Page 81 of The Bastard's Lily
"You like that?" I growl against her ear, feeling her pussy clench around me as I restrict her airflow. "Like feeling me control when you breathe while I fuck you raw?"
She can't answer, just nods frantically, her body trembling beneath mine. I ease my grip for a moment, letting her gasp a desperate breath before tightening again.
"My dirty little wife," I rasp, my teeth finding the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. I bite down, not gentle, marking her pale skin.
"Spread those knees wider," I command, voice barely recognizable through the fog of lust. "Let me see that pretty pussy from behind."
She complies immediately, lowering her chest to the grass, ass high in the air. The sight of her like this, exposed and vulnerable under the moonlight, nearly breaks me. I grip her hips with bruising force and drive into her with one hard thrust.
"Fuck!" she cries out, the sound echoing in the night air.
I bend over her back, one hand tangling in her hair, yanking her head back. "Quiet," I growl against her ear. "Unless you want the whole goddamn town to hear what a dirty girl their sweethearts become."
"Maybe I do," she pants, pushing back against me. "Maybe I want everyone to know who's making me scream."
Christ, her words are gonna kill me. I slam into her harder, my free hand wrapping around to find her clit. She's soaked, swollen beneath my fingers.
"You want everyone to hear how you take my cock?" I snarl, teeth scraping the sensitive skin where her neck meets her shoulder. "Want them all to know what my woman sounds like when she's getting fucked in God's backyard?"
Her entire body trembles beneath me, muscles tightening as my fingers work faster against her clit. I can feel her getting close again, her inner walls fluttering around my cock as she balances on the edge.
"I'm gonna come," she gasps, the words barely audible. "Oh god, Rook, I'm gonna—"
She shatters beneath me, her body convulsing as she comes hard around my cock. The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her pulsing around me, it's too much. My rhythm falters, hips slamming into hers one last time as I follow her over the edge.I bury myself deep, groaning her name as I empty inside her, pleasure crashing through me like a tidal wave.
I collapse beside her on the damp grass, both of us breathing hard. My arm drapes across her waist, pulling her against me as aftershocks ripple through our bodies. The night air cools our sweat-slicked skin, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves above us. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Calla’s soft giggle breaks the quiet.
I tilt my head, still catching my breath. “Are you… You’relaughing?”
Her giggle tips into a full laugh, bright and shameless in the dark.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” I growl, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. I start laughing too, low and rough until it shakes through my chest.
“I love you,” she says when the laughter fades, forehead resting against mine.
“Yeah?” I press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”
We pull our clothes back on, still grinning, still brushing against each other like we can’t quite stop. One last slow kiss, all heatand promise, before we step out from behind the church into the quiet night.
I brush my thumb along her jaw, the last of the churchyard shadows slipping off her skin.
“Let’s go home,” I say, voice low. “Not the clubhouse.Yourcabin. If you’ll let me.”
Her eyes shine in the dark, steady as a vow. “Always.”
I lace our fingers and lead her toward the bikes, the night air cool against sweat and grass. For the first time in years, it feels like the world is ours to ride—me, my woman, and our boy waiting at the end of the road.
Thebelloverthedoor gives a shy little chime when I push it open. For a second, I just stand there, breathing in the quiet.
Fresh paint still clings to the walls, faint under the sharper bite of antiseptic and the bitter drip of coffee from the machine in the corner. Sunlight slides across the worn floorboards, pooling around a single calla lily in a glass jar on the front desk.
My fingers trace the cool edge of the counter. Mine. All of it. It doesn’t look like much, just two rooms and a hallway, but it’s clean, it’s ready, and for the first time in years, the space around me feels steady.
Behind me, the door shuts with a soft click. Outside, a bike rumbles once and fades. I know that sound. Vice handled the lease. Grimm promised to keep an eye out. They call itThe Lily.I call it proof that we survived.
I slip behind the counter and start a slow lap through the rooms, fingertips grazing fresh drywall like I still don’t believe it’s real. The Lily isn’t just a clinic. It’smyclinic.
