by Joanna Wylde
“What are those?” I asked.
“What?”
“The tattoos on your shoulders. I’ve been trying to figure them out for a while now. They don’t look like anything.”
He lifted, leaning back on his elbows, and gave me a serious look.
“Sit on my hips,” he said. I raised a brow.
“You ready for seconds already?” I asked. “Or trying to dodge the question? Let me guess, you got drunk and now you can’t remember what they are?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Oh, I remember,” he said. “Go ahead, sit on me. Want to show you something.”
I looked at him suspiciously, but threw my leg over his hips. His cock rested right against my opening and I felt a flush of desire run through me. He wasn’t the only one ready for more.
“Now put your hands on my shoulders,” he said.
“What?”
“Put your hands on my shoulders.”
I did. Then it hit me.
“Holy shit, you’re such a pig!” I said, stunned. “What kind of asshole has fingerprints on his shoulders? God, are the women you screw so stupid they need a guide so they don’t fall off?”
His eyes widened, and then he started laughing. I ripped my hands away, glaring at him. I tried to get off, but he sat up and held my waist tight. Then he stopped laughing and smiled at me.
“First, some of them probably were that stupid,” he admitted. “But those are your fingerprints, babe.”
I looked at him blankly.
“You probably wouldn’t remember, but that night you had Noah?” he said. “You hunkered down on the side of the road and held my shoulders while you pushed him out.”
I realized what Ruger was saying, and I reached up, laying my fingers on the tattoos again. They fit perfectly.
“I don’t even know how to explain that night to you,” he said. “It was so intense, Soph. I had no idea what we were doing. I’ve never watched anything like it, never felt anything even close. You worked so hard to bring him to life. All I could do was hold you, hoping I didn’t fuck something up. You squeezed my shoulders so hard they hurt for days. You dug in your nails, you left bruises, the works. Christ, you were strong.”
I thought back to that night, remembering how I’d crouched on the side of the road. The pain. The fear.
The joy of holding Noah for the first time.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He snorted at me and grinned.
“You didn’t hurt me, babe,” he said. “You marked me. Big difference. That night was the most important thing that’s ever happened in my life. Holding you, catching Noah—it changed me forever. I didn’t want to forget. So when the bruises started to fade, I went and got them inked, so I couldn’t.”
“Damn,” I said, touching the spots lightly with my fingertips. “I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I felt him harden under me, and he smirked.
“Sweet enough to get me laid again?” he asked. “Because I’ve told the story to women before, and it works every fuckin’ time. Can’t get their pants off fast enough after that. Hate to think you’re the one girl who can hold out, considering it’s about you.”
I started laughing, and then he rolled me over, pinning my hands over my head. My laughter faded as his cock found my opening.
“Love you, babe,” he said, sliding slowly into me. “Promise. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I know,” I whispered back to him. “You always have been. I love you, too, Ruger. And I swear, you tell that story to any more girls, I’ll cut that ink right off you.”
“Noted,” he said with a grin.
I reached up and kissed him as he hit bottom, slowly working in and out of me, grazing my clit with every stroke. I lifted my legs to wrap them around his waist, closing my eyes against the sun and letting the sensation of his thick cock spreading me soak through my entire being.
I loved this man.
I loved how he held me, loved how he cared for my son, and loved how he always fixed whatever fucked up, horrible things went wrong in my life.
As he rocked into me gently, I could hear the guests partying down in the courtyard, music drifting upward as people shouted and cheered and made the most of what had to be one of the last warm days of the year. Maggs was down there, and Em and Picnic and Dancer and Bam Bam … It wasn’t just Ruger, I realized. All of them had helped me, even when I’d judged them for being Reapers.
But the Reapers were part of Ruger, and Ruger was part of me.
He hit particularly deep, and I started laughing.
“What the fuck?” he grunted without pausing.
“You’re a part of me,” I said, giggling.
He paused, raising a brow. Then he rotated his hips slowly and deliberately, making me gasp.
“Damned straight,” he said, smirking. I grabbed his butt, urging him to start moving again, and he didn’t complain. Within seconds I’d forgotten about the party below and focused on the sensations building inside. He moved faster, plunging into me, scooting my butt across the blanket with the force of his thrusts.
“Shit, I’m close,” I muttered.
Ruger grunted, then pulled out of me abruptly, rolling to his back and gasping for air.
“What the fuck?” I demanded.
“Want to give you something,” he said, his voice tight. I sat up and glared at him.
“No. You have the world’s shittiest timing.”
He laughed, although there was definitely a note of strain in the sound. He shook his head, sitting up and leaning over to dig through the backpack he’d brought up with us. Then he pulled it out. A black leather vest.
A vest that said “Property of Ruger.”
My mouth dropped open, and I took a deep breath.
“Ruger—”
“Listen to me first,” he said, eyes intent on my face. “You’re not from my world, so you don’t know exactly what wearing a vest like this means.”
“Okay …” I said slowly, although I couldn’t imagine anything he’d say that would make me comfortable with it.
