Page 7 of Desert Loyalties

MANDRAKE

Eight o’clock hits before I even notice. Time seems to slip faster when I'm pacing like a dog on a chain, waiting for something that’s already mine.

And there she is.

My woman. My sharp-tongued, deadass beautiful pain-in-the-ass.

She’s in jeans that cling to her hips like a second skin and a tank top that makes my fingers itch.

Every man in the room knows better than to look, except the damn prospect standing beside her.

I clock him, hard. One more second near her and I might just smash his skull into the bar and call it a learning experience.

But I rein it in. For her.

I head straight over, keeping my steps casual even if I feel anything but. “Ready to go, darlin’?” I ask, voice low, already imagining the way she’ll look in the back of my bike.

She hesitates. A nervous look crosses her face, making me wanna kill whatever’s responsible for it.

“Is it really okay that I leave?” she asks. “Did you check with Ranger?”

That hits wrong. Not because she’s wrong to ask. Hell, we both answer to the man, but because it stings something deep in me that she thinks she needs another man’s permission when she’s mine .

She sees it, the change in my expression, and rushes to explain. “I just really like this job, Mandrake. I don’t want to lose it.”

That I understand.

Still, I don’t say anything. I turn toward Ranger’s office and holler, loud enough to shake the walls. “Hey, Ranger!”

He steps out, half-dressed, buttoning his jeans with the look of a man who’s been... busy.

“What?” he grunts.

“You cool if I take my woman for the night?” I ask, knowing full well I’m not really asking.

He smirks like the cocky bastard he is. “Go right ahead, asshole.”

Satisfied, I turn back only to find Skye already walking around the counter with her eyes on me. She reaches out and grabs my hand like we’re heading to some Sunday picnic, all soft fingers and shy smiles. And hell, if that doesn’t gut me in the best way.

I slide my arm around her shoulders, tucking her close like she belongs there, which she does.

“See ya around, fuckers,” I toss over my shoulder as we walk out, the boys whooping and hollering behind us.

“Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks, voice laced with curiosity and a little challenge.

“Patience, woman,” I mutter with a grin as I straddle my bike and gesture for her to hop on behind me.

She does. Hesitant at first, then all in. Her arms wrap around me, her chest pressed to my back, and I swear the growl that rumbles low in my chest has nothing to do with the engine. I’ve never had anyone on the back before. No one close enough to feel like this.

Every time I throttle, her grip tightens. And every time she squeezes, something primal in me wakes up, howling.

After about twenty minutes on the road, we pull into a quiet neighbourhood just outside the city limits.

It’s not flashy just two stories, good bones, tall fence, and a pool in the back.

I bought it a while back, when I had to clan my share of the drug money before we went legit.

Figured I should put it somewhere that felt untouchable.

Something just mine. Somewhere I could breathe.

Now? It doesn’t feel like mine unless she’s in it.

I pull into the garage after keying in the code and kill the engine. She hops off, adrenaline still pumping and immediately looks around, playful smirk in place.

“Did you bring me here to kill me?”

I bark a laugh. “This is my house.”

She raises a brow, surprised. “ You own a house?”

“Where’d you think I lived?”

She shrugs. “Clubhouse.”

I roll my eyes, chuckling as I open the garage door to the kitchen entrance. “Come on, woman.”

I take her through every inch. The kitchen’s sleek but lived in, black granite and steel.

The living rooms got a massive sectional and a TV that would make the boys jealous, if I ever let them come here.

The gym’s better equipped than most commercial setups, and when we reach the back deck with the pool lit up in blues and silvers under the night sky, she actually goes quiet.

“Jesus, Mandrake,” she breathes, stepping out to the edge of the deck. “It’s... beautiful.”

But I’m watching her .

And nothing compares.

I take her upstairs next, leading her into my room, which she probably expected to be chaos but is neat almost sterile.

Walls dark, blackout curtains open exposing the view.

She walks to the balcony door and looks out, palm pressed to the glass.

She’s still. Staring out over the glowing pool and the stretch of desert beyond.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

I move behind her, slow. Careful. Like approaching a wild thing I don’t want to spook.

