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OVER TWO HUNDRED BRIKKEN Motorcycle Club members rode behind Chief. He signaled and led his men onto the exit leaving Interstate 5. Freedom outside the prison after four years keyed him up.

He had his club.

He had his motorcycle.

He had his boys.

In ten minutes, he'd ride onto Brikken property and have his woman. Only then would he allow himself to believe he stood on the outside of solitude and regained all that he controlled, and Rollo had built.

The tension in his body turned to need the further away from the prison he rode, a power to gather everyone around him and remind them who they belonged to foremost on his mind. The responsibilities he'd handled from afar were now in front of him.

He would retaliate for the mistakes he'd made and come out on top.

Tacoma's finest in blue sprinkled themselves along his route to the clubhouse. Aware of the possibilities of targeting, he kept his club in line, setting the speed, the laws, the passive riding.

On the outskirt of town, out of the city police jurisdiction, he opened the throttle, knowing the skeleton crew left behind would make the road safe for traveling, and that the sheriff's department was kept busy in another area of Pierce County.

The six-foot, sheet-metal fence surrounding Brikken MC property came into view, a little more rusted but still standing. He glanced in his side-view mirror at his men, shifted, and returned his gaze to the gate, pushed open by two prospects who'd come to Brikken during his absence and he hadn't met in person but knew their backgrounds.

Shore, coming in from the Washington coast area, and Cash, who showed up knocking with two bucks in his pocket, lifted their fists in the air in solidarity with Brikken. He rode through the opening, his gaze going to the crowd in front of the clubhouse. His eyes drawn naturally to Johanna, he spotted her standing in the front, and took in everything about her.

Wearing small-ass shorts, a sleeveless top with strings coming from the center of her chest and tied around her neck, she stood with her hip out in high heels, and her hands pressed flat against her stomach as if to contain her emotions. He backed his Harley into the first position in the line and shut off his bike.

His body continued vibrating, no longer from the ride. He was home.

Tearing off his helmet, he hung the bucket on the handlebar and strode forward. Out of respect, his men waited until he greeted his woman.

Johanna — staring at him, overwhelmed with what she was seeing.

He'd changed. At forty-nine years old, doing hard time, he'd accepted the changes. The gray in his hair took up more property on his head every fucking day. His ungroomed beard, longer, more ragged. His soul more scarred and hardened.

With softness waiting twenty-feet in front of him, he walked straight to Johanna and stopped in front of her. The lightest brown eyes held his gaze, and he absorbed all the emotions going through her. He'd seen those eyes every damn time he blinked over the last four years.

Her gaze dropped to his beard, and a shiver rolled through her. It was too much. Too fucking much.

"Take it," he said, croaking out the first sentence he'd spoken all day.

Johanna lifted her hands and slowly slipped them into his beard until she cupped his face. Her mouth opened and a soft gasp escaped her lips. He watched her eyelids flutter as she fought getting what she needed after four long years. He scooped her up, unable to hold back any longer.

She dove her head into his neck, wrapping her legs around him. Palming the cushion of her ass, he carried her through the crowd, kicked open the door, and walked straight upstairs to his old bedroom. The scent of warm vanilla sugar intoxicated him.

He sat on the bed with her on his lap and wrapped his arms around her. Whether she shook or he shook, it only mattered that he held her. He was home where he could take care of her his way.

"You came back to me," she whispered.

Her fingers pulled his beard in her need to touch his face. He slipped his hands under her shirt and absorbed the warmth of her skin through his palms.

He'd been cold every day in prison. She was the first warm thing he'd touched in too long.

From the day he found Johanna, she'd willingly stayed with him. Being a dad, he knew an eight-year-old kid should've fought, screamed, cried if a stranger stepped into the room —especially looking like him. Whatever happened in her life prior to that night, she'd been conditioned to accept strangers, to subserviently do what others said. She'd been a little girl who had been taught that her fears were not her own, and she'd buried them deep to make her fucked up life easier.

He'd been the only person in her life that came and settled her fear. He would never leave her.

