Page 39 of Piston

I laugh, but it dies in my throat as I take in the gentle swell of her belly beneath her tank top. Holy shit. Carlie's pregnant.

She catches me staring and her grin widens. "Surprise! Guess Mason's swimmers were stronger than we thought."

Mason puffs up with pride, his hand coming to rest on her stomach. "Damn straight. My kid's gonna be a force to be reckoned with."

I'm stunned. Carlie, sweet, innocent Carlie, is going to be a mom. And she looks...happy. Radiant, even. Like this is everything she's ever wanted.

My gaze darts to Piston, wondering if he's thinking the same thing I am. Kids. Marriage. The whole white picket fence deal. Is that what he wants? What *I* want?

I'm saved from spiraling by the arrival of the rest of the crew, whooping and hollering as they surround us. Hugs are exchanged, backs are slapped, and I'm welcomed into the fold like I've always been here.

As I'm passed from person to person, engulfed in leather and sweat and laughter, it hits me. This is my family now. My home. And as Piston's eyes meet mine over the sea of bodies, I know there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Piston takes my hand, pulling me onto the dance floor as some old school rock blares from the jukebox. The crowd parts, making space for their VP and his girl.

"Time to show 'em how it's done," he says with a wink, spinning me into his arms.

I laugh, letting him lead me into a fast-paced two-step. "Since when do you dance?"

"Since I got a reason to." His hand slides dangerously low on my back, pressing me flush against him.

We move together, our bodies synchronizing to the beat. Piston's usual intensity morphs into something playful,something free. He twirls me out and back in, dipping me so low my hair brushes the floor.

I come up breathless, giddy from more than just the dance. This is a side of him I rarely get to see, the man behind the hardened biker facade.

As the song fades into something slower, Piston's grip softens. We sway in place, my head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"Having fun?" he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

"Mmmm." I nuzzle closer, breathing him in. Leather, whiskey, and something uniquely him. "I always have fun with you."

His chuckle reverberates through me. "Good. 'Cause you're stuck with me."

We dance until my feet ache and my eyelids droop, lulled by the warmth of his body and the lazy rotation of the ceiling fans.

Piston must sense my fatigue because he steers us off the dance floor, keeping a steadying arm around my waist.

"Let's call it a night, yeah? Gonna stay here, in my room in the back."

I nod, too tired and content to question it. Staying wrapped in his arms sounds perfect.

He leads me down a dim hallway, the muffled thump of music fading behind us. With each step, anticipation curls in my gut. I'm ready for this, for him. To take our relationship to the next level.

Piston shoulders open a door, ushering me inside. The room is sparse but tidy, dominated by a king-size bed. Our bed, at least for tonight.

I turn to him, rising up on my toes to loop my arms around his neck. "Thank you for tonight. For everything."

His eyes soften, a rare vulnerability shining through. "You don't gotta thank me, Jenny. You're my world. My fucking heart."

The words wash over me, settling deep in my bones. I am his, and he is mine. Nothing else matters.

I pull him down into a kiss, pouring every ounce of love and longing into the press of my lips. He responds with equal fervor, his hands roaming my curves, igniting sparks beneath my skin.

We stumble towards the bed, shedding clothes as we go. I know tomorrow will bring new challenges, new obstacles to overcome. But right now, cocooned in Piston's arms, I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

And nothing, not even my own doubts, can take that away from me.

Piston's hand freezes on the light switch. "What the fuck?"

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