My front presses to her back, fitting just right. I brush her hair off one side, her breath catching as my fingers graze her neck. I lean down, lips brushing that soft spot just beneath her ear, warm and smooth and so damn addictive.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here,” I say against her skin.

She doesn’t move, but I feel her body tense slightly, like she’s holding herself still so the moment doesn’t break.

I kiss her neck, slow, mouth moving down to her shoulder. “Didn’t think it’d matter. Never planned to share it.”

“And now?” she asks, voice low, a little breathless.

“Now I want you everywhere,” I admit. “Here. My house. My bike. My life.”

Her head turns slightly, enough for our eyes to meet over her shoulder. “This... us... it’s not just for fun, right?”

I turn her around to face me, lifting her chin so she can’t look away. “You think I’m the kind of man who brings a woman to his house, tells her his name, his real name, shares his past, just for fun?”

She shakes her head, slowly. “No. I think you’re the kind of man who waits a year before doing anything because he’s too busy punishing himself to realize he’s found someone that’s his.”

I go still. Those words? They’re dangerous.

But true.

“You are mine.” I don’t say it as a question, but she answers anyway.

“And you are mine,” she says.

And then she leans un. Her hands come up to my chest, fingers curling in the fabric of my cut. Her lips touch mine, soft at first.

The kiss turns hot. Deep. Desperate. Her hands tug me closer. Mine bury in her hair, slide down her back, grabbing her hips. Our tongues tangle, teeth clashing. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s real.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.

“You should know,” I murmur against her lips, my forehead resting gently on hers, the heat of her skin grounding me. “I’ve never had someone that’s mine before. So yeah, I’m gonna be a jealous son of a bitch.”

My hand slides along her waist. “You already said you’re mine,” I breathe. “That’s binding. You don’t get to leave me, Skye. Because if you do, I’ll find you. I’ll bring you back.”

For a second, there’s silence. Heavy. Loaded.

I brace myself, thinking I’ve pushed too far. That the fire I lit in her will turn cold, that she’ll tell me I’m crazy, that I need to back off.

But instead—

She steps back, eyes locked on mine. Not afraid. Not unsure. Just... intense.

Slowly, deliberately, she grabs the hem of her tank top and lifts it over her head, the fabric whispering as it peels away from her skin.

She stands there in nothing but jeans, bare to me, bold and breathtaking.

“I’m not leaving,” she says softly. “So stop trying to scare me off.”

And just like that, I’m undone. My throat goes dry.

She’s naked from the waist up, lit only by the soft, gold-hazed glow of the pool lights. My gaze drags from the smooth slope of her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts, the steady rise and fall of her breath that’s coming faster now but not from fear.

No. Not fear.

She steps closer, eyes locked on mine like a challenge. Like she’s daring me to look away.

“I said I was yours,” she murmurs, voice quiet but sure, “and I meant it.”

She places my hand on her waist, then the other on her chest. Her skin is warm. Alive. Real. Her heart hammers under my palm like a war drum and I’m not much better. Every inch of me is tight. Straining.

“But if you’re gonna be a jealous son of a bitch,” she continues, tone dropping to something darker, “you better back it up.”

Jesus Christ.

I can barely breathe. Every part of me is screaming to slam her back against the glass, to press her down into the bed, to mark her so thoroughly she never forgets who she belongs to. But I don’t.

Not yet.

Because this, she isn’t a one-night fix. She’s not a quick hit to take the edge off. She’s the kind of woman you marry and fill with babies.

I slide my hand up her side, fingertips trailing along her skin, delicate and slow. When I brush the back of my fingers over her nipple, a shiver runs through her, and I feel it like a live wire straight through me.

Leaning in, I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, then another to her collarbone. Her skin is soft, and I take my time mapping her with my mouth, each kiss unhurried, every touch a silent promise.

She’s so much smaller than me, pale against my darker skin, delicate where I’m rough. The contrast is staggering. It makes me more careful. Makes me want to worship, not just touch.

I bend to kiss her tits, slow and sweet, feeling her breath hitch. Then lower, kissing down her stomach, hands steady at her hips as I drop to my knees before her.

