Jag wanted to growl and punch his fist through a wall. Instead, he snapped his response every time one of his brothers dared to say anything to him.

He was supposed to be over at Ivy’s, filling his belly with her surprisingly good cooking and draining his balls like he did last night. But he wasn’t.

Fuck no.

Diesel called in everyone for a late Sunday church meeting. And when he wanted everyone, he meant everyone. Even the fresh, wet-behind-the-ears prospects. Their Sergeant at Arms wasn’t fucking around.

Pierce pounded the gavel on the bar top and all heads turned toward their current president.

Though, Jag wanted to rip the man’s throat out for letting Ivy go into the Knights’ territory alone.

Rip it out and then shit down it.

He turned his head to where Zak stood, leaning against one of the walls, arms crossed over his chest, watching Pierce carefully. Jag caught his attention and Z did a chin lift his direction. In answer, Jag tilted his head toward the front of the clubhouse and his cousin just did a little shake of his head.

Now was not the time to take Pierce out as head brother.

But that day was coming.

It certainly was.

Zak needed to take his rightful place back at the head of the table. And Pierce wasn’t gaining any loyalty by making club decisions without bringing it to a vote.

Doing shit like that was anarchy.

Anarchy could implode a club. Destroy a brotherhood.

“Lookin’ a little edgy there, brother,” Ace murmured low as he sidled up to Jag.

Jag just grunted. Last thing he wanted to do was tell him the reason why.

“Just so you know, I sometimes leave the shop late. Know there’s some stray cats around, but damn, last night I heard some shit that certainly wasn’t anythin’ of the feline variety.”

Oh shit.

“Actually was a little disturbin’ since she’s my niece an’ I gotta look at her in the eyes almost every day.”

Jag stared at his boots, his jaw tight. “Gonna get my own place.”

“Yeah? When?”

“Soon as I get enough scratch.”

“Gotta bike to build first.”

That was true. “Yeah.”

“In the meantime, I’ll text you when Dex an’ I are clear of the shop. Don’t wanna hear that shit again. Got me?”

Jag finally looked Ivy’s uncle in the eye since he had a lot of respect for the older man and Ace deserved all his attention. “Got you.”

“Rather it be you than any of those others, but don’t wanna hear it, brother. An’ Dex don’t wanna hear his sister squealin’ like a stuck pig, either.”

“Got you,” Jag said more firmly, hoping Diesel would soon start talking so they could get off this subject.

With relief, Jag heard Diesel bark out, “Listen up. Been takin’ it in stride, but can’t do that anymore. Gonna look weak, vulnerable if we do. Gotta hit fast an’ hit hard. Leave a mark. Teach a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

Hoots and hollers rose up from the brothers and prospects standing in the common area and hanging up by the club bar.

Diesel continued, his words projecting through the large room, “Gotta keep vigilant. Two things your enforcer can’t stand... The Warriors touchin’ our bitches or our sleds. We let shit go for too long now.”

The sound of boots stomping on the concrete floor became deafening.

Diesel’s powerful deep voice rose above. “All right, fuckers, listen up. No matter what, gotta remember where we came from, where we’re goin’. Don’t want anyone else catchin’ a murder wrap an’ endin’ up in Greene. But gotta make a statement. One that’s gonna last.”

“Down and dirty ‘til dead!” Nash screamed their motto at the top of his lungs nearby. Hoots, piercing whistles, and “fuck yeahs” followed it.

Adrenaline flowed through the room and anger electrified the air around them. The excitement of getting vengeance on the Warriors was spreading.

“Gotta bead on a place in South Side where a few of ‘em’s been hangin’. A couple of us gonna go in colors flyin’, let ‘em know what an’ who hit ‘em. Some of you need to sit tight, sit watch on the businesses, on the families. Hawk will let you know your place. No lip, no shit. Do whatcha told.”

“Consequences for those who don’t,” Pierce added, standing on a chair next to Diesel, surveying the crowd. “Keep your shit tight.”

“Who’s goin’ to South Side?” Abe, one of the prospects, asked loudly. He looked ready for a challenge. But the guy was still young and green. He’d end up babysitting one of the businesses or have to head out to Ace’s farm to protect Ace’s family.

