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“I think I broke my dick fucking you. Other than that, I’m good, Gorgeous. Fantastic even,” I tell her with a lazy grin. Taking her back to our room might possibly be the best idea I’ve ever had. Thankfully, Dani and Crusher were gone when we got here because I don’t think I had it in me to wait. I needed inside of her—fuck, I always need inside her.
“Your dick is not broken,” she laughs, kissing my chest.
“It is. Look at the poor bastard, he’s limp.”
Her gaze travels down at my semi-erect cock and it jerks under her stare.
“Yeah, poor thing is about dead,” she mutters, her hand moving up to squeeze my cock.
I just came so hard that my balls are still aching, but with just that touch my dick throbs in her hand. Rory is magic… either that or a fucking drug I can’t get enough of.
“What’s my name?” I mutter, needing to hear her say it again.
“Fucking asshole?” she questions.
“Woman—”
“Didn’t you just have me moaning your name? You, big dummy,” she sighs.
“Then, why did you call me Diesel in there.”
“Because Connie the Cunt—who by the way is out of here like yesterday’s trash—doesn’t get that. She doesn’t even get to hear your name muttered. As near as I can tell, I’m the only one that calls you that, and she doesn’t get it. If she did, I’d have to kill her and I don’t look good in prison orange.”
“You’re sounding very territorial right now,” I whisper with a grin, kissing the underside of her neck.
“Oh please. Like you could talk. I’ve seen how you’ve been treating Gunner, that needs to stop.”
“When he stops flirting with you, it might,” I respond with a shrug.
“He doesn’t flirt with me,” she counters, but her voice changes.
“Tell me that again, when you actually believe it and we’ll talk, Gorgeous.”
“Okay then, he doesn’t flirt with me that much. And it doesn’t matter either way. It would never be something I’d act on. I’m not that kind of person.”
“What kind of person?” I ask.
“The kind that would talk and flirt with a man who is family to the man I am sleeping with.”
“We’re doing a lot more than sleeping together, Rory. I just made you my old lady.”
“What’s up with that? I got to tell you, Noah, women—including me—don’t like to be called old, and I’m not even that old,” she huffs.
I laugh, shifting us in the bed so that she’s lying on the pillow instead of me. Then, I get up, walking to the dresser.
“I really need to get you into some biker chick classes. Telling everyone that you’re my old lady is saying I claim you as mine—which they all knew, but this makes it official,” I tell her, grabbing a pair of gym shorts out of the drawer and putting them on.
“Claiming me?” she asks, scooting up on the bed.
“Claiming, in our life it’s as good as a marriage is in your world. You’re mine. You’re on the back of my bike and no one fucks with you.”
“So, we’re married, and I didn’t even get a ring?” she laughs, and I doubt she’s taking any of this seriously, but eventually she’ll get it. She’s completely mine now.
“You’ll get a cut like mine. I’ll get that fixed up this week.”
“A cut?”
“Like my leather vest, people call it a cut or a cut-off. It has my club name, our creed and symbol, along with my position in the club. You’ve seen me wear it since we’ve gotten back.”
“What will mine say as my position? President’s cock worshiper?” she quips—definitely not understanding my world completely yet, but she will.
“If you want, I can have that patch put on.” I smirk, thinking I do kind of like that idea. “But yours will simply bear the club emblem and say property of Diesel on it.”
“Property? No fucking way.”
“It’s not derogatory, Gorgeous,” I tell her bringing one of my shirts over and sitting on the side of the bed where she is. “In my world, what a man has boils down to family and property that is important to him. In the club there’s nothing more important than your ride, your brothers and whoever you put on the back of your bike. Our life is simple and our rules are simple. You protect those things above all else. Those things are precious. My brothers, my way of life that’s worth protecting, but you and Ryan? You are deemed property to the outside world, but you are my life, Rory. Don’t get anything twisted up in the labels. You two are everything,” I tell her kissing her lips gently. Then I start putting my shirt over her head. She helps put her arms in and then I’m helping her pull it down her body.
“If I’m everything, why are you covering me up then?” she mutters, but her voice is thick now. She gets it—or at least most of what I was trying to tell her. That’s enough for now.