"You feel good." He inhaled deeply. "Smell fucking good."

His cock, harder than ever, pounded uncomfortably trapped in his jeans. His need to enjoy holding her overrode his need for release.

He brought his hands up and cradled her head, pulling her face out of his neck. "Missed you, bug."

The wetness painting her cheeks wretched his gut. He'd broken her when he'd been hauled away and then forbid her to come see him.

There were no sobs moving her body, no sound out of her mouth, no change of expression on her face. Only tears rolled from her eyes.

He brought her forward and kissed the evidence of his obliteration from her face. The salty truth tainted his tongue.

"I'll make things right with us," he whispered, lingering his lips near her mouth.

She turned slightly, kissing him softly, almost shyly. His balls constricted. The hesitation reminding him of the first time she'd tried to kiss him at sixteen years old.

He held still, letting her take his bottom lip, his top lip, getting comfortable with him all over again.

The whole time, she held on to his beard.

Her sweet breath fanned his face the deeper she gained her confidence. He ached. The pain a pleasure after so long.

Unable to sit still, he cupped his hands under her bare thighs and rubbed. Her skin the softest thing against his for four long years.

Johanna covered his mouth. Watching her the whole time, he caught the moment her eyes closed at the touch of her tongue against his. He let her stroke him until he no longer could sit back and wait.

He brought up his hand, cupped the back of her head, and kissed her deeper, swallowing her moan. The sound echoed in his chest, and he brought her body tight against him with his other hand, taking sanctuary of finally being with her.

She pulled her hands from his beard. The force took his mouth off her, and he jerked back and claimed her lips once again, not done by a long shot.

Johanna tugged at his vest, pulling and moaning her frantic frustration. He slipped his hand under her hair and undid the string at the back of her neck, and ripped her shirt down over her breasts.

She'd come to him braless. Lifting her, he stood, turned, and stood her on the top of the bed, breaking their kiss. His gaze level with her breasts, he unbuttoned her shorts and took them and her panties down to her ankles. Holding her hips, he dove forward, tonguing between her legs.

Johanna widened her stand, holding on to his hair, pressing his head forward to her sex. He separated the folds of her pussy and smashed his face against her, sucking, licking, nibbling. Her arousal stroking his senses, he needed deeper.

He hooked his hands around the back of her thighs and pulled her feet out from under her. She landed on her back on the bed, and he settled between her legs, fucking her with his tongue.

Johanna pulled his hair and bucked underneath him. He planted a hand on her stomach, pinning her to the bed. Her legs loosened and widened. Rubbing his beard against her, he made her quiver.

"Chief," she whined.

Fuck, he missed that neediness she only gave him. So damn strong and independent, except when it came to him.

She fisted his hair, half pulling, half pushing. His cock thundered for attention, and he loved having control over his body. He wanted the wait. He wanted the power. He wanted her to come on his face.

He lapped his tongue over her clit. Four years. Four fucking years.

A loud moan filled the room. He slid one hand under her ass, lifting her higher while holding her stomach, keeping her still. A little wild thing, she moved as if she wanted to cover the whole bed and he already looked forward to the next time they had sex because he planned to let her go crazy on him.

"I can't. I can't. I can't...." She writhed on the bed. "I can't stop."

Her body convulsed in pleasure, trapping his head between her legs. He slowed and softened his tongue, letting her ride her orgasm until her legs fell away to the sides and she settled on the mattress.

He lifted his head and stood. Taking off his vest, he ripped off his shirt and rubbed the material all over his head, his face, his beard, drying her juices.

Her fingers slid down his stomach. He tossed the towel and gazed down at Johanna on her knees in front of him. His chest seized, and he exhaled loudly.

"Damn, bug." He stroked her cheek with his hand. "Do you know what you're doing?"

She lowered her gaze to his zipper and concentrated on undoing his jeans. "I know everything. I just don't have any experience doing most things because you've been gone."

His cock grew inches. Fucking inches.

Because he'd had her followed by his MC brothers while he was away, he knew without a doubt she hadn't slept with anyone. The only place she was allowed to roam by herself was at the clubhouse because his men were afraid of being killed for touching her.