It hits me in that moment, this isn’t just want. It’s something deeper. The act of kneeling isn’t submission, it’s devotion. I unbutton her jeans with patient hands, sliding them down her legs, helping her step free.

All that’s left is the sliver of black lace at her hips, and I swear under my breath. She’s standing there like a goddess, and I’m the fool who nearly waited too long.

I look up, and her eyes meet mine. There’s heat there. Trust.

“Skye,” I whisper, fingers tracing the curve of her thigh. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Leaning in, I kiss her through the cloth. Its damp before my lips even touch it, licking I savour her wetness. She throws her head back, hand falling to pull at my hair, “Please.” She murmurs desperate.

While I like edging, this isn’t the time for it, I rip the lace of her underwear clean off, leaving her completely bare. “Look at me.” I need her eyes on me.

When she finally locks her eyes with mine, I dive in headfirst, latching on her pussy. I lick her clit. She spreads herself open for me throwing her leg over my shoulder, giving me better access.

I fuckin’ devour her, groaning into her pussy. She’s the best thing I have ever tasted and I fuckin’ can’t get enough, I need to be deeper, need to be fuckin’ inside her. I plunge my tongue in, before moving my tongue up to her clit, her body jolts, hands digging into my head.

I groan again, my hands moving to grab her ass, squeezing. I flick my tongue over her clit, moving down, before plunging back in, sucking and biting then moving back up, again and again. Her breathing gets heavy, she moans my name, “Drake.”

I pull back, smirking up at her. “What? You want something?” She nods biting her lip, her cheeks flushed, eyes burning with a fire.

My hands run up her sides, grabbing her tits, before running my fingers over her nipples, circling. My eyes don’t leave hers as I pinch both nipples at the same time causing her body to jolt. She keeps moaning, desperate cries falling from her lips.

I smirk against her pussy, my other hand coming back down to her opening. My fingers slide in. She’s so tight and warm, her hand tries to pull my head tighter, grinding against my face. “Please.”

I slide another finger in, pumping them in and out, she screams trying to pull my hair off.

I pull back, “Hands on the glass, don’t move them, am I clear?

” I growl. She nods. My eyes not leaving her, making sure she doesn’t move her hands.

I lean back in, running my tongue up and down her slit, before plunging my tongue in again, fuckin’ her with it, she grinds down on my face, desperate for more.

I grab her hips, pulling her closer, so I can be deeper.

She moans. I start licking her clit again, circling it, before sucking on it.

Her breath hitches, her moans getting louder.

I hum against her, before speeding up. I move my hand to her pussy, sticking two fingers in, my tongue back on her clit, she moans louder.

I pump my fingers in and out of her, feeling her muscles clench down on them.

Her body is shaking, her moans filling the room.

“Drake. I’m close.” Skye breathes out. I suck on her clit again, moving my fingers faster.

Her pussy clenches down on my fingers again, “Fuck, Drake. Fuck.” She screams, legs shaking, her orgasm hits her.

I don’t slow down, my fingers hitting the spongy part inside of her again and again as her orgasm keeps going.

She’s shaking when her legs give out, and I’m there in an instant with my arms around her, I lift her like she weighs nothing. She melts against me, breath shallow, skin flushed, and completely undone.

I carry her to the bed, laying her down gently. Her body is bare, beautiful, and boneless with aftershocks still rippling through her. Me? I’m still fully dressed and hard enough to hurt, but this moment isn’t about me.

She stares up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, then turns her head to look at me. Her lips are parted, eyes heavy-lidded, and there’s a faint, dazed smile curving her mouth.

“That was…” she breathes out, voice hoarse and soft.

I sit beside her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “It was.”

There’s a pause, just the sound of her breathing and my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. She doesn’t move, just watches me.

I lean down and kiss her temple. “You good?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “More than good. Just… wasn’t expecting that.”

I smirk, letting my thumb trail lightly along her arm. “Neither was I.”

Then I stand and pull off my cut, slow and deliberate, catching the way her eyes follow every movement. “But I’m not done showing you exactly what being mine means.”

Her breath catches again, and this time she reaches for me.