“Dylan,” she cries out.
I don’t stop, I only continue. Knowing that she’s right there, she’s so close. She’s fighting it, but I won’t let her fight, I will force her to come. I will force her pleasure, always.
Then she screams my name as she comes. My chest fills with pride. I made her scream, it was exactly what I wanted. What I needed, especially after the conversation we had, though short, it was more personal that I’ve been with another person in decades.
Her cunt squeezes my fingers, clamping down as her thighs, and then her entire body trembles. I don’t stop, not until she comes down from her high. Only then do I back up and stand.
Her eyes are closed and she’s panting as she attempts to find herself again. She’s completely lost to the sensation of her release and it’s fucking beautiful. With a grunt, I stop staring at her, removing my own clothes and strip down until I’m completely naked. Pamela reaches for the T-shirt that she’s wearing, my T-shirt, and I shake my head.
“Keep it on. Gonna fuck you in my tee, Sunny.”
“Why?” she asks softly, her voice a breathy whisper.
“‘Cause you look sexy as fuck in it.”
PAMELA
I’m sore, not just a little sore, but everything aches and hurts. I can’t go again and maybe won’t be able to forever. But as he holds me, as Dylan’s arms wrap around me after my umpteenth orgasm, I know that if he wanted me again, I would rally.
I would find a way to accept his body with mine, because after that first stroke all of my pain melts away and there’s just us. I used to think that people were so full of shit when I would hear or read something like that, but it’s not shit, it’s true.
Wrapping my arm around his middle, I lift my head and look up to him. “You know, even if I’m never your Old Lady, I would be okay with that.”
My words seemingly come out of nowhere, but I can’t help but continue to think about the conversation that we had earlier tonight. The one where he said he wasn’t going to claim me, that he couldn’t, because he’s not in good standing. That I could never be protected the way that he wants me to be by the club.
I can’t stop myself from thinking about the fact that I don’t care about any of it. I feel safe here, with him, with this club. They’re not going to do the things that the Donkey Punchers would do to an unclaimed, or even claimed for that matter, woman.
“Yeah?” he asks, but it’s not like he’s truly asking me, rather than just saying something to say it, to fill the silence of the room.
“Dylan?”
He hums, closing his eyes, and he looks as if he’s fallen asleep. When I don’t say anything else, when I just watch him, when it becomes an uncomfortable silence, that’s when he opens his eyes and finally looks at me.
“I’m serious,” I say softly.
I slide my hand up his chest, curling my fingers around the side of his neck before I say anything else. My eyes focus on his, I’m unable to look anywhere else as I watch his intense gaze. He’s beautifully confused, and my lips curve up into a grin.
“I would be yours with just your word of commitment. Just your promise.”
He watches me, not speaking, not even breathing. His eyes are back to that almost feral look. I press my lips together, wondering what he’s going to do or say next. He kind of looks like he’s about to run.
Then he does something that surprises me. He lifts his hand, cupping my cheek before he lifts his head and touches his mouth to mine. He doesn’t say anything, but the kiss, this kiss, it’s hard and full of every emotion and meaning that I could imagine and more.
It’s breathtaking.
Chapter Twenty
JAGUAR
Leaving her alone in bed, I slip out of the room and head down to the bar. I need a fucking drink. I’m supposed to stay sober, but Dragon is going to have to forgive me for having a goddamn beer, especially after what I’ve just done and promised.
Fuck.
I walk past the spot that Barracuda was always perched and I wince at the empty seat. The only reason I’m not filled with complete rage is that I know he is with Shoshana, or if nothing else, he’s at least out of his lonely misery at living a whole fucking life without her.
“What’re you doing here?” Gator asks.
I jerk my chin to him, walking around the bar and pull out a bottle of cold beer. He watches me as I use the opener and pop the top off. Without saying a word, I tip my head back and bring the bottle to my lips, downing half of the contents in one gulp.
Once I’ve swallowed the beer, I slam the bottle down on the bar top and look across to him. “I’m fucked, that’s what I’m doing here.”
He frowns, his brows snapping together before he shakes his head once and lifts the shot glass that was in front of him to his lips. He throws it back, then hisses as the hard liquor slides down his throat.
“No more fucked than I am, tell me,” he demands.
So I do. I tell him about Pamela, about my promises. Then I wince as I tell him that I fucked her bare and came inside of her more than once. He doesn’t even blink at my words, doesn’t even flinch.
“She don’t care if you brand her. She’s willing to be at your side knowing the man you are, knowing the shit you did. Sounds like you got a good one,” he slurs.
I watch him, allowing his words to soak in, to marinate. He’s not wrong. In fact, even though she said it almost the same way, it didn’t hit
