Page 8

Clay

Inside Dylan’s cottage, the door clicking shut behind us, the air shifts—warm, soft, scented faintly with lavender and wildflowers.

It’s his space, all cozy and calm, a stark contrast to the rumble of my Harley still echoing in my ears and the chaos of my life outside these walls.

My boots thud heavy on the wood floor, out of place in this little haven he’s built, and I catch a glimpse of his study through the open doorway—flowery walls, a desk piled with books, a glow that’s all him.

I’ve got a thousand things I need to say, words piling up in my chest about the heist tomorrow night, about the Wolf Riders, about whether he can stomach the outlaw shit I drag around like a shadow.

I came here to talk, to lay it out—Kreese’s plan, the truck, the money, the risk of cuffs snapping back on my wrists if it goes south. I need to know if he can handle me, all of me, not just the kid he loved seven years ago but the man I am now, patched and rough and living on the edge.

But Dylan is on me, and I’m on him too. All the plans and discussions in the world wouldn’t make a difference now that we’re in this moment of pure heat with one another.

The words I’d rehearsed scatter like ash, burned up by the heat of his mouth, the way he presses himself against me. He’s not here for talking—not now—and fuck if I can think straight with the boy kissing me like this, like he’s starving for it.

My hands slide to his hips, gripping tight, and I grind into Dylan, hard and firm.

I’m turned on—Christ, I’m more than turned on, my blood’s roaring, every nerve lit up by his touch.

The heist, the club, the talk—it can wait.

Right now, it’s him, us, and the pull I can’t fight.

I want him, bad, and Dylan is making it damn clear he wants me too. It’s time to take this further…

Before either one of us know what’s happening, we’re tearing our clothes off in a flurry of wild, animalistic lust. The time for dancing around is over.

“Here,” Dylan says, breathless as he tosses his briefs onto the floor and scurries over toward the kitchen table and bends himself over the edge of the oak table. “From behind. Hard. Fast. Make me yours again, Daddy.”

I growl and waste no time in taking Dylan by the hips and kicking his legs out wider.

There’s no doubting it. Dylan still has the same wild side to him that he did back in the day. And his body is even hotter now that he’s a few years older - he’s still petit but there’s a fuller, juicier side to him now too, and I’m all there for it.

I’m one lucky sonofabtich to be in this position, there’s no doubting that. A Daddy and his horny boy, it doesn’t get much better than that - except perhaps when there’s the kind of shared history that me and Dylan have together.

“Put it in me,” Dylan pleads, pushing his ass out and spreading his cheeks to reveal his tight, pink ass hole. “I need this, Clay. I need you . I need your big, hard, Daddy dick to make me holler.”

I spit in my hand and lube my rock-hard cock, pushing it up against his puckered hole. It only take a moment and I can feel him take me inside, Dylan’s loud moan of desire telling me that everything is as it should be.

“D-D-D-Daddy…” Dylan groans, turning his head and looking up at me with an expression of total animalistic arousal.

“How hard?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“All the way hard,” Dylan says, his breathing heavy and his small but firm pecs up against the surface of the table. “Don’t hold back. Not even in the slightest. I’m a naughty boy and I need to be punished by my motorcycle Daddy.”

No more words need to be spoken.

I might be the leader of the Wolf Riders MC, but Dylan is the one giving the orders right now.

I waste no time as I duly give Dylan the hardest, gruffest fuck of his life as I make his cheeks clap in time with my thrusts.

I knew it would feel good. All these years, I never doubted that our connection would still be there. But honestly, I could never have predicted that it would feel quite like this.

I’m giving the boy everything I have and he’s taking it - just like a perfectly submissive boy should.

We cum together, our perfect timing clearly having not diminished over the years that we spent apart.

And as Dylan’s legs wobble and almost give way beneath him, I hold Dylan in place and make sure that I give the young man every last drop of my cum.

“Enough?” I grunt, a laugh in my voice as Dylan slaps his hands down on the wooden surface, satisfied and satiated.

“Enough,” Dylan giggles, turning his head to me and looking at me just like how he used to. “We’ve still go it, Daddy.”

I laugh and playfully spank Dylan’s peachy ass. Dylan’s right. We certainly do still have it.

And if there’s any justice in the world, this won’t be the last time we get to show it either…

Later, we’re tangled up in his bed, the sheets twisted around us, the room quiet except for the soft rasp of our breathing.

Dylan’s bedroom is small, cozy like the rest of his place—pale blue walls, a quilt that looks handmade, a window cracked open letting in the cool night air.

The glow of a streetlamp sneaks through the blinds, painting stripes across his bare shoulder where it peeks out from under the blanket.

The boy is pressed against me, his head on my chest, his dark hair tickling over my arm, and I can feel the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against my ribs.

