venactricisfics

[venactricisfics]

Bound by Instinct: A Teen Wolf Story

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapters

I tugged my dress back over my head, not bothering to put back on the soft pink lace that I’d worn underneath. Peter smirked as I dangled my shoes from my fingers of one hand and my bra in the other. 

“We should get back,” I said, “Before the pack comes looking for us.” 

“We’re not lost, Little Wolf,” he responded, tugging his jeans up over his hips. 

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile as I stepped closer, my bare feet settling on the concrete. "They'll think you dragged me off to eat me," I teased.

Peter's smirk deepened, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "I did," he said, voice low and rough. "Just not the way they’re thinking."

Heat rose to my cheeks, but I tilted my chin up stubbornly, refusing to let him see how easily he could unravel me. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my skin longer than necessary. His touch was gentle, at odds with the primal edge that still lingered between us.

“We’ll walk slow,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the curve of my jaw. “Let ‘em sweat a little.”

I snorted, slipping my hand into his. "You're impossible."

"And you're mine," he said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

It was.

🐺

The door opened with a groan that echoed through the loft. I stepped in first, barefoot, dress slightly rumpled, cheeks still flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the walk back. Peter followed close behind, buttoning the last few buttons of his shirt like he wasn’t walking into a den full of over-observant wolves.

All conversation stopped.

Every eye in the room turned toward us.

Scott looked up from the table where he was sorting through maps. His brow lifted slightly, gaze dropping to my bare feet, then to the bra I hadn’t realized was still dangling from my hand.

Lydia was the first to break the silence. “Really? At Derek’s place?”

“It’s kind of tradition at this point,” Stiles said, trying—and failing—not to smirk. “The loft is like… unofficially cursed for hookups.”

“I hope you at least moved the weapons bin,” Malia added, arms crossed, nose twitching slightly. “Because it smells like him and her and tree bark in here.”

“I thought you were getting air,” Scott said, giving Peter a knowing look.

“I did,” Peter replied smoothly, settling his hand on my hip as he passed. “And I’m breathing much better now.”

“Jesus Christ,” Liam muttered from the couch, sliding his phone across the coffee table like he couldn’t bear to look at us.

I cleared my throat and tried to reclaim some level of dignity. “We didn’t mean to be gone that long. Just needed—”

“A moment,” Peter finished for me, voice low and possessive, his arm tightening slightly around my waist. “And a bit of privacy.”

Derek, leaning against the far wall with arms crossed, finally spoke. “You used my wall for privacy, didn’t you?”

“Technically,” Peter said with a faint smirk, “we used your roof access and some solid structural beams. Your craftsmanship held up nicely.”

Derek looked like he was fighting the urge to punch him—or laugh. Maybe both.

Kira looked at me thoughtfully, “I’m glad your date went well.”

“It was perfect,” I said softly. 

Kira smiled, warm and sincere, but there was something deeper in her gaze—curiosity, maybe even a little caution. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice so the others couldn’t hear.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” she said. “He’s… different around you.”

I shifted, suddenly aware of the way his scent still lingered on my skin, how his energy pulsed quietly through the bond between us. “I know,” I murmured. “He feels different to me too.”

Kira’s eyes softened. “Do you think it’s the mate bond?”

The words made my breath catch.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, but even as I said it, I felt the answer settle in my bones. I did know. I just wasn’t ready to say it aloud—not yet. “But it feels like… something more.”

Peter, from across the room, turned his head toward us like he’d heard his name—even though we hadn’t spoken it. His eyes met mine, that same stormy blue locked in on me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered. Like I always would be.

Kira followed my gaze and smiled again, this time with quiet understanding. “Just be careful. Bonds like that? They’re powerful. And sometimes, they burn.”

I nodded, her warning curling around my ribs like smoke—but it didn’t scare me. Not when the fire was already inside me.

Kira gave me a knowing smile as she nudged my shoulder with hers. “So... dinner and dessert?”

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite the heat creeping up my neck. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, we’re starting,” Malia chimed in from the kitchen. She popped a grape in her mouth and grinned. “You smell like him, Nova. Like... fully.”

Lydia looked up from her phone, eyes narrowing. “That’s why you came back barefoot with your bra in your purse.”

Peter made a low, amused sound behind me. He was lounging near the windows like he hadn’t just made a permanent claim on a member of Scott’s pack.

Scott raised an eyebrow, but there was no Alpha glare, no demand for an explanation. Just quiet, careful curiosity. “You two are... official now?”

I nodded, cheeks warm but head high. “Yeah. We are.”

