The bed moved. Sydney rolled onto her back and opened her eyes as the small lamp on the nightstand came on. She blinked rapidly as Jett walked to the window in his boxers. She long ago became accustomed to seeing him in his underwear.

While she slept in one of his T-shirts and a pair of her well-worn sweatpants that were a hand-me-down from one of her foster brothers two years ago, she accepted that Jett acted and said what he wanted without any thought to her comfort.

They were different in that aspect. She was highly aware of how she looked and made sure he never caught her changing her clothes or naked after a shower. Jett went about life not bothered about stripping off his clothes in front of others, no matter if she was in the room or he was talking to one of his brothers.

Foster families always had strict rules about conduct. Jett seemed not to have any rules.

Not that she wasn't comfortable with him wearing only his boxers.

She was fascinated by all his skin, tatted in places, scarred here and there, and a chest covered in hair. Sometimes, she believed he purposely allowed her to see him with his boxers to prove that he cared about her.

But, that was silly. It was only her private wish that she was the only one who got to see that part of him. It made her feel like they were in a real relationship. He was an adult and probably stripped down in front of other women all the time.

She hadn't seen him with anyone else, but he was a man. He had to have sex.

Jett planted his hand on the wall and leaned closer to the window. The cords of muscles on his back bulged. Her stomach fluttered much like hunger.

Then, she remembered why he was up in the middle of the night.

It was Sunday, and Jett planned to ride out today before the sun came up. She sat up and pulled the covers around her waist and crossed her legs. While he was gone, he expected her to stay at Johanna and Chief's house.

Tension remained in Jett's body. She'd become used to the hardness. Even in sleep, he remained aware of what was happening around him. At first, she'd thought it was because he stayed awake to watch her, making it impossible to sneak away. But night after night, he deliberately slept while remaining conscious of what went on around him. She'd never heard of anyone capable of beating sleep before.

She stifled her yawn. Kylie always had trouble sleeping, but her difficulties were from nightmares. She couldn't remember a time when Kylie had slept soundly. Hopefully, her night terrors were going away living with Mr. and Mrs. Mathew.

"Jett?" she whispered.

He turned around. His long hair ruffled from bed hung past his shoulders. Before meeting him, she thought the perfect boy wore skater shorts and swept his hair out of his eyes. She never imaged finding herself thinking a man was cute.

She wouldn't call Jett cute at his age. She didn't know what to call him, except that she wanted to be with him because he made her feel good.

"Why do you have trouble sleeping?" she asked.

He cupped the front of his boxers. "You. You're a beautiful girl."

She dragged her gaze down his body. Her body warmed, embarrassing her. Until he drew attention to himself, she hadn't noticed he was hard.

Had she become so accustomed to that part of him pressing against her when they slept, she'd never realized how phenomenal it was that he wanted her?

Not in a creepy way either.

He'd never threatened or pushed her to do anything with him. The room warmed, and she tossed the blanket off her legs, hoping he couldn't tell that she'd thought about that part of him.

What it looked like? What it felt like?

It was the normalcy of living with him when he was hard and when he wasn't that made her suspect that there wasn't a time that he wouldn't like to use that part of himself on her. She gulped. In her.

He stepped toward the bed and sat beside her, pulling her against him and rubbing his hand along her bare arm. "I used to sleep like the dead."

Unable to shake off the nervous ball of energy in her stomach, she cuddled up against his warm body. "What changed?" She leaned her head against his chest. "It's not me, is it?"

His hand stilled. "You make me sleep better than normal."

"I don't understand."

"I went from Brikken Motorcycle Club, where I was raised in a safe environment and protected, to finding myself locked up in a state prison with men older than me at the age of twenty-five. For the first time, I learned what it felt like not to have three hundred men standing behind me when I got in a fight. Because of being Rollo's grandson and Chief's son, I already had a reputation to protect. I'm proud of where I come from, but because my last name is Stanton, it puts a target on me in prison. Men wanted to make a name for themselves or get back at Brikken knew that taking out the son destined to be the next president of the club would also hurt Chief, making the club weaker." He inhaled deeply and went back to rubbing her arm and holding her closely. "I learned I only had myself to rely on, and I did whatever I needed to do to make sure I got out of prison alive. I've taught myself to keep going, always be aware and prepared for whatever comes my way."

That's the same reason she protected Kylie. She understood that kind of responsibility. Sometimes, family came first when that's all you had left in the world.

Used to protecting himself, he killed Victor Clark without any emotions when he was attacked. She laid her hand on his thigh. He was strong like that.

She wasn't sure she would be able to kill to protect herself or Kylie. There were times when she'd thought about it, to keep Kylie safe. Seeing her sister with bruises and scared to leave the bedroom by herself made her see red. Instead, she'd been lucky that her plans to keep Kylie safe had always worked out for the best, even if she had to work harder at surviving so that Kylie could live a good life.

"Why were you sent to prison," she asked.

"That's enough talking." He patted her arm and stood. "We need to get ready. I'm riding out in two hours. Make sure you pack your duffle to go to Chief and Johanna's house."

