Page 27
Story: Taken By the Outlaw
When he finally sets me down, I'm breathless, dizzy with want. "I missed you," I murmur against his jaw, nuzzling the slight stubble there.
"Three hours," he says, amusement coloring his voice. "I was gone three hours."
"Too long," I reply, not caring how needy I sound. We've moved beyond pretense, beyond games. I need him like air, like water, like the books that surround us. And he needs me just as desperately.
He brushes my hair back from my face, his touch gentler than most would believe possible for hands that have dealt so much violence. "Insatiable," he says, but the pride in his voice is unmistakable. He loves that I want him, that I crave him. That I'm his in every way.
"You made me this way," I remind him, pressing closer, feeling the hard length of him against my stomach. "Corrupted me completely."
His laugh is low, warm, secret. "Best thing I ever did."
He leads me further into the house, toward our bedroom, but pauses in the living room. "I brought you something."
My heart lifts. Another book. Clark's gifts are legendary among the crew—rare volumes hunted down and acquired by whatever means necessary, legal or otherwise. He enjoys spoiling me this way, takes pleasure in my excitement over first editions and signed copies.
But instead of a book, he presents me with a small velvet box. My breath catches. Clark has given me jewelry before—the wolf pendant, diamond earrings, a bracelet that cost more than my mother's house—but there's something different in his expression now. Something I've never seen before.
"Open it," he urges, an unusual note of uncertainty in his voice.
Inside is a ring—a stunning emerald surrounded by diamonds, set in platinum. It's breathtaking, but confusing. We're already together in every way that matters. We live as husband and wife, though without the legal documentation that would put me on the radar of authorities still looking for the missing librarian from two years ago.
"It's beautiful," I say, looking up at him questioningly. "But why?—"
"I want more," he interrupts, taking the ring and sliding it onto my finger. It fits perfectly, of course. Clark leaves nothing to chance. "I want everything, Emilia."
There's an intensity to him today, a focused purpose that makes me shiver. "You already have everything," I remind him. "You have me."
"Not everything." His hands frame my face, those blue eyes burning into mine. "I want to see you with our child in your arms. I want to see you round with my baby, growing inside you. I want that, Emilia. I want that with you."
The words send a shock through me, a thrill I wasn't expecting. We've never discussed children, never talked about a family beyond the two of us. But the image his words create—me, pregnant with Clark's child—ignites something primal inside me. Something that recognizes the rightness of it.
"A baby?" I whisper, my hand drifting unconsciously to my flat stomach.
He nods, watching me closely, gauging my reaction. "I've been trying," he admits, a hint of frustration in his voice. "For months now."
Understanding dawns. The increased frequency of our lovemaking—even more intense than before. The way he's been finishing inside me every time, grip tightening as he comes, as if he could will his seed to take root. His hovering attention to my health, my diet, my cycle.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, not angry, just curious.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I wanted to surprise you. Thought I'd just get you pregnant and present you with the fact." He shrugs, a gesture so unlike his usual confidence. "But it's not happening, and I realized—maybe you need to want it too. Maybe we both need to be trying."
The vulnerability in his admission touches me deeply. Clark Bishop, the Wolf, feared leader of the Outlaw MC, is standing before me with uncertainty in his eyes, asking if I want to bear his child.
"Yes," I say without hesitation, the desire crystallizing within me as soon as I acknowledge it. "Yes, I want that. I want your baby."
The relief and joy that crosses his face is beautiful to behold. He lifts me again, spinning me in a circle that makes me laugh with delight. When he sets me down, his expression has changed—hunger replacing relief, determination replacing uncertainty.
"Then let's not waste any more time," he growls, lifting me into his arms and carrying me to our bedroom.
He lays me on our bed—a massive four-poster where we've spent countless hours exploring each other's bodies, learning each other's desires. Where I've surrendered to him over and over, finding freedom in my submission, in his possession.
His hands are gentle but urgent as he undresses me, his eyes tracking each inch of skin revealed with possessive heat. "So beautiful," he murmurs, reverence in his voice. "And all mine."
"All yours," I agree, helping him remove his own clothes, eager to feel his skin against mine. "Always yours, Clark."
When we're both naked, he doesn't immediately cover me as he usually would. Instead, he kneels between my legs, hands caressing my stomach, my hips, my breasts.