Stiles let out a long sigh. “Man. I mean, I knew it was headed there, but still... Peter?”

Peter gave a theatrical little bow. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Not the word I’d use,” Stiles muttered. Then, pointing between the two of us, “Just—don’t break any furniture here, please. Derek will notice.”

Kira laughed, and even Malia let out a snort.

Isaac strolled past and gave Peter a deliberately wide berth, but not without a smirk. “Guess we know why Nova’s been glowing lately.”

I rolled my eyes again. “Okay, enough. We went out. We had a good night. That’s it.”

Peter, of course, couldn’t resist. He leaned close, murmuring just loud enough for the others to hear, “It wasn’t just good, Little Wolf.”

That earned him a sharp elbow to the ribs and a very satisfied grin when he didn’t even flinch.

Despite the teasing, no one was upset. No one objected. There was tension, sure—there always was with Peter—but no one had drawn a line in the sand.

The pack didn’t love it. But they didn’t fight it either.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and walked across the main room. I heard people call it the walk of shame. But I didn’t understand that. Not really. I wasn’t ashamed to be with Peter. He was mine as much as I was his. 

“I think I should shower and change,” I murmured to no one in particular. 

I caught the shift in the room the second the words left my mouth. It was subtle—barely a breath—but I felt it ripple through the loft. A few glances. A pause. That static hum of people realizing something they’d only suspected before.

Malia was the first to break it. “Bathroom’s free,” she said, like it was nothing, even though the way she looked at me said everything. Not judgmental. Not unkind. Just… sharp. Protective. Pack.

“Your scent’s different,” Liam mumbled, then winced like he knew he shouldn’t have said it out loud. “Not in a bad way. Just—um. Noticeable.”

Peter chuckled under his breath behind me. That smug, satisfied sound that curled around my spine. “That’s kind of the point,” he said, voice low and lazy like a wolf stretching after a hunt.

I felt my cheeks heat, but I didn’t shrink. I didn’t cower. I wasn’t ashamed of what we’d done. Of who he was to me.

Scott looked at me then, really looked. Not with anger, but with the weight of someone trying to piece together what this meant—for me, for Peter, for the pack. He didn’t speak, but I saw the question in his eyes. The caution. The care.

“I’ll be quick,” I murmured, heading for the hallway without waiting for a response. The floor was cool under my bare feet, and my pulse was still a little too fast. I wasn’t sure if it was from Peter or the quiet attention of the people I called family.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled.

🐺

When I stepped out of the shower, I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a moment. I was still wrapped up in Peter’s scent. It would always be a part of me, just like I was a part of him. It was fate. 

“Can I come in?” I heard Malia from the other side of the door. 

“Yeah,” I said. 

“This human thing is hard,” Malia leaned against the sink and looked at me, “I have a dad. One who loved me since I was a baby. One that accepted me back even after I killed my mother and my sister,” she looked at me, “I’m trying to figure out how I can be Peter’s daughter, too.” 

I paused, the towel in my hands feeling heavier than it should. I glanced up at Malia, taking in her words, trying to process what she was saying. Her eyes—always fierce and unguarded—had softened, revealing a side of her that wasn’t often exposed.

"You want to be Peter's daughter?" I asked carefully, stepping closer. I wasn't sure if I was more surprised or touched. Malia had always been the one who kept things blunt and casual, never one to show weakness or doubt. Seeing her like this was something I wasn’t used to.

She shrugged, but the movement lacked its usual confidence. "Yeah. But I don’t know how. You know how complicated things are with Peter. Hell, even with you. And the pack. It’s like there’s this... wall. A part of me wants to tear it down, but I don't know how without causing a damn explosion."

I let her words settle in, realizing just how much she was carrying. "You’re family," I said softly, as if it were obvious. Because to me, it was. She was as much a part of this crazy, tangled web of ours as anyone else. "And no matter how complicated it gets, that doesn't change."

Her gaze softened, and she crossed the small space between us to drop her shoulders, letting the weight of it all slip away—just for a second. "I want to help," she admitted. "Help you and Peter. But I’m still figuring out where I fit in all this."

I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Hell, I’m still trying to make sense of it myself. But Peter—he's not the kind of guy who wants to be anyone's father unless it's real. And if you want to be part of that, you'll find your way. Just... take it slow. You're not alone in this."

Malia's lips twitched like she wanted to argue or joke it off, but instead, she just nodded, her eyes holding a hint of relief. "Thanks, Nova. You make it sound less like a damn headache."

I gave her a small smile. "Anytime."