He left the room. Several seconds later, she heard the shower come on.

Was he doing something dangerous or illegal that could send him back to prison? She had no idea what Brikken Motorcycle Club did for a living. She stood from the bed. Most of the men seemed to come and go to the clubhouse at all times.

Besides, hearing him discuss work schedules, rotations, and shipments, he spent a lot of time in the garage on Brikken property. What he and the others did inside the building was off-limits to her.

Having taken a shower before bed, she dressed, packed, and fixed them both a fried egg on toast. Spotting malted milk powder in the cabinet, she poured them both a glass of milk and added the malt. Jett's mom must've been the one that brought the groceries over when they were gone yesterday.

Jett walked into the kitchen. She pushed the plate toward him and stood at the island and ate. Glancing at the clock on the stovetop, she yawned. No wonder she was tired. It was barely after three in the morning.

Watching him drink the milk, pause, and continue drinking with a smile tugging his lips against the glass, she ducked her head and smiled. To give him a special drink, like his mom, made her happy when he was going to have a long, hard day riding.

She lifted her malted milk and drank. It really was the most wonderful drink.

He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. "Have you had sex?"

She choked, pulling the glass away from her mouth and wiped her chin. "What?"

"Are you a virgin?"

"Oh, my God," she muttered, turning away and setting her cup in the sink. He did not ask her that.

"Syd?"

Her laugh came out on the hysterical side. "Does it matter?"

"It damn well matters."

She turned and faced him. Living at the clubhouse, she'd seen the kind of women who hung around the men. She'd seen them pair off, even triple off. More than anything, she'd seen the looks passed from the women to Jett. Looks of interest.

"I doubt you ask other women that question."

"I've never lived with a sixteen-year-old or wanted someone your age." He walked around the island, hooked his finger under the waist of her jeans, and tugged her against him. "I need to know if you're ready for sex."

Her nipples constricted painfully, and she stared at his chest. Lots of girls her age had sex. A lot of foster girls at the various families she'd stayed with had come from abused homes. They viewed sex differently than her.

Then, she'd run away and worked for Victor, and there wasn't time to be with boys. She hadn't even thought of having sex. Until, lately.

"Syd?" He tilted her face. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

Her neck warmed, the heat creeping up her face. She managed a small nod.

"That a yes?"

She swallowed, knowing he expected an answer and wouldn't let her get away with silence. He would also be disappointed if she lied, and she wanted to make him happy.

"Yes," she whispered.

Pleasure passed through his gaze, and her stomach fluttered in response. Everything about him scared her to death. His size. His age. His ability to make her do anything he wanted while making her happy to please him.

She inhaled a shaky, nervous breath. While he hadn't given her a choice of living with him or sleeping in the same bed. He had given her a choice to act on her attraction to him. She knew with all her heart, he would never force her, and if they eventually have sex, it's because she wanted to do it with him.

"We'll talk about this when I get back." He lowered his head. "Give me your lips."

She stretched up on her tiptoes. She no longer puckered her lips or closed her mouth when kissing him but reached for that intimacy, that connection, to him.

His tongue slowly slipped out to meet hers. She held on to his vest, arching up to him. That overwhelming sensation that knocked her off balance grabbed hold of her, and she slipped her hands under his vest and rubbed his sides. A heaviness settled between her legs, and she squeezed her thighs together.

He pulled his mouth away from her and groaned. "Hold that feeling," he muttered, smoothing her hair out of her face.

Breathing heavily, she gasped when the front of him vibrated. He reached down and pulled out his phone. "It's Johanna. I'll talk to her while you grab your bag."

On weak legs, she walked to the bedroom and retrieved her duffle, not looking forward to being away from Jett for twenty-four hours.

Jett raised his gaze coming out of the kitchen. "Ready?"

"Yeah." She lugged the bag over her shoulder.

"Johanna wants us to stop by the store on our way over and buy some diapers. She said size two." Jett led her out of the house.

"I know which brand she uses for Stassi." She hurried to get on behind Jett and wrapped her arms around him.

With Jett and Chief gone, Johanna would be distracted by the kids. Sydney's new plan included waiting until Johanna bathed and put the kids to bed, and she'd use that time to search the house looking for a cell phone. She held on to Jett as he rode out of the driveway. She couldn't wait to hear Kylie's voice and tell her she was okay and that she'd keep trying to visit. Hopefully, Kylie's foster parents wouldn't object to phone calls until she had a better plan.

Nervousness filled her. It was the first time she'd be separated from Jett in a long time. He reached for the handlebar. Not knowing when the next time she would be alone with him, she said, "You're going to come back to me, right?"

"Yeah, Syd. I'll be back early tomorrow morning." He patted her thigh.

Many times, foster families made plans for the next day only for her to return from school and find out she was being moved to another home. "How will I know for sure you're coming back to me?"

For several seconds, Jett sat on the motorcycle looking straight ahead, his hand lazily rubbed her leg. Finally, he said, "As long as there are clouds above you, you'll know I'll come back to you."