Page 18

NATALIA

I ’d never known peace like this. The small house he'd recently acquired sat tucked away at the edge of the French Quarter, far enough from the noise but close enough that I could still smell the river in the air. It was warm, always warm. The kind of warmth that came not just from the late Louisiana sun but from something like a home. Maybe it was the way it felt when you walked in through the door, familiar, safe and away from the havoc that was the clubhouse. It protected us from all that and made us feel like we belonged.

Tick Tock had forbidden me from going back to the clubhouse. He had come in one night after what I assumed to be a job, blood on his knuckles, jaw tight, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. He didn’t speak, just dragged me into the kitchen, sat me down and took control.

"You are never to go near that clubhouse again, you hear me." Handing me the phone he continued. "You call Aiyana right now, and you quit."

"What? you can't tell me what to do? You don't control me."

"Oh yeah," he'd growled into my face.

I met him word for word. "Listen I may be young but I have every right to work where I want, do what I want, and decide my own damn fate."

"You're living under my roof..."

"And you're not my father!" I yelled at him. "You're at best, a sugar daddy."

That last phrase shot him over the edge. He was all teeth, tongue, and possessive growls, as he yanked me mid-argument, spun me around with that dominant snarl in his throat, and forced me over the kitchen stool.

I’d fought him at first. Told him I wasn’t his property, that is, until my voice cracked as his hand swept across the curve of my ass, sliding down until his fingers met bare skin. No panties. A dark, wicked growl left his lips.

"You walked around all day like this, kitten? All bare and wet, just begging to be tamed?"

I whimpered, my cheek pressing against the cool countertop as his rough palm slid over my backside. The teasing touch ignited something inside me, my thighs already trembling as I clutched at the edge of the stool. And then he spanked me. Hard. Each slap landed with purpose, sharp and stinging, leaving a blush of heat blooming across my pale ass.

"Red already. Fuck, look at you," he rasped, his hand kneading the flesh he’d just marked.

I whimpered again, but it was laced with a need so thick I could barely think straight.

"Undress for me," he commanded, stepping back just enough to watch.

My fingers trembled as I stripped, the air brushing over my bare skin, nipples tightening under his gaze. My curves were full, plush, made to be touched. I saw the way his eyes darkened, how he licked his lips like I was a feast made just for him.

"Now crawl to me, baby," he ordered, voice low and filthy.

And I did. Because with him, I didn’t want control. I wanted to be devoured. And I forgot all the reasons why I wanted to fight.

So no, I didn’t go back to the clubhouse. I didn’t want to.

Instead, I stayed home. Went back to school and decided to become a nurse. My days became going to classes, returning, cooking dinner, and at night I slept in his bed, tangled in his scent, memorizing the feel of him beside me. My father came around sometimes, mostly for short dinners where we said too little, both of us dancing around the elephant in the room. What I was doing with my life, I couldn't live with Tick Tock forever, what would your mother think?

He never once asked me how I was doing, and I never offered to tell him. I was safe and alive, he didn't need to know who I was fucking on the side. Let alone that is was his best friend, twice my age.

For the most part, I was on my own. It had been a week since I’d seen Tick Tock. He’d been working long hours and dangerous runs which I didn’t ask too much about. He was different when he came home from those. Rougher. Wilder. More protective. He always held me a little tighter on those nights, kissed me with more hunger. Like he needed me to ground him.

So when I heard the front door open that night, my stomach flipped.

I turned from the kitchen sink, my breath catching the second I saw him.

He was all leather and danger, jaw dusted in stubble, that wild hair pushed back by the wind. He didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just stalked across the room, grabbed me by the hips, and pushed me back against the wall with a groan that vibrated through my bones.

"Miss me, kitten?" he growled against my neck, one hand already sliding up beneath my shirt, the other tugging at the waistband of my leggings.

I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around him, my body already soaked and aching.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he rasped, and as he slid the zipper of his jeans down, I scrambled to scrunch up the hem of my dress and with one thick stroke, he was inside me.

He drove into me hard, fast, rough, like he needed to bury every part of himself inside me just to breathe again. My head tipped back, a cry ripping from my throat as he fucked me into the wall, each thrust stealing the air from my lungs.

I loved how his cock filled me, so thick and long, making me forget everything as I was being impaled by it.

He kissed me. Deep and bruising suctions of my lips. His tongue pushing past mine like he had every right to own my mouth, my breath, my soul.

His hand slid between us, found my clit, and circled it just right.

"Cum for daddy, baby girl." I shattered with a scream, clinging to him as my orgasm tore through me like fire.

He grunted, face buried in my neck, and then he was spilling inside me, pulsing so deep I swore I could feel it in my throat.

He held me there for a second, just breathing, forehead pressed to mine. Then he set me down gently, kissed me again, softer this time, and whispered, "Dinner?"

I nodded, legs shaking, and turned back to the stove.

He washed up while I set the plates on the table. The scent of garlic and seared chicken wafting through the small space. He sat at the kitchen table, still shirtless, tattoos flexing as he dug in.

"You spoil me," he muttered, voice low.

"I like feeding you."

He looked at me then, and there was something in his eyes I couldn’t name. Something raw. Unspoken.

"Feels like home," he said quietly. "Unlike that fucking clubhouse."

I paused, my chest tightening. "Is everything alright?"

"We named a new President."

"Oh? Who is it?”

He swallowed and then shoveled more food in his mouth as he responded. “Elrik. Jameson’s kid. Damn this is good,” he side-tracked.

I smiled. “Is Bulldog alright? What about Aiyana?"

"Their fine. You really like Aiyana, don't you."

I shrugged. "She was sweet to me. Kind. Like a mother figure, I guess."

He stared at me for a long second. "Yeah, I get that. Maybe we can see if she'd like to have dinner with us one of these nights."

"I'd love that!" I smiled at him, taking a bite of the chicken.

He still looked stressed out and I urged him slightly to continue telling me. "I know I'm not supposed to ask you but, are you okay?"

His jaw tensed. "We had an issue with Rancid today."

"Rancid?"

"He comes near you again, I’ll put a bullet in his spine and take the heat for it."

"I haven’t seen him," I whispered, and it was the truth.

But I was worried. My thoughts went to my father who had been different lately, anxious, distracted. Hiding things from me like he always did.

"You, okay?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

I shrugged. "My dad. He’s been going out a lot. He says it’s club work, but I don’t know. Something feels off."

Tick Tock didn’t answer right away. He just stared down at his plate, chewing slower. Thinking.

"I haven’t seen him in weeks," he finally said. "His ‘runs’ feel more like Rancid’s orders than club business."

That made my heart pound. But he didn’t say more. Just kept eating.

I let the silence stretch between us, watching the man I was falling deeper in love with every day and praying we weren’t heading for something we couldn’t come back from.

I was scared. Because for once in my life, I had a home. A man. A chance.

And I wasn’t ready to lose it. Not yet.