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He relaxed, smiling that rare full smile that transformed his whole face. "Has to be somewhere the club would never go. Can't risk running into anyone who'd report back to Duke."

"Ooh, secret date. I’m getting such spy vibes right now," I tapped my chin, thinking. "What about that tea shop on the far side of town? The one with all the doilies and tiny sandwiches?"

"Rosewood's?" He considered it. "Not a single biker would be caught dead there. Too many flowers and old ladies."

"Perfect!" I could already picture it—Tyson's large frame crammed into a tiny chair, holding a delicate teacup. "Can we ride your bike? I've never been on a motorcycle!"

His grin widened. "You want to ride my hog?"

"Is that what they're actually called?" I giggled at the ridiculous term. "That's absurd. But yes! I want the full experience. Wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth—"

"You'll wear a helmet," he said firmly. "Non-negotiable."

"Fine, but I get to pick the helmet. Something with style." I was already imagining the possibilities. "Maybe purple to match my hair?"

"I mean, I don’t own any in purple, but I guess I can get one."

“You don’t need to buy me a helmet just for one ride—”

“Who said it would only be one ride?”

I bit my lip.

"When?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager and failing completely. "When can we go?"

"How about tomorrow? I'll pick you up at two. Gives me time to grab a helmet, and we should be done with enough time before evening church." He stood, pulling me up with him. "But first, I think we need to seal this contract properly."

"Oh?" I grinned up at him, playing innocent. "How do you seal a contract like this?"

"Come here and I'll show you." His voice had dropped to that register that made my knees weak.

I stepped closer, and he met me halfway. His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with reverent care. For amoment, we just looked at each other, the weight of everything we'd promised hanging between us.

He made a sound low in his throat, and then his mouth was on mine. This kiss was different from our desperate collision in the storage room or the gentle exploration after. This was a claiming, a promise, a seal on everything we'd just negotiated.

He kissed me like he'd been starving for it, like the hours of talking had been foreplay. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him eagerly, meeting his intensity with my own. One hand tangled in my hair while the other spanned my waist, pulling me flush against him.

I could taste coffee and want and promise on his tongue. Could feel the careful control in how he held me—firm but not bruising, possessive but not painful. Everything about this kiss said I've got you and you're safe and you’re mine, mine, mine.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. My lips felt swollen, beard-burned in the best way. His eyes were dark with want, but underneath was something softer.

"Contract sealed?" I managed, voice breathless.

"Very sealed." He pressed his forehead to mine, and we just breathed together for a moment. "Though I might need to seal it again. For insurance purposes."

"Very thorough of you," I agreed, already tilting my face up for another kiss.

He obliged, this one slower, deeper, full of promise. When he finally pulled back, I was practically melting against him.

"I should go," he said reluctantly. "Get supplies for the window repairs. Food that isn't cereal. Check in with Duke about last night."

"Responsible," I sighed. "I hate it."

"I'll be back soon." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my nose, then my lips again. "Try not to burn the apartment down while I'm gone."

"No promises. Chaos, remember?"

"My little chaos." The possessive made me shiver. "Be good. Eat something real for lunch."