“None of you pencil dicks. You turds are a step above pussy. Short one prospect, so you all will get watch somewhere.”

“I’m goin’,” Jag muttered. It was his bike that was trashed, so there was no way Diesel was going without him. He was sure Zak would go since it was his ol’ lady that was almost snatched recently.

And he expected both of Ace’s sons, Diesel and Hawk, to head the ass kicking operation. They never backed away from a fight. Hell, Diesel started fist fights as early as kindergarten. He got tossed from school after giving some kid a black eye for breaking a little girl’s crayon. Luckily, the teacher stopped him before he shoved the broken crayon up the kid’s asshole.

The only person D was ever afraid of was Ace. And that changed when Diesel outgrew and outweighed him at sixteen. Ace had to start using his wits instead of a cuff upside the head to get his son in line.

Diesel had a good head on his shoulders, but he was also a hot head. And he enjoyed someone challenging him. Facing off with some Warriors would be pure pleasure for him.

“’Nuff talkin’. See Hawk for your task. Z, Jag, Dex, meet me an’ Pierce at the table.”

Zak cupped his mouth and yelled, “Down and dirty...”

A chorus rose up. “’Til dead!”

“Fuck yeah,” Jag murmured as he made his way to the club’s meeting room. If he wasn’t going to get to eat Ivy’s food or pussy tonight, at least he’d get the chance to bash some Warriors’ brains.

* * *

They did end up taking a prospect with them. They decided on Abe since he was good with his fists and smart to boot. They left him standing guard at the bikes around the corner from the Gypsy Rose, an Irish pub in the city where Diesel had gotten word that some of the Warriors had been hanging out.

Warming stools and wreaking havoc in a pub that wasn’t theirs. But that was typical Warrior mentality... wanting or even taking something that didn’t belong to them.

They had noticed a line of eight bikes with no prospect guarding them. Stupid fools.

As nomads they had no home territory, which was the reason they wanted Shadow Valley so badly. They thought since they were the Shadow Warriors, they belonged in the town whose name started with Shadow and where DAMC had planted roots back in the early seventies. The fledgling outlaw club didn’t ride through town until two years later. But founders Doc and Bear weren’t giving up their home base without a fight.

And here they were over forty years later—not to mention, numerous deaths—and the Warriors were still being a thorn in the Angels’ side. Tonight it was DAMC’s turn to stick them where it hurts. Draw first blood. Though, it probably wouldn’t be last blood.

Before going to prison, Zak fought hard to take the club all legit, and they were still headed in that direction, but shit like this kept dragging them backward.

Z had good reason to want vengeance, even though he was still on parole. Not only did a Warrior try to snatch Sophie right in front of him, during daylight on a public street, but they had set him up years ago. He had been charged with felony possession when they planted a chemical used to make meth in his apartment at the time. He did ten years for a crime he didn’t commit.

Ten fucking years. Parole or not, Jag would want to bash their heads in for that alone. He patted one of the back pockets in his jeans to check for his brass knuckles and the other to make sure his knife was still there after the ride over on a borrowed bike.

He had hated every second of being on a bike that wasn’t his. Didn’t feel natural. But every mile reminded him of who forced him onto that sled. Every time he pictured his baby in pieces he got a little hotter under the collar, his grip got tighter on the throttle, and his jaw turned to stone.

Now he was raring to go.

Diesel was taking point with Pierce following up at the rear as they entered the dive bar. Dex spit on the rusty metal sign out front that stated, “No colors allowed.”

He doubted the Warriors removed their cuts before going inside, either.

The pub was narrow but deep. Not a lot of room to move if shit got ugly.

And it was going to get ugly. Guaranteed. Because of how narrow the bar was, Jag couldn’t see shit with Hawk and Diesel’s massive bodies taking lead.

But Jag didn’t miss when the two men tending bar ducked for cover.

Smart.

Jag, Dex, and Zak kept their heads on swivels, eyeing customers sitting at both the bar and at a few of the high tables along the dark, dank walls.

“Warriors?” Jag heard Diesel grumble.

“Upstairs,” someone said and then rushed past them to escape the upcoming mayhem.

“Probably know we’re here by now, not good to head single file up those narrow steps. Could pick us off one at a time,” Zak said, his hand planted on Hawk’s shoulder.