"Give me a few seconds of lovin', bug." He grabbed his cock when she tugged his jeans, protecting his hardness from getting caught in the material. "But, when I come, I want inside you."

She braced her hands on his thighs and leaned forward, stopped, and then leaned back and eyed his cock again. He hadn't jerked off in days. The damn thing slapped his stomach.

"Bring it down to your mouth." He held her head.

She wrapped her fingers around him and lowered his cock. His toes curled in his boots at having someone else touch him after so damn long.

Her tongue came out and wet her lips before she opened her mouth. Her serious expression amused him as she aimed for him in her innocence.

She stopped before making contact and flicked her gaze up at his face. "I dreamed about doing this," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She shrugged and a smiled curved her lips. "I swallowed. In my dream. Just in case you're wondering."

"I'll keep that in mind for later," he muttered, putting his hand over her hand and bringing her mouth back to his cock.

The moment her lips closed around him and her tongue stroked him, he knew he wouldn't last.

One stroke of her tongue.

One suck from those lips.

When she put those talents together, he pulled out of her mouth and slid his hands under her armpits, putting her on the bed. He grabbed a condom out of the nightstand and rolled it on his dick, and laid down on top of her.

"Spread your legs." He rubbed the head of his cock over her pussy, letting her wetness lubricate him.

She gave him extra room, and he pressed into her in sweet torture. Staring down into her face, he caught the slight flinch as his size pushed its way in after a long dry spell. His arms trembled. It took all of his strength not to nail her to the bed.

Fully seated inside of her, his heart pounded. Everything he'd done, he'd done for her. He'd go through hell or a lifetime in prison to make sure she understood that she was wanted and loved.

Her gaze intensified. She stroked his beard and whispered, "You've done me. Now, do you, Chief."

Without blinking, he moved. Out, in, a little harder, a little faster each time. Blood rushed from his head as if strangled and he fucked her hard, riding her body. His ball sac constricted in pleasure and he exploded, sweet relief spreading through him, taking the rest of his control.

Holding himself still, he couldn't hold himself up any longer and rolled, taking her with him until she laid on top of him with his cock still inside of her.

Her breasts bare, her pussy embracing him, she planted her hands on his chest and looked over his body. He watched her inspecting him while catching his breath. When she finished checking out his upper body, she looked over her shoulder at his lower half before bringing her gaze back to his eyes.

"It's hard to believe you're here." She swallowed hard. "You're okay? No injuries, no new scars."

"I'm good, bug." He rubbed her thighs. "Better than good, I'm back where I belong."

"I don't want to leave this room and share you with the others. Ever."

He lifted her off him and removed the condom. "Give me fifteen minutes to speak to the club and then we're going home, and I don't plan on leaving the house until we talk about everything that has happened in four years."

She moved off the bed and grabbed her panties. "Do you have to talk to the club alone or can I go with you?"

Johanna shimmied into her panties and grabbed her shorts. Her hurry to dress spoke of her desire not to leave him. He'd give her that.

He wiped himself off on his dirty shirt and tossed it to the corner of the room. "Don't plan on letting you out of my sight for a long time, bug. Need to touch my boys. Look my men in the eyes. Take in all of Brikken and pay respect to what Rollo gave me. I want you with me, and then we'll ride home."

"Home," she said, smiling.

Slipping on his vest, he took in her happiness. She looked like she'd been thoroughly fucked and his cock responded again. He needed to get her out of here so he could slip back between her legs.

"Ready?" he asked, going for his belt and coming up empty. When he'd received the bag of items he had on when they stripped him down to serve his sentence, his belt never made it in the bag.

"Just a second." She slipped her hand into her front pocket and pulled out a hair band. "Can I?"

His throat constricted and his eyes burned. He nodded and sat on the bed. She crawled on the mattress and kneeled behind him, detangling the ratted mess on his head, and as her fingers worked diligently separating the strands to braid his hair, he closed his eyes to hide the emotions threatening to overtake him.