"You'll look so beautiful," he says, voice thick with emotion. "Swollen with my child. Everyone will know just by looking at you—that you belong to me, that I've claimed you in the most fundamental way."
"Three hours," he says, amusement coloring his voice. "I was gone three hours."
"Too long," I reply, not caring how needy I sound. We've moved beyond pretense, beyond games. I need him like air, like water, like the books that surround us. And he needs me just as desperately.
He brushes my hair back from my face, his touch gentler than most would believe possible for hands that have dealt so much violence. "Insatiable," he says, but the pride in his voice is unmistakable. He loves that I want him, that I crave him. That I'm his in every way.
"You made me this way," I remind him, pressing closer, feeling the hard length of him against my stomach. "Corrupted me completely."
His laugh is low, warm, secret. "Best thing I ever did."
He leads me further into the house, toward our bedroom, but pauses in the living room. "I brought you something."
My heart lifts. Another book. Clark's gifts are legendary among the crew—rare volumes hunted down and acquired by whatever means necessary, legal or otherwise. He enjoys spoiling me this way, takes pleasure in my excitement over first editions and signed copies.
But instead of a book, he presents me with a small velvet box. My breath catches. Clark has given me jewelry before—the wolf pendant, diamond earrings, a bracelet that cost more than my mother's house—but there's something different in his expression now. Something I've never seen before.
"Open it," he urges, an unusual note of uncertainty in his voice.
Inside is a ring—a stunning emerald surrounded by diamonds, set in platinum. It's breathtaking, but confusing. We're already together in every way that matters. We live as husband and wife, though without the legal documentation that would put me on the radar of authorities still looking for the missing librarian from two years ago.
"It's beautiful," I say, looking up at him questioningly. "But why?—"
"I want more," he interrupts, taking the ring and sliding it onto my finger. It fits perfectly, of course. Clark leaves nothing to chance. "I want everything, Emilia."
There's an intensity to him today, a focused purpose that makes me shiver. "You already have everything," I remind him. "You have me."
"Not everything." His hands frame my face, those blue eyes burning into mine. "I want to see you with our child in your arms. I want to see you round with my baby, growing inside you. I want that, Emilia. I want that with you."
The words send a shock through me, a thrill I wasn't expecting. We've never discussed children, never talked about a family beyond the two of us. But the image his words create—me, pregnant with Clark's child—ignites something primal inside me. Something that recognizes the rightness of it.
"A baby?" I whisper, my hand drifting unconsciously to my flat stomach.
He nods, watching me closely, gauging my reaction. "I've been trying," he admits, a hint of frustration in his voice. "For months now."
Understanding dawns. The increased frequency of our lovemaking—even more intense than before. The way he's been finishing inside me every time, grip tightening as he comes, as if he could will his seed to take root. His hovering attention to my health, my diet, my cycle.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, not angry, just curious.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I wanted to surprise you. Thought I'd just get you pregnant and present you with the fact." He shrugs, a gesture so unlike his usual confidence. "But it's not happening, and I realized—maybe you need to want it too. Maybe we both need to be trying."
The vulnerability in his admission touches me deeply. Clark Bishop, the Wolf, feared leader of the Outlaw MC, is standing before me with uncertainty in his eyes, asking if I want to bear his child.
"Yes," I say without hesitation, the desire crystallizing within me as soon as I acknowledge it. "Yes, I want that. I want your baby."
The relief and joy that crosses his face is beautiful to behold. He lifts me again, spinning me in a circle that makes me laugh with delight. When he sets me down, his expression has changed—hunger replacing relief, determination replacing uncertainty.
"Then let's not waste any more time," he growls, lifting me into his arms and carrying me to our bedroom.
He lays me on our bed—a massive four-poster where we've spent countless hours exploring each other's bodies, learning each other's desires. Where I've surrendered to him over and over, finding freedom in my submission, in his possession.
His hands are gentle but urgent as he undresses me, his eyes tracking each inch of skin revealed with possessive heat. "So beautiful," he murmurs, reverence in his voice. "And all mine."
"All yours," I agree, helping him remove his own clothes, eager to feel his skin against mine. "Always yours, Clark."
When we're both naked, he doesn't immediately cover me as he usually would. Instead, he kneels between my legs, hands caressing my stomach, my hips, my breasts.
"You'll look so beautiful," he says, voice thick with emotion. "Swollen with my child. Everyone will know just by looking at you—that you belong to me, that I've claimed you in the most fundamental way."