Without looking behind him, Diesel grunted. Jag figured D was ready to run upstairs and take on all eight of their rivals single-handedly. Though, they might end up with a dead enforcer.

“D, think hard on that,” Hawk said to his brother.

Diesel grunted again.

“Smarter to wait an’ let them come down those steps. Be at an advantage. Can’t wait up there forever.”

Jag waited for D’s answering grunt, but surprisingly none came. He must be considering Hawk’s suggestion.

“How ‘bout I go up there an’ throw them down the stairs one at a time.”

That would be effective, too. As long as the Warriors didn’t plug him full of holes first. Diesel was tough, but he wasn’t tougher than a bullet.

None of them were, so they had to play it safe.

Diesel swung a meaty hand out toward the swinging door behind the long bar. “Dex, make sure there’s no other way down.”

Dex nodded and made his way through the door, disappearing. He was back in less than a minute. “Nothin’ back there but roaches an’ shit I wouldn’t feed a dog.”

More patrons pushed past them in their effort to escape the pending conflict. The next few minutes pretty much cleared the bar. One guy was passed out in the corner, his hand still wrapped around what looked like warm, flat ale.

Diesel went over and unplugged the old jukebox that was along the back wall by the stairs. When he straightened up, he raised his face and bellowed, “Ain’t waitin’ all day, motherfuckers! Bring it!”

As one, his brothers’ spines stiffened, their shoulders straightened, their stances widened. There was no mistaking the stomp of biker boots rushing down the old, creaky wood steps.

They were coming in hot.

Amazing how a man as large as D could flatten himself against a wall and make it look easy. As soon as the first Warrior hit the landing, Diesel’s hand snaked out to grab the older, beer-bellied biker by the neck and he flung him in a half circle until the man’s head cracked into the corner of the jukebox. Blood ran over the glass and onto the floor as the guy’s forehead split wide open. With an elbow to the kidney, Diesel took him down as easy as swatting a damn fly.

Jag smiled and so did the others, Hawk met the next one before the bottom of the landing. Both of them began to grapple and they tumbled onto the pub’s filthy floor, rolling and getting in a punch whenever and wherever they could.

Pierce rushed up the two steps to the landing, then ducked as he shouted a warning. The shot made them all flinch and duck for cover as one bullet, then another struck the wood panel too close to Pierce’s head.

Pierce leapt off the landing and hugged the wall, his chest heaving as he sucked in oxygen. He pulled a revolver from under his cut at the back of his jeans and glanced down at the heavyset biker that Diesel was finishing off with a few kicks to the ribs.

Stools crashed to the ground as Hawk and the Warrior continued to roll across the floor, bumping into the high tables, knocking over abandoned beers, mugs shattering as they hit the floor.

Diesel paused, looked up, held up a hand, signaling them all to wait and not rush in.

Jag pulled the switchblade from his back pocket, engaging the blade. He got close to Pierce.

He tried to push past the urge to slice their president’s throat right then and there. But it wasn’t worth it. They had a bigger fish to fry in this fight. They could deal with Pierce at a later date that didn’t involve bloodshed.

With a last glance at Hawk and the now bloodied Warrior grappling on the floor, Jag took a flying leap on top of the jukebox and waited for the gun to appear near the stair banister. And predictably, it did.

Jag kicked the banister, crashing it into the gun and the hand holding it. The gun bounced down the steps, Dex ran to snag it and cleared the stairway in a flash. He checked the clip, then pointed to the ceiling, his eyes on Zak. Z nodded and everyone, except Hawk, who was still wresting on the floor with a Warrior, covered their ears as Dex shot up into the ceiling.

Even with plugging his ears with his fingers, Jag’s head rang from the close shots. But shooting up through the floor had the remaining Warriors running down the steps. Dex clocked one of them in the back of the head with the Warrior’s own handgun, knocking him down and out on the stairway which tripped the next one, bringing him to his hands and knees. Jag snagged a nearby heavy beer mug and clobbered the Warrior over the head, knocking him out cold. He gave him a good kick to the gut as he waited for the next one to come down the steps.

He tackled the next one, slugging the guy in the face, but before he could do it again, he received a kick in the ribs from one of the downed, but apparently, not out, Warriors. He grunted in pain, elbowed the first guy in the ribs, then punched him in the face again. The guy went down like a bowling pin.

