Page 19

Rebel

I leaned against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, watching Rio tear through my house like a force of nature. She’d been at it for less than two hours and already half my shit was stuffed in trash bags. Before I could ask what she planned to leave, the front door banged open and three of my brothers from the Devil’s Boneyard MC piled in with boxes of what looked suspiciously like new furniture.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, straightening up.

Rio flashed me a grin that hit me right in the gut. “Reinforcements.”

“You got yourself a woman who’s too good for you,” said Phantom, dropping a box with a thud that shook my floor. “Figured we’d help her whip this place into shape.”

I shot Rio a look. “You called in the cavalry.”

“Damn right I did.” She tossed her strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder, those blue eyes challenging me to argue. “You want me staying here, want me to make this place a home, then it’s out with the old and in with the new.”

“But…” I glanced around. If she was going to do this, why hadn’t she done it sooner? Then again, we had been incredibly busy. With her issue, Java, and dealing with the Morettis and Vata, it hadn’t exactly been quiet around here. Or had she been waiting on something more official showing she was mine, like her ring and property cut? Whatever the reason, she could do what she wanted with this place. It was her home too.

The guys laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. Rio had already carved out a place in my life that felt inevitable, like she’d always been meant to be there.

“Move your ass, Rebel,” she commanded, pointing to a stack of flattened boxes. “Start packing up that disaster you call a bookshelf.”

I saluted sarcastically but did as I was told. Within thirty minutes, my house had transformed into a war zone of activity. Chaos and a new Prospect, Andrew, showed up with an actual couch -- not just any couch, but a deep sectional that looked like it cost more than my bike. When I raised an eyebrow at Rio, she just shrugged.

“I saw an ad in the paper. A man’s ex left it behind and he wanted it gone. Got it for a steal.”

The music started next -- someone had hooked up a speaker, and the heavy bass of Metallica thrummed through my house. The sound bounced around the space, mixing with laughter and the scrape of furniture across my floor.

“Christ, brother, when’s the last time you cleaned under this?” Chaos held up a dust bunny the size of a small animal that he’d discovered under my TV stand.

“That’s been there so long it deserves squatter’s rights,” I shot back, but I felt a twinge of embarrassment as Rio glanced over, her nose wrinkling.

She didn’t say anything, just tossed me a roll of trash bags and went back to organizing the kitchen cabinets. That was the thing about Rio -- she called me on my shit without making me feel like garbage. It was refreshing as hell.

More club members streamed in as the evening progressed. Someone ordered pizza -- the good kind, not the cheap shit I usually got. Beer flowed, and the work somehow continued despite the party atmosphere that had developed. My bachelor pad was steadily transforming into something that actually looked like a home.

I caught sight of Rio across the room as she directed two Prospects where to place a bookshelf that had appeared from nowhere. A lock of hair had fallen across her face, and she blew it away with a puff of air, hands on her hips as she surveyed her domain. Something warm expanded in my chest at the sight.

“She’s something else,” a voice rumbled beside me.

I turned to find Azrael beside me, watching Rio with an appreciative nod.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “She is.”

“Don’t fuck it up,” he advised, slapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble.

The party moved around us like a living thing. Bodies shifted from room to room, carrying boxes, furniture, bags of trash. The rhythm of it was hypnotic -- the thumping music, the constant movement, voices rising and falling in waves of conversation and laughter.

Rio appeared at my side, her shoulder brushing mine. “Stop standing around like a useless lump and help me with these curtains.”

I put down my beer. “Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. We worked together hanging curtains that actually matched, her directing me where to place the rod while she held them up to check the length.

“Where’d all this stuff come from?” I asked, drilling into the wall above the window.

“Club family, garage sales, and newspaper ads,” she said simply. “I mentioned we were fixing up your place, and everyone just… offered things or tracked stuff down.”

I paused, drill hovering. “They did that for you?”

Her eyes flashed. “For us, dumbass.”

The way she said “us” made something flip in my stomach. I bent to the task, hiding my expression. I’d never been an “us” before and I liked it more than I’d realized.

The door opened again, and the room went briefly quiet. I turned to see Cinder enter, his white beard and hair standing out like a beacon. His wife followed along with another new Prospect, Jaden, carrying something wrapped carefully in a thick blanket. Even at eighty-something, Cinder commanded respect without saying a word. His wife might’ve been the only person in the club who could boss him around, and she did it with a smile that still lit up his weathered face.