“So, you’re not gonna turn all evil stepmother on me?” she smirked, her eyes gleaming with a mix of teasing and uncertainty. The corner of her mouth twitched as if she was daring me to throw some sarcasm her way.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress the smile creeping onto my lips. "I don't think so," I replied, my voice light, but something in my tone softened the joke. I wasn’t about to act like some domineering figure in her life. That wasn’t me. Besides, Malia needed a kind of space I wasn’t sure how to give, but I knew how to be real with her—something I hadn’t always been good at with people.

My stomach growled loudly, cutting through the moment, reminding me that food had been a distant thought while Malia and I had our heart-to-heart. "Though," I continued, tapping my fingers against the edge of the sink, pretending to weigh my options. "I might reconsider if Stiles ate all the bacon while I was in the shower."

Malia’s smirk widened at the mention of Stiles. "Oh, I’m sure he did," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "That boy couldn’t resist bacon if his life depended on it."

I let out a quiet laugh, the sound of it easing some of the tension. "Well, I guess we’ll see how much he loves his limbs when I find him and that empty bacon plate."

Malia’s grin softened into something a little less mischievous, her posture relaxing just a bit more. "You know, you’ve got this weird way of making things... okay," she said, almost quietly.

I glanced at her, surprised by the honesty in her voice. "I’m just doing my best," I replied, brushing off the compliment, but I meant it. Things were messy. The whole dynamic of everything—Peter, the pack, Malia—had been far from simple. But maybe, just maybe, we didn’t need to complicate it more than it already was.

"You’re doing better than you think," Malia said, nudging my shoulder lightly, her smirk returning. "Now, let’s get that bacon before Stiles disappears with it."

I laughed, a full, warm sound that echoed through the room. "Deal."

🐺

"Bacon has got to be the greatest human invention," I said, savoring the crispy, salty crunch as I bit into the strip, the flavor exploding in my mouth like a savory little celebration. I paused for a moment, allowing myself to fully appreciate the simple joy of the food.

Stiles, sitting across from me with an equally satisfied grin plastered on his face, raised an eyebrow. "Definitely in the top ten," he responded, taking a bite from his own plate and chewing thoughtfully. "Though, I might argue that whoever invented the pizza slice is right up there, too."

I rolled my eyes, but I could feel a grin tugging at my lips. "Sure, pizza's great and all, but bacon's got that perfect mix of crispy, salty, and smokey. There's just nothing like it." I bit into another strip, feeling the satisfying crunch as I spoke.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he contemplated the food in front of him, a little too serious for the conversation. "I mean, I get it. It's a solid contender. But what about chocolate? Or ice cream? Those have pretty strong arguments for the top spot."

I chuckled, leaning forward to grab another piece of bacon. "Well, maybe you can have your chocolate. I'll stick with my bacon. It’s just... comforting, you know? Like, you can't be in a bad mood when you’ve got bacon."

Stiles nodded in agreement, clearly not wanting to fight about something as important as bacon. "Alright, fair enough. Bacon wins today. But you better save some for me next time, or I might have to start a bacon revolution."

I shot him a sly look. "Trust me, if you’re getting bacon, you're gonna have to fight for it."

He gave me a playful, exaggerated look of shock, his hand reaching for another strip. "I’ll take that challenge. But just so you know," he said between bites, "if bacon were a person, it would totally be my spirit animal."

I laughed at the thought, shaking my head. "I can’t even argue with that. It’s just that good."

“You want coffee to go with your bacon, Little Wolf?” Peter’s voice rumbled from behind me, and I turned to see him setting a warm cup in front of me. He’d made it just the way I liked it—little sugar, lots of cream. I could already smell the rich, comforting scent wafting from the mug. It was the kind of coffee that made mornings feel bearable, like a soft touch from the inside out.

I picked it up, feeling the heat radiate through the ceramic, and took a sip. “It’s like you can read my mind,” I said, my voice light with amusement as I met his gaze.

Peter leaned against the counter, crossing his arms with that cocky, yet relaxed, confidence that only he could pull off. “I just know you,” he replied smoothly. “The whole werewolf mindlink thing? That’s just for online fanfiction.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at his confidence. “So you mean you read that stuff too?” Kira, who had been sipping her own coffee across the room, asked. “I mean, you read that stuff?” Her voice was teasing, but there was a glimmer of genuine curiosity in her eyes. “You, Peter Hale, reading fanfiction?”

Peter offered a slow, wicked grin, clearly amused by the turn the conversation had taken. “I have to research," he said, leaning in slightly. "See how much humans actually know... and what they’ve made up.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “And here I thought you were above that.”

