Page 19 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

Salvation

I couldn’t sleep, even with Yulia’s warmth pressed against me.

Eleven years of wanting, of holding back, of telling myself this was enough -- and now she was here, in my bed, her breath steady against my chest. But nothing had been said, not really.

“This is real” wasn’t enough after everything we’d been through.

She deserved more than that. She deserved the whole truth, even if speaking it aloud terrified me more than facing down armed men ever had.

I shifted carefully, not wanting to disturb her, but she wasn’t asleep either. Her eyes opened, finding mine in the dim light, questioning.

“I’m going to get some water,” I murmured, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. “Do you want anything?”

She shook her head, her dark blonde hair spilling across my pillow as I eased away from her.

The floor was cold against my bare feet as I moved to the bathroom, splashing water on my face and staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The man who looked back at me seemed older, harder than the one who’d first brought a sixteen-year-old Yulia to live under his protection all those years ago.

When I returned, she’d sat up against the headboard, the sheet pulled up to cover herself.

Something in her posture -- a new wariness, a subtle withdrawal -- told me she’d misinterpreted my leaving.

Which meant I needed to forget my trek to the kitchen and stay here.

There was too much left unsaid between us, and I knew waiting any longer would be a mistake.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my back to her at first, hands clasped between my knees to hide their trembling. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words.

“Salvation?” Her voice was soft, uncertain. “What is it?”

“I don’t know how to say this.” My voice sounded rougher than I intended, edged with emotions too long contained.

“Say what?” A hint of fear colored her question, and I realized she might be thinking the worst -- that I regretted our kiss, that I was about to pull away again.

I forced myself to turn, to look at her directly. My throat tightened.

“I want this to be real,” I finally managed. “Not just because of what happened.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting in surprise.

“I want a real marriage,” I continued, the words coming easier now that I’d started. “I have for years. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. Didn’t know if that was what you wanted. Or if I would end up scaring you and making you want to run from me.”

My hands were definitely shaking now, so I clenched them tighter. What kind of bad-ass biker got all emotional like this? If my brothers could see me now… I took a breath to steady myself.

“When they took you -- when I thought I might never see you again -- I realized what a fucking coward I’ve been.

Eleven years, Yulia. Eleven years of living with you, raising Clover with you, wanting you, and never having the guts to just say it.

Well, not those first few years. I’m not a sick bastard who thought of a broken teenager that way.

It wasn’t until later, when you were about twenty, that I started seeing you differently. ”

She hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, her face frozen in an expression I couldn’t quite read. Had I misunderstood the meaning of our kiss? Had I completely misjudged what was happening between us?

“If you don’t feel the same,” I said quickly, “nothing has to change. We can go back to how things were. I just needed you to know --”

“Salvation. Kye.” My name on her lips stopped me cold. Her voice trembled, thick with emotion. “I have wanted that for so long I can’t remember when it started.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. “What?”

She shifted forward, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at her bruised ribs, but determined nonetheless. “I have been in love with you for years,” she said, her accent more pronounced with emotion. “I just never thought… I was afraid…”

Her hand reached for mine, fingers sliding between my own, the simple contact sending electricity up my arm. “I thought you saw me as an obligation. A responsibility. The damaged girl you had to protect.”

“No.” I squeezed her fingers, anchoring myself to her touch. “Never that. Not for a long time.

“One day I looked at you, really looked at you, and realized you weren’t that scared girl anymore. You were a woman. Strong. Beautiful.” I swallowed hard. “And I realized I didn’t just want to protect you. I wanted you. All of you.”

Her free hand came up to touch my face, fingertips tracing the line of my jaw with wonder. “I was so afraid to tell you,” she admitted. “I thought you might ask me to leave. That it would make things awkward between us, or worse, that you would feel obligated because of our arrangement.”

“I was afraid too,” I confessed, leaning into her touch. “That I’d scare you. That after everything you’d been through, the last thing you’d want was for things to change between us. That I’d be taking advantage.”

A small, incredulous laugh escaped her. “We’ve been such fools.”

“Complete idiots,” I agreed, a smile tugging at my lips despite the intensity of the moment.

I raised our joined hands, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “I’m sorry it took nearly losing you to make me brave enough to say it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “Just don’t stop saying it.”

Something broke loose in my chest then, a dam bursting after years of careful containment. I leaned forward, my free hand coming up to cradle her face, and kissed her properly -- years of wanting poured into a single connection.

She responded immediately, her fingers tightening around mine, her other hand sliding to the back of my neck to pull me closer. The kiss deepened, her lips parting beneath mine, a small sound escaping her throat that nearly undid me completely.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder, I rested my forehead against hers. Relief washed over me in waves so powerful I felt almost dizzy with it. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her smile -- God, her smile -- was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Open. Unguarded. Real.

“I love you,” I said, testing the words that had lived in my heart for so long. “I love you, Yulia.”

Her smile widened, tears spilling over now to track down her cheeks. “I love you too,” she whispered against my lips. “I have for so long.”

I brushed away her tears with my thumb, marveling at the softness of her skin, at the fact I could touch her like this now. No more holding back. No more pretending. Just us, finally honest with each other after all these years.

“So what happens now?” she asked, her gaze never leaving mine.

I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in years, maybe ever. “Now we start over. A real marriage. No more separate rooms. No more careful distance.”

“I’d like that,” she said, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of my hand. “Very much.”

I kissed her again, softly this time, a promise rather than a passion. “We have time,” I murmured against her lips. “All the time in the world.”

But even as I said it, I knew time wasn’t what I wanted right now.

We’d already wasted so much of it. The air between us changed, charged with years of restraint finally breaking.

I kissed Yulia again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it.

My hands moved to cup her face, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones with a reverence that belied the hunger building inside me.

Her response was immediate, her fingers digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer until our bodies pressed together through the thin fabric of our clothes.

“I want you,” I murmured against her lips, the words both a confession and a question.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

That simple admission nearly undid me. I deepened the kiss, one hand sliding into her hair while the other traced down her neck, her shoulder, coming to rest at her waist. Her skin was warm beneath my palm where her shirt had ridden up, but I hesitated, suddenly aware of her injuries.

“Your ribs,” I reminded her, pulling back slightly to study her face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A small, determined smile curved her lips. “Then be gentle,” she said. “But don’t stop.”

She reached for the hem of her T-shirt, wincing slightly as she began to lift it. I caught her hands, stopping her.

“Let me,” I said softly.

With careful movements, I eased the shirt up and over her head, my breath catching at the sight of her.

White bandages wrapped around her ribs, stark against her pale skin.

Bruises bloomed across her collarbone and her upper arms, ones I hadn’t noticed when we’d rescued her.

Which meant they’d likely shown up after we’d gotten home.

The evidence of what she’d endured made my throat tighten with a complex mixture of rage and tenderness.

I traced my fingertips lightly over a bruise on her shoulder, barely making contact. “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” she answered, her blue eyes never leaving mine. “Not when you touch me.”

My own shirt followed hers, dropped carelessly to the floor. Yulia’s hands explored newly exposed skin with a hesitant wonder that made my heart race. Her fingers traced the lines of my tattoos, the scars earned over years with the club, mapping me like territory she’d longed to claim.

When her hands reached for the waistband of my jeans, I caught them gently, bringing them to my lips.

“Are you sure?” I asked, needing her absolute certainty. “We can wait. Until you’re healed. Until --”

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” she interrupted, a fierceness in her voice I rarely heard.

To emphasize her point, she guided one of my hands to her breast, her eyes closing briefly at the contact. The trust in that gesture -- after everything she’d been through, both recently and years ago -- humbled me.