Jag shook out his hand and glanced toward Hawk, who was now wiping at his bloodied nose with the sleeve of his shirt and straddling a knocked out Warrior beneath him.

Five down, three to go.

“Get the fuck down here,” Diesel shouted up the steps.

“Go fuck yourself,” came the answering shout.

“You gonna pussy out?”

Diesel got no answer.

“Yep, you gonna pussy out. Jump outta window if you ain’t gonna face us head on.”

“Fuck you!”

Diesel grinned and slapped a palm to his chest. “Wounded by that.”

Zak and Hawk chuckled.

“Think 5-0’s en route yet?”

“Probably,” Diesel grunted. “Gotta finish what we started before they get here.” His eyes swung to Zak. “You’re on parole, need to get the fuck outta here.” He moved his gaze to Jag. “Go. Take Z. Leave Abe with the sleds. We’ll clean up here.”

Cleaning up didn’t mean with mop and bucket. It meant leaving a mark on any Warriors who still stood vertical. And maybe even some that didn’t.

D or Hawk wasn’t going to leave without making sure the job they came for wasn’t completed.

“Sure?” Jag asked. He hated to miss the rest of the fun. He still owed them a lot more for his bike being totaled.

“Yeah. Fuck up their sleds on the way out.”

Jag smiled and nodded. He’d enjoy doing that for sure. “One more for good measure, though.” He said as he heard another warrior coming down the steps slowly and trying to be quiet, though the old steps were nothing but.

Diesel’s arm snaked out again around the broken banister, snagged the unseen as of yet Warrior and pulled him down the remaining steps, flinging him in Jag’s direction. “There you go.”

The Warrior couldn’t stop his momentum before Jag clocked him in the eye, then the chin. He kicked him in the shin, taking the biker down to knees where Jag kneed him in the face. Blood spurted from the guy’s nose and split lip and before he collapsed like dead weight to the floor. Jag booted him in the chest, making the now unconscious biker smash into a table.

“That’s what you get for fuckin’ up my sled, motherfucker.”

Jag wiped his bloody hand off on the Warrior’s cut and then straightened, meeting his cousin’s gaze. “That’s for Sophie, too,” Jag muttered under his breath. “Let’s get the fuck outta here before you get busted for violatin’ parole.”

“Wish we had one of Rig’s rollbacks with us so we could plow their bikes over.”

“Yeah, but we don’t,” Jag said, a last look at the brothers they were leaving behind as they made their way to the front door.

“Stay safe,” Zak yelled, flipping them a two-finger wave over his shoulder.

Jag pushed through the pub door and sucked in the fresh night air. He could hear sirens screaming from a distance. “Don’t gotta lot of time, let’s do this.”

They both kicked at the end bike and watched it topple into the one next to it. And one by one they fell like dominoes. Their actions wouldn’t do enough damage to the Harleys, not nearly like the damage done to Jag’s bike, but it made them feel better. A few scratches and dents were better than nothing.

It was more of a message than anything else.

When the last one fell, Zak and Jag looked at each other and nodded, then hightailed it back to their bikes and Abe.

“Stay here. Call me if shit goes sideways. Got me?” Zak told him.

Abe nodded. “Got it covered.”

That boy would make a good fully patched member one day.

If it was up to Jag, he’d patch him in before Rooster or Weasel, even though he had been a recruit for just a fraction of the time.

“Saddle up, brother. Let’s ride,” Jag said to Zak. The roar of their straight exhaust pipes rose into the night and they rode back to Shadow Valley.

* * *

Ivy flung open her door and stepped out, meeting Jag on the landing outside. “You know what time it is?”

Jag gently chest bumped her backwards into her apartment. “Shut up, woman. Get in the house.”

Luckily, the man’s tone didn’t match his words. And he wore a shit-eating grin. So he was lucky.

Very lucky.

She noticed the blood splattered all over him once he stepped inside and into the light.

“Don’t need you harpin’ like a nag if I’m out takin’ care of shit.” He laid a sloppy kiss on her lips as he pushed past her deeper into the living room.

She spun, hands on her hips. “What kind of shit involves blood? I’m assuming that isn’t yours?”

“Fuck no.”

“What happened?”