“You look at this and see the word ‘property,’” he said. “But what it really means is you’re my woman, and I want everyone to know it. I live in a harsh world, babe. A world where bad shit happens, you’ve seen that for yourself. But no matter what goes down, my brothers have my back. This vest means you’re one of us. Those aren’t just words, Sophie. We’re a tribe, and every Reaper in the club—men you don’t even know—would die to protect a woman wearing this vest. They’d do it because they’re my brothers, and because it means more than any ring ever could in our world.”
“I don’t understand …” I murmured, trying to wrap my head around his words.
“When a man takes a woman as his property, it’s not about owning her,” he continued, eyes searching my face. “It’s about trusting her. This is my life I’m handing you, Sophie. Not just my life—my brothers’ lives, too. It means I’m responsible for everything you do. You fuck up, I’ll pay. You need help, we’re there. You’re the only woman I’ve ever met that I’d consider giving that kind of power to. Hell, I’m not just considering it, I’m desperate for you to take it. I want you to wear my patch, Soph. Will you?”
I sighed, then reached for the leather. It was warm from the sun, and I ran my fingers along it, feeling the strength of the stitching. It had been made to last, no question. I’d be able to wear it for years. Maybe even a lifetime.
I looked at Ruger, with his strong hands that had caught my son at birth, and his smile that left me breathless. I knew my answer. No need to make it too easy for him, though …
“Can I ask one thing?”
“Of course,” he said, and I thought I heard a hint of anxiety in his voice.
“Was it really necessary to stop right in the middle of sex to have this conversation? I was almost to the good part.”
He laug
hed, then shook his head.
“I made myself a promise,” he said, looking almost sheepish.
“And that was?”
“I promised myself the next time I fucked you, you’d be wearing my patch. I got distracted, though. You got really nice tits, babe.”
“You already screwed me once up here,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “Why didn’t you just finish up?”
“Because I’m a dumbass,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t know. I realized you’d be exploding around me soon, squeezing my cock like the world was gonna end, and I wanted you to wear my patch when you did it. Just sort of came to me.”
I held it up, considering it thoughtfully. Might as well torture him a bit, seeing as he’d left me hanging.
“Looks like a nice vest,” I said slowly. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Yeah, Sophie, I’m fuckin’ sure,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “So what’s it gonna be? Either you wear it and put us both out of our misery, or we both go home in pain and horny as hell. Because I’m serious. No patch, no dick.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously,” I replied. “Don’t look so surprised. You got a really nice dick, babe.”
I put on the vest, savoring the look in his eyes as he watched. It chafed my nipples a little, and I bit back a laugh. Maybe Marie could give me some pointers on dealing with that … Then he pulled me up and over his body, lifting me just enough to slide the pierced dick in question deep inside. I braced my arms on his chest and leaned down, rocking slowly as I studied his face.
“So what do you think?” I whispered.
“Like how it looks on you, Soph,” he said, smiling up at me. “Great view. Of course, wouldn’t mind seeing it from the back. You up for some reverse cowgirl action?”
“First get the job done like this,” I muttered. “Then we’ll talk about getting creative.”
Ruger smiled and reached down between us, finding my clit with his fingers.
“That a promise?” he asked.
“Hell yeah.”
Epilogue
FIVE YEARS LATER
RUGER
“I’m gonna stick it in now.”
Sophie’s voice was soft and smooth, with just a hint of laughter.
Ruger smelled her special scent and felt a shot to his groin, the same as every time he’d seen her since that first night in his apartment. She was so beautiful he could die, and he still couldn’t believe she was truly his.
But why the fuck she thought this was a good idea he couldn’t fathom. She was moving too fast. They weren’t ready, he needed her to slow down, to really think about how this would change things between them. Being part of the club had opened her eyes, but there should be limits, too.
He scowled, catching her hand and stopping her mid-motion.
“Why can’t you just stay with me? It’s always worked between us. I don’t get why I’m not enough for you.”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
“Christ, Ruger, tone back the caveman for once,” she muttered. “You know I’ve wanted to try it for a while now, and it’s not like it’s my first time. It’s not going to change anything between you and me, babe. But I need this. You want me to be happy, you always say you want me to be happy. Sometimes that means giving up a little, taking the next step. Let me be in charge for once.”
Ruger closed his eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath. Then he opened them again and gazed at the woman he loved more than anything. She grinned at him, and holy crap, he loved that grin.
“Sorry, babe,” he said, leaning forward to give her a quick peck on those soft, perfect lips of hers. He had to trust her. Ruger forced himself to pull away, taking two steps back, gravel crunching under his heels.
“Ready?” she asked. He nodded tightly.
“Okay, then I’m gonna stick it in. Promise you won’t panic?”
Ruger rolled his eyes.
“I wouldn’t panic. I’m not a fuckin’ baby, Soph. Jesus.”
She didn’t reply, but her eyes said it all, and Ruger felt a smile creep across his face.
