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I’m not wearing my cut. It’s in my bag. I decided for our wedding, I wouldn’t wear my colors. It didn’t seem like the right place. If we were getting married at the clubhouse, then yeah, but it didn’t feel right here, for this moment.

“We call it a cut, babe,” I murmur, trying to keep my lips from curving up into a smile, but I fail. So fucking cute she calls it a vest, though if I didn’t know what it is, I might do the same.

“And it’s part of your club,” she says.

It’s not a question, more of a statement. So instead of responding to her, I hum, my eyes searching hers, never looking away. I don’t ever want to look away from her. She’s special, this woman in front of me. She holds my whole fucking heart in the palm of her hand, and I never thought a woman could do that.

But she does.

And so does Thea.

“But you didn’t wear it to the wedding?”

“I wanted to take pictures where you and Thea were the centerpiece. The club has always been the center of my world, but not today.”

Today it was her and Thea… it was the three of us. Nothing else needed to share the space or the everlasting memories the pictures will provide. Nothing should ever overshadow this night.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-THREE

KEELY

We give Thea a bath, still in our wedding clothes, then get her ready for bed, including a final feeding for the night, but odds are she’ll be awake in about four hours for another one, then I place her in the crib in the bedroom across from ours and back away. Brock is at my back, close by. In fact, he’s been beyond attentive this whole evening.

I kicked off my shoes about two point four seconds after he carried me across the threshold into our hotel suite, and now I’m standing, shoeless, in front of him, our daughter asleep and my heart pounding against my chest because I know what’s coming next and…

I. Can’t. Wait.

Brock looks absolutely stunning. His hair is a bit long, curling at the base of his neck. He wore a pair of slacks, his motorcycle boots, and a light-blue button-down shirt with a black tie. I don’t know who told him to get the shirt, but it matched my dress perfectly, which means one of the girls probably guided him.

I’m okay with that.

I couldn’t care who helped him. The end result was worth it all.

He closes the distance between us. Our bedroom door is open, but Thea’s is closed. I don’t ask him why, but I have a feeling it’s a safety thing. He wants to know if there is anyone here. Though I can’t imagine anyone walking into our room, I’m sure stranger things have happened.

“My wife,” Brock murmurs.

Closing my eyes, I feel his palm against my cheek, his thumb sliding across my bottom lip. I don’t know how I ended up in this moment with him. We’re married. Officially and legally. I am this man’s wife, and he’s the father of my child… our child.

“Look at me, babe.”

Slowly, I open my eyes, my gaze finding and connecting to his. His eyes glitter as he looks down at me. My heart squeezes then stops for just a moment. My breath hitches when he lowers his head, his lips touching mine.

He doesn’t close his eyes. His mouth only lingers for a moment. A brush of the lips, touching mine just long enough to make me yearn for more—so much more. The hand not cupping my cheek lifts, and I feel his fingers slip beneath the strap of my dress.

Brock glides his fingers along my shoulder, back and forth a few times, before he gently guides it down. I wriggle my arm out of the strap, my eyes never leaving his. His hand falls from my cheek to do the same with the other strap.

The top of my dress dips, exposing my breasts, and my breathing begins to come out in pants. Anticipation for what is about to happen fills me. Goose bumps break out over every inch of my body, and I press my thighs together, waiting, wanting, hoping for more.

I want to beg him to touch me—but I’m far too shy, which is weird, because he makes me feel anything but shy when he touches me. When his deep voice demands that I do things for him, I do them—happily.

I feel his index fingers circle my nipples before they dance along the flesh of my breasts, gently massaging me there. I want more. So much more. More of everything. My thighs are trembling as I wait. Anticipation fills me to the brim and almost bursts out of me.

Brock’s head is dipped, his eyes no longer connected to mine but instead intensely focused on my breasts, on his fingers caressing my skin. I watch as his nostrils flare and his jaw clenches, and I don’t know why, but it’s so damn hot. Maybe just because he’s so damn hot, I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care.

What I do want is him to touch me.