Jag cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

“If you tell me ‘club business,’ I’m going to throw you right back out of here, you hear me?”

“You’re yellin’ in my ear, so I hear you, woman.”

She helped pull his cut off his shoulders and tossed it onto the couch. She circled, inspecting him. “Are you hurt?”

“Don’t think so.”

She grabbed his hand and lifted it, looking at his busted and bruised knuckles. “In a fight?”

“Yeah.”

Ice rushed through her veins. “Were you by yourself when this happened? Were you jumped?”

He headed back toward her bedroom. “No, baby. Shit went down with the Warriors, that’s all.”

The Warriors?

She jerked into motion and followed him. “That’s all?” she echoed as he sat on the edge of her bed and started to unlace his boots.

“Yeah. Need a shower.”

He needed more than a shower.

“You’ve got blood on your jeans, you’ve got blood on your shirt. And what are you going to wear after you shower?”

He lifted his head to stare at her. “Shoulda went back to church first.”

But he didn’t. His first instinct was to come here which made her belly warm, but her next thought turned her cold. “Are the cops going to be knocking at my door?”

“Hope not.”

“Not sure though?”

“Nope.”

She sighed and planted her hands on her hips. “This is not a way to convince me to become your ol’ lady.”

He ignored that. “Ace downstairs watching the store?”

Ivy tilted her head. “He called me and said he’d be down there doing paperwork. That’s not normal on a Sunday night. Figured he just needed to get away from his mother for a bit.” Then it hit her. “This all had to do with whatever went down with the Warriors, didn’t it?”

“Baby.”

“Fucking Jag.” She shook her head. “It’s this shit... This... And everyone wondered why I would date anyone but bikers. Seen this shit all my life, Jag. Seen your father and my grandfather go to prison. Seen Zak go to prison. D’s been shot at several times. Don’t know if I can handle this kind of stuff happening to a man I allow in my bed. Allow in my heart. Actually considering having children with. I don’t want to be a mother raising my kids on my own because their father is in jail or dead. I can’t do it, Jag. I can’t.”

“You’re DAMC, would never raise our kids on your own.”

“Oh, well, that makes it all right then,” she said bitterly, swiping at a lone tear that ran down her cheek. It was stupid to cry over children they hadn’t even had yet. “Long as I have DAMC raising my kids, everything will be all right then,” she said, the sarcasm thick in her voice.

“They’re fuckin’ family, Ivy. You know it. Family takes care of each other.”

“Yeah, like Mitch and Axel. They have Zak’s back, now don’t they?”

“Different, baby.”

Maybe so. But she saw how Zak’s exile from the rest of his immediate family wounded him deep. He might not admit it out loud, but she’s known him all her life, and they had always been close. Watching him hurt made her hurt for him.

“Speaking of family...” She grabbed her cell phone off her nightstand.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Texting Dex to bring you a change of clothes.”

“Dex is busy, don’t bug ‘im.”

“Doing what?”

“Baby,” was all he said, shaking his head and yanking one boot off then the other, tossing them to the side.

“Jag.”

“Dex ain’t bringin’ me clothes,” he muttered.

“Why?”

Ivy moved directly in front of him and after he yanked off his socks, he straightened up, meeting her gaze.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her in between his spread thighs.

“Was he involved in this, too?”

When he didn’t answer, she realized more than a couple of the brothers had been involved in whatever went down tonight.

She pulled away from him. She needed distance. “You have to be honest with me, or this isn’t going to work,” she warned him.

He sighed, leaned his elbows on his knees and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck.

“Baby...”

Ivy raised a palm toward him. “Fine. I’ll let what I just said sink in. I’m going to go run you a bath. If you were in a fight, you’re going to be sore. You’ll need to soak.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. She hit the hall bathroom, turned on the spigot and tested the water until it was the perfect temp. She closed the drain plug before heading back into her bedroom where Jag was now sitting on her bed only wearing his tattoos.

Every time she saw him like that, she lost her breath. But this time, it was due to the bruise that was starting to bloom over his ribs, darkening the tattoos in that area.

“Shit,” she muttered. Then her eyes dropped to the switchblade and brass knuckles he had thrown on her dresser. “Jesus, Jag.”

Those were the same ones she had discovered under his mattress back at church.