“Place is looking good,” Cinder said, his blue eyes taking in the transformation.

“Thanks to Rio,” I replied, setting down the drill. “My decorating skills start and end with thrift stores or one of those discount places.”

Rio snorted beside me, but I could feel her tense slightly. Cinder intimidated most people, even his own men. I’d seen hardened bikers turn into stammering teenagers under his gaze. Rio, though, just tilted her chin up and met his eyes directly.

Cinder’s wife, Meg, stepped forward, smiling. “We brought you something.” She nodded to Cinder, who unwrapped the blanket to reveal a rocking chair made of dark, polished wood. It gleamed under the overhead lighting, the craftsmanship obvious even to my untrained eye.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“Language,” Cinder’s wife chided, but she was smiling.

Rio stepped forward, her hand reaching out to touch the smooth arm of the chair. “It’s beautiful.”

“Cinder made it,” his wife said proudly. “Been working on it for weeks.”

I looked at Cinder in surprise. His calloused hands hadn’t seemed capable of creating something so delicate, so perfect. He shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention. When the fuck had he taken up woodworking?

“Where do you want it?” he asked gruffly.

Rio looked at me, a question in her eyes. It was my house, but we both knew it was becoming ours in every way that mattered.

“By the window,” I suggested. “Gets good light in the morning.”

Cinder nodded and carried the chair to the spot I’d indicated. He set it down carefully, then stepped back to examine it. The rocking chair looked right in the space, like it had been made specifically for that spot.

“Perfect,” Rio said softly.

I caught Cinder’s gaze over Rio’s head. Something passed between us -- understanding, approval. The chair wasn’t just furniture; it was a symbol. A rocking chair meant permanence, a future. It was the kind of thing you kept for generations, the kind of thing that became a family heirloom.

Cinder gave me a slight nod, and I returned it, feeling a quiet surge of something I couldn’t quite name. Hope, maybe. Or peace. The chaotic energy of the room continued around us, but in that moment, everything felt still and certain.

Rio’s hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture so natural it felt like we’d been doing it for years instead of weeks. I squeezed gently, and she squeezed back.

By the time the last club member staggered out, my house was unrecognizable. Clean, organized, with nice furniture and decorations that matched. It looked like a place where real adults lived, not the crash pad of a biker.

“What do you think?” Rio asked, surveying our work with her hands on her hips.

I wrapped my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I think it looks like a home.”

She leaned back against me, her body relaxing into mine. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It does.”

The rocking chair sat by the window, catching the last light of the evening. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, this tangible symbol of the future Rio and I could build together. Something solid and lasting in a life that had always been defined by movement and change.

“Been a while since I had a real home,” Rio admitted quietly, following my gaze to the chair.

“Same,” I said. “Guess we’ll figure it out together.”

She turned in my arms, facing me. Her blue eyes searched mine, looking for something I hoped like hell she could find. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she nodded once, decisive.

“Together,” she agreed, and sealed it with a kiss that felt like a promise.

* * *

I clicked the deadbolt shut, turning to find Rio already heading toward the bedroom, her hips swaying in a silent invitation. The house -- our house now -- felt different. Quieter. Like it was holding its breath for whatever came next. I followed her, my boots soundless on the new hall rug someone had brought. Even in the dim light spilling from the bedside lamp, I could see the transformation extended to this room -- the mattress now sat on more than a bed frame, with sheets that matched and pillows that weren’t flattened from years of use.

Rio stood by the bed, her back to me. The shadows carved her silhouette against the faint light -- strong shoulders, narrow waist, the curve of her hips. She’d changed my life, stormed in and rearranged everything from my furniture to my heart. I hadn’t stood a chance.

“You gonna stand there all night?” she asked without turning.

I moved behind her, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching. Not yet. “Just admiring the view.”

She glanced over her shoulder, those blue eyes reflecting the lamplight. “Smooth talker.”

“Only stating facts.” I reached out, fingers hovering just above her hip. “May I touch you?”

Something flickered across her face -- appreciation, trust. She nodded, and I placed my hand on her hip, feeling her lean back into me. We’d been together enough times now that I knew the rules -- ask first, move slow, let her lead. The reasons behind those rules lived in the shadows of her eyes sometimes, in the way she’d flinch at unexpected contact.