“Oh, please,” Peter shot back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You really think I’m going to let my pack get misrepresented in every piece of fanfiction out there? I’ve got to keep them on their toes.”

I lifted my eyes from Peter at the sound of laughter echoing from the kitchen entrance. It was warm and unguarded, almost unfamiliar in how natural it sounded. When I glanced over, I caught sight of Derek—leaning against the doorway, arms loosely folded, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His usual brooding aura was gone, at least for now. There was a lightness to him, something easy and real. And for once, it didn’t feel like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It caught me off guard—in the best way.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Kira glanced over, then elbowed Stiles lightly. “Derek… smiling?” she whispered like it was a conspiracy.

Stiles dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “Call the Vatican. It's a miracle.”

Derek rolled his eyes but didn’t lose the grin. “I can hear you, you know.”

“That’s half the fun,” Stiles said, clearly enjoying himself.

I looked back to Peter, who gave a small shake of his head, amused. “They forget enhanced hearing works in every direction.”

“They also forget what it’s like when the pack actually feels... whole,” I said quietly, watching as Derek stepped further into the room, the easy banter continuing around him. It felt warm. Solid. Like the pieces were finally starting to click into place.

🐺

“You sure you wouldn’t rather be out here with Peter?” Malia asked, her tone half-teasing, half-curious as we stepped over the tree line and into the cool shade of the forest.

I smirked, brushing a stray branch aside. “When I come to the woods with Peter, we get distracted and don’t gather that much information,” I said, letting the knowing smile spread across my face.

Malia snorted. “Gross. But fair.”

I shrugged, unbothered. “At least I’m honest.”

She glanced sideways at me, a little grin tugging at her lips. “You’re very honest.”

I gave her a look. “Are you saying that like it’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

Malia tilted her head thoughtfully. “Neutral. Helpful in the woods, maybe less so when you’re talking about your sex life five feet away from someone with super hearing.”

I laughed, and she did too. The sound of it carried lightly between the trees, and for a moment it was just the two of us—two wolves in step, out in the world again, no tension, no battles… just the forest and each other.

“Still,” Malia added, scanning the nearby underbrush, “if Peter ends up showing up halfway through our patrol all smug and possessive, I’m leaving you both to get eaten.”

“You’d never,” I said.

She didn’t deny it—but she didn’t argue either.

We both stripped down in silence, the sounds of the forest filling the space between us—leaves rustling, birds overhead, the distant hum of the wind. I folded my clothes neatly and tucked them near the base of a thick tree, glancing over to see Malia doing the same.

She shifted first, her coyote form slipping into place with a grace I’d always admired. Compact, lean, and quick—built for sharp turns and bursts of speed. She shook out her fur and looked up at me, those familiar eyes blinking through the wild.

I followed a second later, bones stretching, fur rippling across skin, my wolf rising to the surface with a quiet growl of welcome. The forest always smelled different in this form—brighter, deeper. Every scent crisp. Every sound layered.

Beside me, her coyote was almost dwarfed by my wolf. I was taller, broader, heavier in step and stance. But she didn’t shrink from it—Malia never did. She trotted forward and nudged her shoulder against mine before darting ahead, her body weaving between trees like liquid shadow.

I let her lead for now, watching the confident way she moved through the brush. But my senses stayed alert, ears perked, nose twitching. We weren’t just running—we were hunting for answers.

And maybe, this time, we’d find more than just a trail.

Malia knew the forest better than anyone—every bend in the trail, every dip in the earth, every shift in the wind. She moved through it like it was part of her, not just familiar, but instinctual. Watching her run ahead, her paws barely making a sound on the mossy ground, I couldn’t help but think about how many years she’d spent out here. As a coyote. Alone.

Just like me.

Different animals, different reasons, but the same silence. The same isolation. The same deep, feral ache that came from being cut off—from people, from purpose, from a voice.

We had both known what it meant to survive without anyone else. To rely on instinct when the world had offered nothing else. That’s why she didn’t ask questions when I was quiet. Why she didn’t flinch at the darker edges of my nature. She recognized it. Understood it. Because it lived in her too.

I padded after her, keeping close, our breath syncing in quiet rhythm as the trees opened up ahead. It was strange how something so wild could feel peaceful. Or maybe that was just the company.

Even in the stillness, even in the hunt, I didn’t feel alone. Not anymore.

Malia lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she took in the air. Something had caught her attention. Without a sound, she veered to the left, paws moving swiftly through the underbrush until we broke through into a clearing.