“Takin’ care of business.”

“Right.” She swung an arm toward the door. “In the bathroom. Now.”

He blinked at her bossiness. But she didn’t care.

“Now,” she repeated when he hadn’t moved.

With a groan, he stood and pushed past her, heading for the one and only bathroom in her apartment.

The tub was half full when she followed him in.

“Before you get in there, let me see your hand. I don’t want you soaking in blood.”

She turned on the warm water in the sink and grabbed both his wrists, guiding his hands under the running water.

He hissed at the sting she was sure he was feeling.

“Don’t be a pussy.”

He tugged his hands, but she tightened her grip on them as she washed away the crusty blood, seeing how bad the actual damage was.

“I guess you didn’t use those brass knuckles,” she stated.

“Didn’t get a chance.”

“Maybe that was a good thing. Anyone dead?”

“Not when I left.”

Ivy’s head jerked up, she caught his gaze and held it. “When you left? Who did you leave behind?”

“Baby...”

She shut off the sink faucet. “Oh, fuck that. Get in the damn tub and start talking.”

Jag frowned, but looked toward the tub. “You gettin’ in with me?”

“You’re way too big for me to fit in there with you.”

“Can sit on my lap.”

“Right,” she said sarcastically.

“Haven’t taken a bath since a little kid.”

“Get in.” She squeezed past him and shut off the water.

He reluctantly climbed in the tub, acting as if soaking in bathwater wasn’t manly and he didn’t want to do it.

But as soon as he sank into the warm water, he sighed and closed his eyes. “Fuck yeah,” he groaned.

Ivy squeezed some of her shampoo into her palm. “Slide down and get your hair wet.”

His eyes popped open, he glanced at her hand, then slid down the tub far enough to dunk his head. When he resurfaced, he leaned back against the tub. His eyes just followed her as she dropped to her knees, leaned in and began to scrub his hair.

“Jesus,” he whispered, his eyes closing as her fingers worked his scalp. She smiled.

“You’re going to owe me one of these,” she murmured knowing how good it felt when someone else washed your hair.

“You got it. Gonna both be naked though.”

That was fine with her.

“Dunk your head again.”

He didn’t hesitate to listen this time. When he came back up he wiped the water off his face and out of his eyes.

Goddamn, he took her breath away again. And again. Just watching him slick and sitting in her tub, made her wet and her nipples hard. She suddenly wished she had a bigger tub.

But she didn’t, so she grabbed the loofah and squeezed out a good portion of her scented body wash onto it. She dampened it and squished it until it got sudsy.

“For fuck’s sake, ’spect me to sit still while you wash me?”

“Yep,” she said then bit her bottom lip. Leaning in farther, she started wiping the loofah over his broad shoulders and down the expanse of his back that sat out of the water, then she brushed the rough loofah over his nipples.

His heated gaze followed her, but she tried to ignore it and concentrate on her task instead. But drawing the soapy loofah over his broad chest made more than her hand wet.

Leaning forward, he murmured into her ear, “Gonna smell like you, baby.”

That he was.

She dipped the loofah under the water as she worked down his tight stomach and encountered what she suspected she’d find under the soapy, opaque water.

He was as ready for her as she was for him.

He was naked and wet. She was clothed and wet. She let the loofah go, and it floated to the surface of the water as she wrapped her fingers around his slick, hard length.

She began to stroke him slowly, creating ripples at the water’s surface and when she heard a strangled noise, she looked up. His eyes were hooded, his mouth parted.

“Wearin’ too many clothes, baby.”

True. And wet, too. Her tight camisole had water spots all over it and the crotch of her boxer shorts was soaked. Though, not by bath water.

“Want me to stop, honey?”

He blew out a breath. “I tell you to stop?”

She chuckled and moved her hand faster, the water beginning to splash. “Think it’s clean yet?”

“Nope.”

“’Kay.”

His head tilted back against the shower wall and he closed his eyes, his hips rising and falling with each stroke of her hand.

“Fuckin’ baby, gonna blow my load in this water if you don’t stop.”

She ignored him and continued, watching as his jaw tightened, his brows lowered and his body tensed.

“Baby,” he moaned. Then his eyes popped open, he pushed to his feet, the water sloshing over the side of the tub and onto her. And suddenly, he was out and pinning her to the slippery, drenched bathroom floor.

