Page 17 of Claimed By The Club

She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, her fingers tighten around mine, tugging me toward the battered couch shoved against the wall.

A box of promotional flyers hits the floor with a rustle, forgotten.

My pulse roars in my ears as she pushes me down, her body following, all heat and urgency.

There’s no hesitation this time—no teasing, no slow exploration.

Last night was a spark. This is an inferno.

Our mouths crash together, tongues tangling, teeth clashing in a kiss that’s more possession than affection.

Her hands are everywhere—yanking at my belt, nails scraping down my chest, her touch branding me.

I groan into her mouth as my own fingers find the hem of her skirt, shoving it up, desperate for the slick heat between her thighs.

“Fuck, Elias,” she breathes against my lips, and the sound of my real name—my name, not the one the Reapers know—sends a shock through me.

It’s too intimate, too raw, but I don’t pull away.

Instead, I drag her closer, my cock aching as she grinds against me, the thin barrier of fabric doing nothing to hide how badly we both want this.

I don’t remember who undoes what first—just the frantic slide of zippers, the sharp inhale as my palm cups her pussy through her panties, already soaked.

She arches into my touch with a bitten-off whimper, and I swallow the sound with another kiss, my fingers slipping beneath the lace to find her wet, swollen, ready.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” I growl, circling her clit just to feel her shudder.

She answers by shoving my jeans down my hips, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking me with a grip that makes my vision blur. “You first.”

"I don’t have the patience for games, Sierra. I need you like the air that I breathe,” I groan, capturing her waist.

My voice is a growl, rough and hungry, as I flip her onto her back.

Her legs fall open like a fucking invitation, and I don’t waste a second—I don’t ever hesitate.

There’s no sweet talk, no gentle teasing, just the brutal shove of my cock into her wet, tight but soft pussy, splitting her open on me with one ruthless thrust.

“Sierra,” I gasp her name, almost coming because she feels like heaven. Her pussy’s so warm, so hot, and it sucks me on so deep. My legs tremble as my hips twitch, holding onto my premature climax.

“Elias… fuck me hard. Do me. Take me on a ride, my big boy,” she grinds out in between pants and moans. Her lips snake around my hips, pushing me in deeper.

“Sierra, you drive me crazy!” I’ve been holding back for a while, but now, I can’t anymore. I press onto the tempting clit in front of me as I pull out and push all the way in with all the force I can muster without breaking my goddamn dick.

She gasps, nails clawing into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood, her hips jerking up to meet me.

"Fuck—!" Her voice cracks, and I don’t give her a second to breathe. I’m already driving into her again, deep and punishing, the slick heat of her clenching around me like she’s trying to milk my cock dry.

The couch groans beneath us, the sound lost under the filthy slap of skin on skin, the ragged, broken noises spilling from her lips.

“Yes! Elias!” she screams as if she has no care in the world. I need her to sound like she can’t live without me.

I raise both her legs over my shoulders.

“Good Lord!” she screams, her back arching off the couch as the angle gives me access deeper into her cunt.

“Yes!” I groan, my body shivering in ecstasy are her pussy pulses and tightens like a hand holding for dear life on my cunt. She calls my name over and over.

I can’t stop, and pistons in and out inside her. I fuck her like the world’s burning down around us, like the Reapers are seconds from kicking in the door, like this is the last damn thing either of us will feel before the bullets start flying. And maybe it is.

Her pussy grips me even more tightly, fluttering around my cock as she comes with a choked cry, her thighs shaking as she clings onto my neck. "That’s it," I snarl, my hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back. "Take it. Take every part of me, from bottom to the top."

The sight of her—lips swollen, eyes glazed, body wrecked—sends me over the edge.

I bury myself to the hilt and come with a groan, my forehead brushing against hers as pleasure tears through me, sharp and blinding.

My cock pulses inside her, coming deep, and she whimpers, her hips twitching like she can’t decide if she wants more or if she’s already ruined.