My body’s still humming from what we just did, a low buzz of satisfaction, but my mind’s starting to churn again, the weight of reality creeping back in.

I shift, propping myself up on an elbow, and look down at him. Dylan’s eyes are half-lidded, soft in the dim light, but I can’t let this sit any longer.

“Dylan,” I say, my voice low, rough from exertion. “We need to talk. For real this time.”

Dylan blinks, shifting to sit up a little, the sheet slipping down to his waist.

“Okay,” Dylan says, his tone cautious but steady. “What about?”

“My life,” I start, running a hand through my hair, still damp with sweat.

“The club, the shit I do. It’s not just bikes and leather, you know that.

There’s a heist coming up—big score, big risk.

If it goes wrong, I could end up back in a cell.

I’ve been there once, cut you off to keep you out of it, and I don’t wanna drag you through that again.

You’ve got this—” I gesture around the room, the cottage, his quiet world—“and I’ve got…

this. Me. The Riders. Can you handle what I bring to the table? ”

I know this is a big moment. I don’t want to rush Dylan. he deserves more than that. I need to wait until Dylan is ready to speak.

I can see that Dylan is thinking. He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the quilt, fingers tracing a faded stitch. I hold my breath, waiting, half-expecting him to pull back, to say it’s too much.

But then he looks up, his hazel eyes locking on mine, and there’s a fire there, a resolve I didn’t expect.

“I think I can,” he says, voice firm. “I’ve been thinking about it—since the diner, the forest, all of it.

Yeah, your life’s messy, dangerous even, but I’m not the same boy I was at nineteen.

I’ve seen some shit, lived some shit. And I still want you, Clay.

I want us to have a second chance. As a couple. For real this time.”

His words hit me hard, a punch to the gut I didn’t see coming.

A second chance. For real.

It’s what I’ve wanted since I saw him in that diner, what I’ve been too chickenshit to admit even to myself. I reach out, cupping his face, my thumb brushing his cheek.

“You sure?” I ask, needing to hear it again. “’Cause once we’re in, I’m not half-assing it.”

“I’m sure,” he says, leaning into my touch. “I mean it.”

I nod, a slow grin tugging at my mouth.

“Okay. Then we’re doing this. After the heist tomorrow, the club’s gonna have cash—real cash. One hundred grand, maybe more. Enough that I can dial down the risk, pull back on the crazy shit. We can make this work, Dylan. I’ll make it work.”

He smiles, small but real, and leans in, kissing me soft and quick.

“Good. I’m holding you to that,” Dylan says, his face glowing.

We settle back down, Dylan’s head on my chest again, and I wrap my arm around him, pulling him close.

Dylan’s skin is warm against mine, his breathing slowing as he relaxes, and for a minute, it feels perfect—like we’ve got a shot, like the past doesn’t have to choke us.

But inside, my head’s spinning, doubts gnawing at the edges.

I meant what I said—about the money, about easing off the gas. The heist’s a big score, could set the Riders up nice, let me step back from the front lines. Maybe focus on the garage side of things, legit work to balance the scales.

But I know my brothers—Kreese especially.

One hundred grand’s a hell of a haul, but it’s also a taste, a tease of what’s possible.

They won’t stop there.

They’ll want more—bigger jobs, higher stakes, pushing further into the dark.

This heist might not be the end; it could be the beginning, the spark that lights a fire we can’t control.

And if it goes wrong?

If tomorrow night blows up, if the cops catch wind, I’m back in a cage—orange jumpsuit, concrete walls, three hots and a cot. I survived it once, barely, but doing it again would gut me. Worse, it would gut him .

Dylan is signing up for me, for us, but he doesn’t know the half of it—the late nights, the blood on my hands, the constant hum of danger. I cut him off before to spare him that, and now I’m pulling him back in, promising I can keep it tame.

What if I can’t?

What if the Riders drag me deeper, and he’s left holding the pieces again? The thought twists my stomach, a cold knot I can’t shake.

I don’t say it out loud—I definitely don’t want to ruin this, not when he’s warm and soft in my arms, trusting me with that second chance.

For now, I’ll hold onto the plan: hit the truck, cash out, dial it back. Make it work like I promised. But the worry’s there, a shadow in the back of my mind, whispering that this life doesn’t let go easy.

Dylan shifts, snuggling closer, his breath warm against my neck, and I tighten my grip, anchoring myself in him.

The bed creaks under us, the quilt bunching at our feet, and I stare at the ceiling, the streetlamp’s glow cutting lines across it.

Tomorrow’s coming fast—the heist, the risk, the future we’re betting on. But right now, it’s just us, tangled up in his sheets, his heartbeat steady against mine.

I press a kiss to his forehead, soft enough not to wake him if he’s drifting, and let my eyes close. Whatever happens, I’ve got him in my arms tonight, and that’s enough.

For now…