Page 94 of Wings
The office door opened onto a different world. The celebration had hit that perfect sweet spot—drunk enough for honesty, not so drunk that blood would flow. Someone had started a poker game in the corner. Thor's arm-wrestling tournament had crowned a champion who was taking all challengers. NormalFriday night at the clubhouse, except tonight I belonged here in ways I hadn't three hours ago.
"Wings!" Someone pressed another beer into my hand. "There he is! Thought you snuck off to celebrate privately!"
Laughter, backslapping, the easy camaraderie of brothers who'd kill for each other without question. I fell back into it, but Kiara's hand in mine kept me grounded. She smiled and chatted, played the part of proud girlfriend perfectly, but I felt the tension in her fingers. Processing what had just happened, what would happen Thursday.
But that was Thursday. Tonight, I was just Wings, newest full member of the Heavy Kings MC, watching my woman laugh and my brothers celebrate and the future rush toward us like a freight train in the dark.
Chapter 18
Wings
TheminuteIwoke,I knew today would be different. Not because of the weak light filtering through the blinds or the distant rumble of early deliveries to the tavern below. Different because today ended with violence, with choices that couldn't be taken back, with lives hanging on intel I still didn't fully trust.
But right now, none of that mattered. Not with Kiara warm against my ribs, her breath tickling my chest in sleep-slow rhythm. The apartment had transformed since she'd moved in. Ours. Hair ties on my nightstand. One of her scrubs hanging on the bathroom door. Little pieces of her scattered through what used to be just a place to crash between runs.
I studied her face in the pale light. Peaceful. No anxiety lines between her brows, no tension in her jaw. Just my little girl, safe in our bed, trusting me to come back to her tonight.
The kiss started gentle—just my lips against her temple, breathing her in. But she stirred, made that small sound thatalways shot straight to my cock, and suddenly gentle wasn't enough. Her eyes fluttered open, green gone dark with instant want.
"Morning, Daddy." Voice rough with sleep but already reaching for me, small hand sliding down my chest.
"Morning, baby girl."
Then her fingers found my cock, already half-hard from waking beside her, and the growl that ripped from my throat belonged to something primal. Something that wanted to claim, to possess, to imprint myself so deep she'd feel me even when I was gone.
"Need you," she whispered, already moving. The T-shirt—my shirt, worn soft from too many washes—rode up as she shifted. Lace shorts that barely deserved the name. Then she was straddling my lap, and coherent thought became impossible.
She pulled the shirt over her head in one smooth motion, and Christ. The morning light painted her gold—every curve, every freckle, every inch of skin I'd mapped with hands and mouth but would never get enough of. My hands found her hips, steadying her as she positioned herself.
"So wet already," I groaned, feeling her heat through the thin lace. "Always ready for Daddy."
"Always," she agreed, pushing the shorts aside rather than removing them. Impatient. Needy. Perfect.
When she sank down on my cock, we both gasped. The pleasure hit like lightning—hot and tight and exactly where I belonged. Her head fell back, exposing the column of her throat, and I had to taste. Had to mark. My teeth found that spot where neck met shoulder, not hard enough to bruise but enough to make her clench around me.
We moved together slow at first. This wasn't fucking—this was something else entirely. Her fingers traced the scars on my shoulder, my fingers traced the scar on her hip. We'd been self-conscious about them once. Now they were just another map we knew by heart, another piece of each other we accepted without question.
My hands cradled her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones as we found our rhythm. Memorizing. She did the same, fingers ghosting over my jaw, my lips, like she was storing up touches for later.
"Beautiful," I murmured against her mouth. "My beautiful girl."
She kissed me deep, tongue sliding against mine as her hips rolled in that way that made my spine tingle. I could feel her getting close already—the little catches in her breath, the way her thighs trembled against mine.
"Faster," she pleaded, and who was I to deny her anything?
My hands dropped to her hips, guiding her into a rhythm that had us both panting. She leaned back, changing the angle, and fuck—I could see where we joined, could watch my cock disappearing into her again and again. The sight nearly ended me right there.
Instead, I found her clit with my thumb, circling the swollen nub while she rode me harder. Her hands clutched my shoulders, nails digging in just enough to ground us both.
"That's it," I encouraged, feeling her inner walls start to flutter. "Come for Daddy. Want to feel you."
She shattered with a cry that filled our small space, her whole body clenching around me. The sensation—her pleasure, her trust, her complete surrender—dragged me over the edge with her. I pulled her tight against me as I came, marking her inside where no one else would ever reach.
We stayed joined as our breathing slowed, foreheads pressed together, sharing air and heartbeats. Neither of us mentioned what came next. What the night would bring.
"Come back to me," she whispered finally, the words carrying weight that had nothing to do with volume. "Promise me, Daddy. Whatever happens tonight, you come back to me."
"Always, little girl." I sealed it with a kiss that tasted like promises I'd die to keep. "Always."
