Page 56 of Desert Sky (RB MC #4)

SKYE

T he hunting cabin was deep in the pines, the kind of private only MC money and decades of secrets could buy. JD’s hand gripped mine tight as we climbed the porch steps, my dress bunched in my fist, boots dirty from the walk, heart still hammering from the vows we’d just spoken.

Inside, the fire flickered low and lazy. Twinkle lights wrapped the rafters, casting everything in a golden glow. A king-sized bed sat draped in ivory linens, a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket, and rose petals scattered like we were in some kind of fairy tale.

Except this was no fairy tale.

This was outlaw love, wild and hard-earned.

JD pushed open the door, growled low, “Welcome to our first night of forever,” and kicked it shut with his boot. “Tomorrow Im whisking you away on our honeymoon. Didn’t want to travel far to taste you. I barely survived the reception, “ he growled against my neck.

His tuxedo jacket was already discarded, forgotten somewhere on the floor. I stood in front of him, heart pounding, drunk on the sight of the man I’d just married. My fingers moved slowly, teasingly, as I popped open the buttons of his shirt one by one.

Each reveal made my breath hitch—golden tan skin stretched over sculpted muscle, smooth and warm beneath my touch. I trailed my hands up his chest, gliding over hard ridges and velvet heat. Mine, I thought. All mine.

I leaned in and pressed kisses to his chest—soft, reverent, claiming. He groaned, the sound low and guttural, as if it hurt him to hold back. His fists clenched at his sides.

"Skye..." he rasped, jaw tight, eyes blazing. "You're killing me."

Good, I thought. Tonight, I wanted to be dangerous. I wanted to be worshipped. I wanted him undone.

I smiled up at him as I licked a path to his collarbone, then nipped at the edge of it, slowly sliding his shirt down his arms. He was breathing hard now, struggling to stay still, to let me take the lead.

But this was my night. Our night.

I stepped back just enough to let him see the fire in my eyes, the heat in my smile. "You’re not the only one who gets to be in charge, JD," I whispered, kissing the center of his chest. "Tonight, I get to unwrap my gift."

He groaned again, deeper this time, his control unraveling thread by thread. And I—barefoot, giddy, still glowing from our vows—felt like a goddess standing in front of my king, ready to worship and be worshipped in return.

Then the pounding started.

Wham. Wham. WHAM.

“JD! You got five seconds to show us the garter or we’re stormin’ in with cameras!” Edge shouted, already drunk off his ass.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, half laughing, half horrified .

JD’s jaw ticked. “I knew those bastards weren’t gonna let us have one damn night.”

More voices chimed in:

“We got dollar bills!” Tarak.

“Let the girl flash some thigh, Prez!” River, wheezing with laughter.

“Gonna give her a rating on a scale from one to—HOT DAMN,” Colton drawled.

I buried my face in JD’s shoulder, squealing.

JD sighed, peeled me off him, and marched to the door, holding his discarded pants over his you know what. “Y’all want the garter? or do you want to see my package?”

He yanked creaky door wide open. The men scattered like cockroaches under a floodlight—every single one of them in suits or ripped jeans, holding red Solo cups, a couple of them with Polaroid cameras and dollar bills at the ready.

“You idiots are gonna die tonight,” JD threatened, but he was grinning despite himself.

Edge waved a beer. “Tell your bride she married into this chaos. No refunds!”

Regan cackled from behind the trees. “It’s her fault for having such nice legs!”

“GET OFF OUR PORCH!” JD roared, slamming the door and flipping the deadbolt. I was breathless with laughter, doubled over, trying not to pee in my bridal lingerie.

JD turned around, arms crossed. “You think this is funny?”

“A little,” I gasped.

He stalked toward me, slow and delicious. “You know what’s not funny?”

“What? ”

“That I haven’t had my hands on my wife since the bonfire.”

My laughter died the second he reached me.

He kissed me so hard I tasted the wine we’d toasted with, his mouth a storm, his hands gripping the back of my thighs as he walked me backward toward the bed. He didn’t rip my dress—he peeled it off, slow and reverent, like he was unwrapping something sacred.

Then he dropped to his knees.

Garter in his teeth.

Looked up at me like a predator who’d finally caught his prey.

“Mine,” he said.

“Yours,” I whispered.

The garter was gone in seconds. His mouth followed—soft kisses on the inside of my thighs that made my knees tremble, then lower, then lower still until I was gasping his name and clutching his hair like a lifeline.

When he stood, he was already hard under his tux pants, the firelight catching on his inked chest as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“I want you bare,” he rasped. “Skin on skin. No distractions. Just you. Me. And this night.”

I stripped everything else. Watched him crawl over me like sin incarnate. When he slid into me, it was slow—like he wanted to feel every inch. I arched, helpless under the weight of his love and the power of his body.

“God, Skye,” he groaned into my neck. “You feel like fire and home.”

I whispered, “I think… I might be pregnant.”

He froze for half a second. Pulled back. His eyes darkened.

Then he kissed me like a man claiming every breath I had left. Drove into me like he wanted to burn his name into my soul.

And when we shattered together—moaning, tangled, high on forever—I knew the truth.

He didn’t just give me a wedding.

He gave me everything.