“You transformed this place,” I said, lips close to her ear.

“We did.” Her voice was softer now, the hardness she showed the world melting away in the privacy of our room.

“Never thought I’d have curtains that match the bedspread.” I snorted. “Fuck. Didn’t think I’d have a bedspread for that matter.”

She laughed, the sound vibrating through her back against my chest. “Low fucking bar, Dixon.”

“What can I say? You’re raising my standards.”

She turned in my arms, face tilted up to mine. “Good.”

I waited, watching her eyes. Then I bent to kiss her. The first touch was gentle -- a question more than a demand. Her lips parted beneath mine, and the kiss deepened, became something hungrier. She slid her hands under my cut, pushing it off my shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud . “Been waiting for this all night,” she murmured against my mouth, fingers working on the buttons at the top of my shirt.

“Watching you boss everyone around was pretty hot,” I admitted.

“Yeah?” Her smile turned wicked. “You like being bossed around?”

“By you? Maybe.”

She pulled my shirt off, palms flat against my chest. “Let’s test that theory.”

Her touch was confident now, sure. Each time we were together, she grew bolder, more certain. I let her set the pace, responding to her cues. When her hands went to my belt, I covered them with mine. “You sure?” It was something I asked every time, not wanting to assume it was okay.

Her gaze met mine, clear and stead, as she climbed onto the bed. “I’m sure.”

The urgency built between us as our clothes found their way to the floor. The dim light painted shadows across her skin, highlighting the scattered freckles that I’d come to memorize. I traced them with my fingertips, then my lips, mapping constellations across her body.

“Dixon,” she breathed, her hands in my hair.

My name on her lips never failed to undo me. I moved slower, more deliberate, watching her responses. Her breath hitched when I found a sensitive spot, her back arching when I hit another. Learning her body felt like unlocking a complex puzzle -- infinitely rewarding, endlessly fascinating.

“Tell me what you want,” I said against her collarbone.

Her fingers tightened in my hair, directing me. “Here,” she whispered. Then, more urgently, “Here.”

I followed her lead, letting her guide me. Her breathing grew more ragged, her commands less verbal and more physical -- a tug of my hair, the press of her hand. The world narrowed to just us, the soft sounds of her pleasure, the heat building between us.

I loved seeing her like this, so vulnerable and needy. My hand roamed down her stomach to tease at the entrance of her wet heat, watching as she squirmed under my touch.

“Tell me what you want,” I repeated, my voice low and rough.

She gasped, arching her back as if offering herself up to me. “Please… take me.”

I slid a finger inside her, feeling the tight grip of her pussy as I began to thrust slowly inside her welcoming warmth.

“Oh God… yes!” She cried out as I felt her nails dig into my shoulders. Thrusting her hips up to meet my movements, she kissed me hungrily. “Harder… please…” she begged between breaths, her words barely audible over the sounds of our passion.

“Not going to manage that with just a finger.”

She blinked up at me. “Then use something else.”

I grinned and forced her legs wider apart with my own, making room for my cock at her entrance. I took a moment to admire the sight before me -- her beautiful body begging for my dominance.

“Look at you,” I growled, slapping my hardened cock against her soaking wet pussy. “You’re so fucking sexy asking for this.” With that, I pushed inside her in one swift motion, claiming her tightness for myself.

Her whole body shuddered under my onslaught as I began to pound into her greedy pussy.

“Yes! Oh God yes!” She cried out beneath me, arching her back and meeting every thrust with equal force.

I grabbed her hair, tugging her head back to expose her long neck. I could feel the pulse beating wildly as I planted soft kisses along its length.

“You’re mine,” I growled into her neck before capturing her mouth once again in a fierce kiss that left us both breathless.

Our bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, the new bed frame creaking slightly under our weight. I could feel her getting closer, her inner walls clenching around me as her breathing became more erratic.

“That’s it,” I encouraged, my voice strained with the effort of holding back my own release. “Come for me, Rio.”

She shattered beneath me, waves of pleasure washing over her. The sight of her coming undone pushed me over the edge, and I followed her into bliss, groaning her name as I emptied myself inside her.