He tugged her damp boxer shorts off her legs, flinging them to the side. Then he pushed up her cami, and she gasped as his mouth latched onto one of her aching nipples. He shoved a knee between her thighs, spreading her legs wide enough to take the breadth of his body.

She realized in that moment she never got him to reveal what happened earlier with the Warriors. Her mistake. His hard, wet body had been her downfall.

She dug her fingers into his dripping hair and pulled him down into a deep, thorough kiss, taking the lead, pushing her tongue into his mouth, showing him how much she wanted him right there on the bathroom floor.

His erection pressed against her inner thigh and she tilted her hips and groaned into his mouth, encouraging him to shift forward, to take her, to make her his.

He grabbed her wrists, yanking her hands from his hair and pinned them above her head with one hand. The other gripped her cheek as he pushed back against her tongue, taking the control, taking her mouth, until finally, they both had to pull away to catch their breath.

His hand slipped down over her breast, squeezing and kneading for a moment, before continuing down and finding her swollen, needy clit, so ready for his fingers, for his tongue.

But she didn’t need much prep, she was ready for him now. His slick body was all she needed for foreplay. She ached for him.

“Fuck me, Mick.”

He nipped the tender skin at the base of her throat, then stroked it with his tongue, before moving back down, flicking at one of her nipples with the tip, circling her areola.

With a gasp, her body rocked as he shifted to a seated position, he grabbed her hips and brought her down hard on his lap, impaling her. Then they both stilled, the only sound in the bathroom was dripping water and their ragged breathing.

He was so deep inside her that when he murmured, “Where I belong,” she agreed one hundred percent.

He buried his face into her neck, grabbed her ass and began to guide her up and down his shaft.

“Where I belong,” he mumbled again against her damp skin.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him as close as she could get him, as she used her knees for leverage to take over, to control the rhythm, the age-old movement of bringing two people together and making them one.

“Mick...” she whispered into the hair at the top of his head. “Could’ve lost you tonight.”

He pulled his face away from her neck enough to say, “Quiet, baby.”

“No, it’s true.”

“Quiet,” he said more firmly.

“Mick...”

“No, Ivy, enough.” He shifted them both quickly until she was again on her back and he was above her as he took over the control, slamming his cock into her as hard and fast as he could.

Showing her just how alive he was. How alive they both were at that moment.

The faster he moved, the slicker she became, meeting him thrust for thrust. Then without warning, she exploded around him, clenching down hard, arching her back, crying out his name.

His motion stuttered, and he barked out a curse, but he slowed his pace as the ripples subsided and she floated back to Earth, returned to the bathroom, to the man who knew just how to bring her back up to that peak once again.

“Gonna come soon, baby. Gonna come again?”

She struggled to answer, but he heard her and smiled down into her face.

“Nothin’ like feelin’ that hot, wet cunt squeezing my dick. An’ that little patch of red hair, that fire above your pussy makes my balls want to explode.”

She was never going to hear one romantic thought come out of that man’s mouth. But it wasn’t the words he uttered that squeezed her heart, it was the emotion in his eyes, the way he looked at her. Like she was everything to him. Like he believed with all his heart and soul that she was meant for him. That they truly belonged to each other.

Always and forever.

Everything she fought so hard to avoid, all that effort she spent resisting for years. It was all for nothing.

It should bother her.

But it didn’t.

She should feel defeated.

But she didn’t.

Jag felt right and she no longer wanted to resist or fight him. She truly opened herself up to the possibility of spending the rest of her life with this man. Taking the shit that came along with the good. Dealing with club business in another capacity. As his ol’ lady.

As the mother of his children.

Even as his wife.

“Baby...”

Not realizing her eyes were closed, she opened them and met his dark, worried gaze. “Yeah?” came out on a sigh.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled and her heart clenched in response. “Good. Gonna bust a nut soon. Gonna come?”

“Yeah.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, angling them just right so he hit that perfect spot.

Within seconds, the waves of another orgasm rolled over her, dragging him under with her. He captured her lips as he came, his cock pulsating as he held himself still and deep inside her.

He broke the kiss, pressed his forehead to hers. “Love ya, baby.”

Fuck. He just slayed her.