“All right,” he admitted, holding his hands up in surrender. “You win. I’m a big whiny baby and I just can’t handle the thought of you doing anything fun without me. I never want you to have fun, I just want you barefoot and pregnant in the kitch—”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, laughing. “Now I’m really doing it, and you’re just going to have to deal with it. Stand back. I wouldn’t want my big, bad biker man getting hit by gravel or something.”
With that she slid the key into the ignition, and the red-and-black Harley softail roared to life. The look on her face was pure delight, and Ruger had to admit that the sight of her on the bike was fucking hot. He couldn’t decide if he wanted her wearing more leather for protection on the road or less, because damn, she looked good when—
He cut off that thought. He needed to focus on his woman’s safety, not her boobs.
“Be careful!” he yelled. Sophie laughed as she rolled down the driveway, then gave a shriek of delight when she hit the road and tore off.
Goddamnit.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill Horse,” Ruger muttered. He hated this. Hated it. “Kill him and that fuckin’ bitch of his … always full of great ideas. She doesn’t need her own goddamn bike.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that around Faith,” Noah said, standing next to him. “She starts dropping F-bombs at preschool, Mom’ll shit bricks.”
The kid was twelve going on thirty, and in the past year he’d started shooting up into lanky adolescence. He was already getting phone calls from girls, which gave Sophie fits. Ruger was just happy Noah took after his mom in both looks and brains. Faith sat perched on Noah’s shoulders, watching Ruger with big eyes, same as her mother’s. She gave him a heart-wrenchingly beautiful smile, then opened her mouth and spoke solemnly.
“Fuckin’ kiw Howse,” she said.
Ruger sighed, then reached for his daughter, who climbed up him like a little spider monkey. He stuck his nose into her neck, smelling her sweet, not-quite-still-a-baby scent.
“You can’t win this one,” Noah said. “You know sooner or later Faith’s gonna say something where Mom can hear.”
“I’ll just say she’s copying you,” Ruger said, narrowing his eyes. Noah laughed.
“You taught me in the first place.”
“You’re a little shit sometimes.”
“Yeah, but I’m a little shit who’s willing to throw you a lifeline,” Noah replied thoughtfully. “If she says it in front of Mom, I’ll say it’s my fault if you pay me.”
“How much?”
“Twenty bucks a pop.”
“You got a deal.”
SOPHIE
The bike roared under me and the wind danced across my face.
I loved it. I’d been practicing for a while, mostly out at Marie’s place. She’d gotten her own bike a year ago. I’d never get tired of riding behind Ruger, but I loved being on my own, too. In fact, I’d spent six months trying to convince Ruger I should get my own ride.
Stupid man was positive I’d kill myself.
Problem was, deep down inside, Ruger was sexist as shit. Actually, it wasn’t that deep—he’d always been pretty up front about it. But when he’d decided it was time for Noah to start learning on a little dirt bike, I’d had enough.
It was okay for my twelve-year-old son to ride, but not me?
Bullshit.
So earlier that week I’d announced I was buying a bike, and that he could either help me pick one out or live with what I got on my own. That lit a fire under his ass, and earlier today a friend of his delivered my pretty little Harley. Ruger didn’t like it, but at least he knew it was a decent bike in good condition.
Still, I paid for it with my own money. I wanted it to be my bike. Not that we really had “mine” or “his” after we got married, but he insisted that I keep part of
my paycheck in a separate account. I’d never said anything about it, but somehow Ruger knew—instinctively—that I needed to feel like I could take care of myself.
Having my own money helped with that.
I planned to use most of it for school for the kids, but every once in a while I treated us to something special. I’d taken him to Hawaii for our second anniversary, which had been a good investment, because I’d come home with Faith as a souvenir. I’d wondered if having a baby in the house would distance Ruger and Noah, but if anything they’d gotten closer. Every day Noah turned into more of a young man, and Ruger was a big part of that.
After a few minutes, I reached the end of the road and considered whether or not to turn back. I hadn’t really put the bike through her paces—and she was definitely a she, I felt like we were sisters already—but I knew this was killing Ruger.
I smiled, feeling just a little evil.
Part of me wanted to just take off, feel the freedom and let him dangle for a while. It’d piss him off, but seriously … angry sex with my man was pretty damned good. I toyed with the idea, but turned the bike around and headed back toward the house instead.
Baby steps.
No need to scare him too much in one day, after all.
Best to save something for tomorrow, just in case he got out of line.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Kristin Hannah, an amazing author who took time out of her own busy life to change mine. You’ll never know how much it meant to me, Kristin. Thanks also to Amy Tannenbaum, Cindy Hwang, and Uncle Ray for making this possible.
I also want to thank my online community—you are truly amazing people. Love and appreciation to Maryse (SQUEEE!), Jenny, Gitte, Angie, Lisa, Paige, Sali, Sparky, Cara, Hang, the Triple M, and the ladies of Kristin Ashley Anonymous. Special thanks to Backyard for all her support.
My writing friends are fabulous, too—I love you, Raelene Gorlinsky, Cara Carnes, Katy Evans, Renee Carlino, Kim Jones, Kim Karr, Mia Asher, and my evil sister, Kylie Scott. (Watch your back. Those koalas can’t protect you forever.)