans against my flesh. “Already dripping for the VP who watched you swear your life away tonight. This pussy knows who owns it now.”

He works me until I come hard, shaking and crying out his name. Only then does he stand and strip fast. His cock is thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip.

He climbs onto the bed behind me. Strong arms around my breasts, careful but firm, pulling my back tight against his chest. His other hand splays wide over my belly again, holding me like he’s anchoring both the baby and me to him.

“Gonna fuck you just like this,” he growls right against my ear. “Deep and slow so you feel every inch of who owns you now.”

He lines up and pushes in with one long, thick slide. I moan loudly as he stretches me perfectly. The angle is everything. He starts to move, hips rolling in a steady, powerful rhythm while his hand stays glued to my belly.

“Say it,” he demands, voice rough. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I gasp. “The club. You.”

“Damn right.” He thrusts deeper, still controlled, so nothing jars my belly. “This cunt is Ruthless property now. Just like that baby growing inside you. Gonna fill you up again and again. Breed you full until there’s no question whose you are.”

His words push me over the edge again. I come hard around his cock, clenching and pulsing while he keeps that deep, claiming pace. He curses low and buries himself to the hilt, coming with a guttural groan as he pulses hot and deep inside me.

We stay locked together, breathing hard. His cock still twitches inside me. His hand never leaves my belly.

My voice comes out quiet. “This complicates things.”

Jax chuckles against my neck, lazy and certain. He presses a slow kiss there. “Good complications.”

I lie against his chest with his hand still spread protectively over the swell of my belly.

The full weight of tonight settles into my bones. I stood in front of the entire club and accepted permanent ownership. Same hour I ended up in the VP’s bed letting him suck my swollen tits until I shook, letting him worship every pregnant curve, letting him fuck me deep and claim me completely.

It’s not complicated anymore. It’s done.

Chapter Eighteen

MIRA

The morning after the claiming, the compound feels different.

Not warmer. Not softer. The fence line is still the fence line. The gate is still manned, Doc still wants to see my blood pressure twice a week, and none of the rules Cade laid down the first night have been quietly revised. But something in the texture of the place has shifted, the way a room shifts when the furniture has been rearranged, and you can’t immediately identify what moved, but your body knows it before your eyes do.

A prospect holds the main building door open when he sees me coming across the yard. Not pointedly, not with any performance of deference, just the natural movement of someone who knows where another person sits in the order of things and adjusts accordingly. Ghost nods when I pass him at the gate, a short downward movement of his chin that he didn’t offer me last week and offers me now without appearing to notice the difference.

I notice the difference.

I’m no longer something being assessed. I have a status, and the status has weight, and I’m still working out what to do with that, but I feel it in every interaction I have on Wednesday morning, and I file it carefully and keep moving.

What I notice most, walking back from Doc’s clinic at half past ten with my jacket collar turned up against the cold, is the absence.

No message from Viktor. Reeve mentioned it at breakfast, briefly, without emphasis. No encrypted channel activity since Cade’s single response over a week ago. No new vehicle on the rural road feed. No insurance letter, no supplier cancellation call, no financial flag, nothing that traces back to the Cyprus shell company or the Limassol attorney or any of the other threads Reeve has been pulling at since the first week.

Ten days of escalating pressure and then, in the hours since the claiming, nothing.