We collapsed together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and ragged breathing. I rolled to the side, pulling her with me so she rested against my chest. Her strawberry-blonde hair tickled, stuck to my beard, and I brushed it back, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Fuck,” she mumbled against my skin.

“Yeah,” I agreed eloquently, still trying to catch my breath.

We lay in comfortable silence for a while, the sweat cooling on our bodies. Rio’s fingers traced patterns on my chest, circling the tattoo over my heart.

“I never thought I’d have this,” she said quietly.

“Same.”

I watched her face, caught in the raw vulnerability of the moment. Her gaze met mine, and something passed between us -- something deeper than the physical connection.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, and I wasn’t sure if she meant in that moment or forever.

“Always,” I promised, meaning both.

For several minutes, we just breathed together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her back. The comfortable silence wrapped around us like a blanket. Outside our window, the sounds of the compound provided a backdrop to our private world -- motorcycle engines going by, occasional voices, the hum of life continuing while we existed in this suspended moment.

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. She hummed contentedly, her breath warm against my skin.

“You okay?” I asked, the question part of our ritual now.

“More than okay.” She propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at me. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in waves around her face, and I reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear.

“I’ll stock up on condoms,” I said, the thought occurring to me suddenly. “Been running low.”

Something flickered across her face -- uncertainty, maybe. She bit her lower lip, considering her response.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” I added quickly. “If they’re uncomfortable or something…”

“It’s not that,” she said, sitting up fully now. The sheet pooled around her waist, but she didn’t seem to notice or care about her nakedness. “I just…”

I waited, giving her space to find the words. Pushing Rio never worked -- she’d shut down faster than a motorcycle with sugar in the gas tank.

“I love you,” I said, the words falling from my lips before I could catch them. I hadn’t meant to say it now, like this, but there they were, hanging in the air between us.

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away. Progress.

“I love you,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “And I want you to set the pace for our future. Whatever that looks like.”

She studied me, her blue eyes searching mine like she was looking for the lie, the catch. Finding none, she nodded slowly.

“Maybe someday I’ll want children,” she said, the words careful, measured. “But I’m not ready yet. I have an implant.”

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral despite the surge of emotion her words triggered. She was thinking about our future -- a future with children. Someday.

“I’ll have it removed when the time comes,” she continued, her voice steadier now. “When I’m ready. When we’re ready.”

I reached for her hand, threading our fingers together. “No rush. We’ve got time.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. “You don’t mind waiting?”

“Rio, before you, I didn’t even think about having kids. Ever. Then you tornadoed into my life, and suddenly I’m thinking about shit like what schools they’d go to.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Tornadoed?”

“It’s a word.”

“It’s really not.”

I pulled her back down beside me, her head finding its place on my chest again. “The point is, I’m in no hurry. You decide when or if you’re ready. I’m just happy you’re considering a future with me in it.”

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the tattoo on my ribs. “Since I have the implant, you don’t have to use condoms.”

“If you decide you want kids, but don’t want to go through a pregnancy, we’ll figure it out,” I said. “Adoption, surrogacy, whatever. Or just us, with no kids, if that’s what you want.”

She nodded against my chest, and I felt something wet on my skin. A tear. I pretended not to notice, giving her the dignity of her private emotion.

“I never thought I’d meet someone who’d just… accept me,” she said, her voice slightly rough. “All my shit, my damage.”

“We’ve all got damage, darlin’. Mine’s just different than yours.”

She lifted her head, her eyes shining but fierce. “Don’t minimize what I’m trying to say, asshole.”

I grinned. “There’s my girl.”

She smacked my chest lightly but settled back against me. “I’m trying to tell you I love you too, dickhead.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I’d hoped but hearing her say it made everything real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“Say it again,” I murmured into her hair.

“I love you.” Clearer this time, no hesitation. “God help me.”

I laughed, the sound rumbling through my chest. “God help us both.”

We lay there in the dim light, the newly transformed bedroom a cocoon around us. Rio’s breathing gradually slowed, deepened as she drifted toward sleep. I stayed awake, my hand stroking her back in slow, gentle circles. The night wrapped around us, quiet and full of possibility. In the morning, we’d face the world -- her demons, my responsibilities to the club, the everyday challenges of building a life together. But for now, in this raw, vulnerable moment, there was just us. Just this.

Our shared journey had just begun.