Page 30 of Friar
The first brush of his lips against mine was tentative, questioning -- nothing like the drunken fumbling I vaguely remembered from the night of the party.This was careful, deliberate, a man holding something precious and afraid of breaking it.His stubble rasped gently against my skin, a masculine counterpoint to the unexpected softness of his mouth.
My hands found their way to his face, trembling fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, feeling the prickle of evening stubble beneath my fingertips.He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a sigh, and his arms encircled me, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other settled at the small of my back.
The kiss deepened, growing more confident as we adjusted to each other.He tasted faintly of mint -- gum or toothpaste, I couldn’t tell which -- and something uniquely him that I couldn’t name but instantly recognized.My body seemed to remember his, respond to him, even as my mind registered this as something new, something real in a way our previous encounter hadn’t been.
I pressed closer, my body fitting against his as if designed for that purpose.His hand at my back drew gentle circles, respectful of the slight swell of my stomach between us.Even in this moment of passion, he was mindful of the baby -- a gesture that made my heart swell with emotion I couldn’t yet name.
When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Friar rested his forehead against mine.His eyes were closed, his breathing uneven.I kept my hands on his face, not ready to break the connection, afraid that if I let go, the moment might dissolve like mist under the morning sun.
“I’ve wanted to do that since you showed up at the clubhouse,” he confessed, his voice a low rumble that I felt as much as heard.“Probably even before that, if I’m honest with myself.That night at the party, even drunk off my ass, I knew there was something about you.”
I smiled, my thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones.“I was so scared that day.Thought you’d slam the door in my face.”
“Never,” he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to my lips.“That’s not who I am.”
“But your club…”
He pressed his forehead to mine.“I’d have found a way, just like now.Not once did it ever occur to me to abandon you to deal with this on your own.”
He’d often talked about the club like they were his family, and somehow, against all odds and expectations, I had become part of that family.Through Friar, through the baby, through the strange, winding path that had led me here to this overlook, wrapped in the arms of a man who had chosen me when he could have walked away.
“Take me home,” I said softly, the word “home” feeling right on my tongue for the first time in years.
Friar smiled, a rare full smile that transformed his face, softening the hard edges and making him look younger, lighter.“Yeah,” he agreed, pressing one more kiss to my forehead.“Let’s go home.”
Chapter Eleven
Cheri
The ride back felt different, charged with an electricity that hummed between us like a live wire.I pressed closer against Friar’s back, my arms wrapped more confidently around his waist, my body moving with his through each turn and straightaway.The night air seemed warmer somehow, or maybe it was just the heat generated between us, the memory of his lips on mine making my skin flush despite the cool breeze rushing past.
Friar drove faster than before, the motorcycle eating up the miles between the overlook and home.There was an urgency to his movements now, a controlled intensity I could feel in the tension of his muscles beneath my hands.My heart raced with anticipation, with the knowledge of what waited for us at the end of this ride.
This wasn’t like that night at the party -- clouded by alcohol and poor decisions, a stranger’s hands on unfamiliar skin.This was deliberate, chosen, seen in the clear light of understanding.Whatever happened next, we were entering it with open eyes and willing hearts.
The house appeared ahead, a dark silhouette against the star-scattered sky.Friar slowed the bike, guiding it into the driveway with practiced ease before cutting the engine.The sudden silence pressed against my ears, making the sound of our breathing seem unnaturally loud.He dismounted first, offering his hand to help me off, but didn’t release me when my feet touched the ground.
“You’re beautiful in the moonlight.”He traced small circles on the inside of my wrist, a touch so light it shouldn’t have sent shivers racing up my arm, but it did.
I didn’t know how to respond to the compliment -- didn’t have much practice accepting them -- so I just squeezed his hand, letting my eyes say what my voice couldn’t.He seemed to understand, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he led me toward the house.
Inside, the familiar surroundings felt different, transformed by the energy crackling between us.The living room where we’d spent countless hours watching TV, the kitchen where we’d shared meals, the hallway I’d walked down a hundred times to reach my borrowed bedroom -- all of it seemed charged with new meaning, new possibility.
Friar’s hand remained wrapped around mine as he guided me past the spare room, past the bathroom, to the door at the end of the hall.His bedroom.A space I’d glimpsed only in passing, a territory that had remained distinctly his in a house we shared.
He paused at the threshold, his free hand on the doorknob, his eyes searching mine in the dim light of the hallway.“You sure about this?”he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The question held more weight than just the immediate moment.He was asking if I was sure about him, about us, about the future we might build together.I nodded, unable to find words that could adequately express the certainty I felt.This was right.He was right.We were right.
He pushed the door open, and the scent of him hit me immediately -- stronger here in his most private space, concentrated in a way that made my pulse jump.He reached for a lamp on the nightstand, turning it on with a click that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.Golden light spilled across the space, revealing a king-size bed with rumpled dark sheets, a dresser with framed photographs I couldn’t make out from the doorway, and a bookshelf stuffed with what looked like repair manuals and motorcycle magazines.
The room was masculine but not aggressively so -- lived-in, comfortable, with small touches that spoke of the man who occupied it.A book lay open on the nightstand beside the lamp, a half-empty glass of water next to it.He went to hang his cut over the back of a chair in the corner.
“Come here,” Friar said, tugging gently on my hand.He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling me to stand between his knees.In this position, with him seated and me standing, our height difference was less pronounced.I could look directly into his eyes without tipping my head back, could see the flecks of gold in the hazel irises that looked more blue-green today, the way his pupils dilated as he looked at me.
His hands settled on my hips, warm and steady through the fabric of my jeans.“Last chance to change your mind,” he said, his voice rougher than before.“We can just sleep.No pressure.”
I reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips, feeling the slight scratch of stubble against my skin.“I don’t want to sleep,” I whispered.“I want you.”
