Page 61 of Property of the Bikers

He sucks my clit with steady pressure while his fingers stroke that perfect spot inside me. The pleasure builds slowly but powerfully, thick and deep. When it finally breaks, I come hard against his tongue, one hand gripping his hair as my body shakes.

Reeve stays with me through every wave, gentling his movements but never pulling away until I’m limp and panting. Only then does he rise.

He removes the rest of his clothes with efficient, economical movements and folds each piece. His body is lean muscle and quiet strength. His cock is hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip.

He climbs onto the bed and arranges me carefully on my side, facing him. He lifts my top leg over his hip so we’re pressed close together, my belly safely cradled between our bodies. The position lets him look directly into my eyes the entire time.

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly. Inch by inch. He watches my face as he fills me, breathing steadily with me until he’s buried to the hilt.

For a long moment, he simply stays there, letting me adjust to his thickness, his hand resting flat and protective over my belly.

Then he begins to move.

His thrusts are deep and controlled, rolling with powerful certainty rather than speed. Every stroke feels intentional. He keeps perfect eye contact, studying my reactions, changing the angle slightly until my mouth falls open on a moan. His hand never leaves my belly. His thumb strokes slow circles over the tight skin as he fucks me.

“You’re strategic,” he says quietly, voice rough but clear. “You assess threats. You weigh outcomes. I’ve watched you do it for weeks.” He thrusts deeper, grinding against me on every forward motion. “That mind of yours is what I choose. Not just this body. Not just the baby. You.”

The pleasure builds again, slow and devastating. He keeps the same measured pace, never faltering. One hand supports the heavy weight of my breast while the other stays anchored on my belly. He leans in and kisses me deeply, tongue moving with the same deliberate rhythm as his hips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, breathing with me.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

I can’t form full words. I just press closer. He understands instantly. He shifts his angle, driving deeper, grinding against my clit with every thrust.

The hand on my belly presses firmer, possessive in its protection. I come again, harder this time, clenching around him as waves of pleasure roll through me. Reeve groans low, buries himself as deep as he can, and follows me over the edge. He pulses inside me, long and steady, while his hand stays flat on my stomach the entire time.

We stay connected for several long minutes, breathing together.

Eventually, he eases us onto our backs. His arm stays around me. His hand remains flat on my stomach, warm and steady over the curve. We both stare up at the ceiling while the afternoon light slowly fades across the room.

“Does permanence scare you?” I ask quietly.

“Terrifies me,” Reeve answers, voice calm and honest. “Choosing it anyway.”

“Me too.”

This isn’t freedom. This is another form of binding. I want it anyway. The wanting and the trap coexist.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

JAX

Saturday morning, and the three of us are at breakfast when she walks in.

I see Cade register her first, the slight shift in how he’s holding his coffee cup, the way his eyes move to the door and stay there for a half second longer than they’d stay for anyone else. Reeve doesn’t look up from the table immediately, which means he already knew she was coming, which means he heard her footsteps in the hallway before the door opened, which is exactly the kind of thing Reeve notices and doesn’t mention.

I look at the door.

Mira stands in it for a moment, then comes in, pulls out the chair across from Cade, and sits down, and the table settles into the particular silence of people who have things to say and are deciding who goes first.

She goes first.

“We need to talk,” she says. Not aggressively. Not emotionally. The flat, direct register she uses when she’s decided something is going to happen and is stating it as fact rather than asking permission. “What happens after the baby’s born. Am I staying? What is this, the three of you and me, and what are the rules?”

Cade looks at his coffee.

Reeve looks at the table.

I look at her. “You’re staying,” I say, because someone needs to say it first, and Cade delivers terms better when he’s had a moment to hear them framed, and Reeve already stated his position yesterday and doesn’t need to restate it immediately. “If you want to. Permanent. All three of us. That’s the offer on the table.”