I’m nodding before he even finishes talking.
“Of course,” my voice wobbles slightly. “I’m already yours.”
Titus helps me put the cut on, just like I did for him in front of the hospital a month ago. This time I’m the one to feel the weight of the leather, and all it represents, settle on my shoulders.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly before doing a slow spin and facing my biker. His gray eyes are molten, and it feels like they sear my skin. The promises in those eyes are clear to read—soon I’ll be wearing only the cut while he buries himself inside of me.
A shiver runs up my back at the thought. I want that. I want it so fucking badly.
I’m just about to turn back toward the bar, thinking the cut was the whole of it, but then I gasp, loudly. Because Titus lowers himself down to one knee in front of the entire club.
He reaches into his cut and pulls out a ring without a box and holds it up in the space between us. I don’t even look at it.
Not because I’m not curious but because I can’t look away from his gray eyes. They’re filled with love for me, but there’s also a little nervousness at the edges. It’s not something I’m used to seeing in the eyes of my big, badass Prez, but it’s there right now. Because of me.
“I don’t only want my claim on you made of leather, I want it all, Teach.” Something in him steadies, like he’s no longer worried about what I’ll say. I’m sure the tears of joy on my face along with the big smile probably helps to put him at ease. “You’re wearing my cut, but it’s not enough. Marry me.”
He doesn’t present it as a question, he says it like it’s a foregone conclusion. Maybe it is.
“Titus,” I barely whisper his name as my hand lifts. I caress his cheek before nodding slowly. “Yes.”
It’s the only answer I can give, even if there wasn’t a question.
He slips the ring on my finger, and I don’t get the chance to look at it before he’s surging up toward me and pulling me against his chest. When he kisses me, it’s filled with fire and need. The feeling burns through me, and I grip his cut like it’s the only tether I have in this world.
The cheering around us has me laughing and pulling away from him. He doesn’t let go, not right away. It’s only after he presses kisses all over my face that he finally releases me.
“I think it’s time to go,” he husks against the shell of my ear.
“I’m not going to let Bolt’s Sex on the Beach trauma go to waste. I’m going to finish my drink and then we can go,” I tell him.
Titus pouts, but he still nods. After he kisses me again, this time the contact softer and sweeter, he slaps my ass when I turn to walk back toward the bar. I look at him over my shoulder, but I don’t bother to even muster up a fake glare. Why would I when I’m floating on cloud nine right now?
The moment I’m close enough, the women pull me into their arms and start fussing over me. They look at the ring and let out delighted sounds.
It is gorgeous. And huge.
I already know I’ll never take it off.
The lightness of the moment settles, and a sense of peace coats the room. Which is when Playboy chooses to lean against the bar and sneer at Lara. My lips part, but I’m not fast enough to cut him off.
“What are you even doing here? You’re not club and you never will be. We value loyalty and family here, you know nothing about either of those things,” his words are venomous and my eyes widen while Lola chortles as she drapes herself over Playboy.
I step forward, but Titus is there at my back with a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I look up at him, and he shakes his head subtly.
I’m about to argue, but he leans down and whispers in my ear, “She’s got this, you don’t need to defend her and if Playboy wants to keep putting his foot in his mouth, then it’s a lesson he needs to learn on his own.”
I hate it, but I know he’s right.
“Listen, I realize that you’ve already formed an opinion about me,” she sneers at Playboy, “but this isn’t grade school. Grow the fuck up. If you have something to say,” her gaze swings to Lola, “either of you, then grow a pair and say it to my face without all the veiled bullshit.”
The silence in the room is deafening as everyone holds their breath.
Playboy is the enforcer for the club, but Lara doesn’t seem afraid of him at all.
When neither one says anything fast enough, Lara huffs and looks at them with pure disdain. “That’s what I thought. You want to whisper behind people’s backs, not caring about the truth when you do, but then don’t know how to deal with being called out because you’re being an asshole.”
Lara shakes her head and looks at Playboy like he’s only wasted potential. She doesn’t spare him another word, and something hardens in his expression.