For one heartbeat, there’s nothing but us—sweat-slick and shuddering, the air thick with sex and the raw, animal stink of need. Then reality crashes back in—the distant thud of bass from the club downstairs, the rattle of the dying air conditioner, the cold fucking truth waiting outside this room.

But for now? Fuck it.

She’s still sprawled across me, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest, when I finally find my voice. “That was?—”

“Stupid,” she finishes, but there’s a smirk in her voice.

I huff a laugh, dragging a hand down my face. “Yeah.”

And yet, as her lips brush my shoulder, as my pulse slows to something resembling steady, I can’t bring myself to regret a damn thing.

Eventually, she pushes up on one elbow, hair tumbled across her face. “This can’t keep happening in random corners,” she says softly, a faint note of laughter in her tone. “Someone’s bound to catch us.”

I brush a stray lock from her forehead. “Yeah.” I hesitate, uncertain how to navigate this new territory. “We’ll figure out a better approach.”

She nods, looking torn between excitement and worry. “I do want this—us—but you’re the leader of Renegade Cross. People will talk.”

My mouth sets in a firm line. “Let them talk, eventually. For now, secrecy might keep things less complicated.” A pang of guilt flickers, but I swallow it. “When the time’s right, we’ll address it.”

She accepts the compromise, pressing a lingering kiss to my jaw before rising to straighten her clothes. I do the same, adjusting my shirt and collecting fallen papers. We exchange one more heated look, a silent acknowledgment that we can’t seem to resist each other.

I’m about to speak when footsteps pound on the outside door, followed by a muffled voice calling my name. We both freeze, tension returning in a snap. I glance at Sierra, placing a finger to my lips. She nods, smoothing her hair quickly.

Exhaling, I open the office door a crack.

Kevin “Knox” Maddox stands there, holding a phone with an urgent expression.

“Frost, we got a situation,” he says, voice low.

“Some local passerby claims they spotted men wearing Iron Reapers patches at the gas station outside town. Could be nothing, but it’s too close for comfort. ”

My stomach lurches. The Reapers prowling around is the last thing we need.

I step into the hall, swiftly shutting the office door behind me.

“Alright,” I tell Knox, slipping into leader mode.

“Alert Ghost. Get Viper to rally a few men. We’ll do a ride past that station. Keep it low-key, see what’s going on.”

Knox nods and rushes off, already tapping his phone. I allow myself one quick glance back at the closed door where Sierra remains hidden. A fresh surge of protective anger flares in my chest. If the Reapers are sniffing around again, it means everything’s escalating sooner than I hoped.

I steel myself, heading down the corridor. There’s no time to indulge in the afterglow of stolen intimacy. My priorities snap into place: defend the club, shield Sierra, handle this potential threat. This is the life I chose, the responsibility I carry every day.

But one thing is different now. As I step outside and bark orders at a couple of prospects, I realize I’m no longer just protecting the club.

I’m protecting her, too, and that changes the stakes.

Our secrecy might keep us under the radar, but it also means I can’t fully declare my intentions, not yet.

All I know is that I can’t let any harm come her way.

Swinging onto my bike, I rev the engine and signal for the others to follow. Dust kicks up as we roll out, a roar of steel and determination echoing across the desert. My mind whirls with possibilities: a scouting mission from the Reapers, or a direct confrontation. I can’t be sure which.

Still, one thought cuts through the noise. When this is done, I’m going to find Sierra, and we’ll figure out our next steps—together. Because no matter how complicated this gets, I’m not walking away from whatever we’ve started.

I twist the throttle, the wind tearing at my clothes as we race toward the highway.

Tension thrums in my chest, fueled by the knowledge that everything is shifting again.

We might be on the brink of another battle.

The only certainty I have is the memory of Sierra’s touch and the fire that’s ignited between us.

It’s a blaze I can’t seem to extinguish, and maybe I don’t want to.

For now, though, I focus on the road ahead, leading my men into the unknown. The sun beats down, the horizon swelters, and the desert stands silent witness to the choices we make.