At the center stood a large, weathered stump—its surface cracked with age, the bark long worn away. It looked like it had been there forever, marking something old, something forgotten. Malia padded up to it and paused, her coyote form stretching out before she let the shift take her. Bones cracked, fur rippled, and then she was human again, kneeling for a moment in the grass as she caught her breath.

I followed, shifting just behind her. The familiar burn of transformation faded quickly, replaced by the cool brush of wind against bare skin. I rose slowly, brushing leaves from my thigh as I took in our surroundings. The clearing was quiet—too quiet.

Malia stood up, one hand resting on the edge of the stump. “Something happened here,” she said, her voice low and sure. “Recently.”

I stepped closer, kneeling beside her. The scent was faint, but it was there—beneath the loam and bark and morning dew. Something wrong. Something off.

We exchanged a look. No words needed.

This wasn’t just a patrol anymore.

We should have gone back. We should’ve called for Scott, for the others. But we didn’t.

My phone was somewhere in the pocket of my jeans, left behind near the tree line where we shifted. Too far. Too late. And if I howled, whoever was out there would hear it too. I wasn’t about to hand over the element of surprise.

“He was here,” I murmured, my voice barely above a breath. I took a slow step forward, eyes scanning the shadows clinging to the trees. “He’s still here.”

I tilted my head toward the treeline, my ears straining for any sound, my nose catching the sharp tang of something old and cruel. Not just danger. Intent.

Malia’s body stiffened beside me. She didn’t question it. Her instincts were already sharp, already bristling.

She nodded once, silent. Focused. Then, softly, like a name that could summon ghosts, she said, “Gerard?”

A low growl rumbled up from my chest before I could stop it, vibrating through my ribcage. My wolf was close to the surface now—fur prickling beneath skin, muscles taut and ready to strike.

I didn’t answer her. I didn’t have to. She knew.

There was a predator in these woods—and we weren’t the ones stalking. We were the ones being watched. Hunted.

And we weren’t going to run.

[venactricisfics]

Day 79 of posting first Ian Bohen Pinterest recommended photo.

[venactricisfics]

Season 3, Episode 2 "Chaos Rising" TEEN WOLF (2011–2017)

[venactricisfics]

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapters

The air hit different the moment we stepped off the plane.

It wasn’t just the cold — though it sliced through my leggings and leather jacket like a blade — it was the weight of the land itself. Ireland had a way of crawling into your bones whether you welcomed it or not.

Angel glanced around the small terminal, his shoulders squaring as he took it all in. “It’s... greener than I expected.”

“That’s just the mold,” I smirked, but even I couldn’t deny the landscape beyond the glass — endless stretches of rain-slicked stone walls and fields so green they looked unreal under the overcast sky.

Guero came up behind us, carrying one of the smaller bags and chewing gum like we were on our way to spring break instead of a powder keg. “So, where’s the welcome wagon?”

Right on cue, a sleek black SUV pulled to the curb outside. The windows were tinted, of course. Old habits. I felt my stomach twist.

“That’ll be them,” I murmured.

Angel stepped in beside me, voice low. “You sure about this?”

“No,” I replied, “but I’m here.”

The back door opened before we reached it, revealing a man I hadn’t seen in nearly five years — dark coat, silver streaks in his hair, and eyes as sharp as ever.

“Uncle Declan,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

“Niece,” he returned. His gaze swept over Angel, then Guero. “I see ye didn’t come alone.”

Angel extended a hand, firm but not overly polite. “Angel Reyes.”

Declan shook it, barely. “Let’s hope the name fits.”

I bristled, but Angel just smiled like he’d been through worse. And he had.

Guero, to his credit, stayed quiet — which for him was the equivalent of screaming.

“We’ve got a lot to discuss,” Declan said, stepping aside and motioning toward the SUV. “Let’s not do it in the airport like a bunch of feckin’ tourists.”

Angel’s hand grazed the small of my back as we climbed in, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm — steady, grounding.

The door slammed shut behind us.

🏍️

The SUV wound its way through narrow country roads, the kind with grass growing in the middle and stone walls barely wide enough to clear the mirrors. Rain clung to the windows, soft and relentless.

Angel watched everything. His eyes didn’t rest, not on the rolling hills, not on the sheep dotting the fields, not even on the looming shadows of the estate as it came into view.

Declan hadn’t said a word since we left the airport, but the silence wasn’t comfortable. It was calculated.

The estate looked more like a fortress than a home — gray stone rising up from the earth, weathered and proud. Ivy clung to the outer walls like scars, and the iron gate creaked open with a sound that sent chills down my spine. Not fear. Memory.

Angel leaned closer. “This where you grew up?”

I shook my head. “No. We visited. My da hated this place.”

Guero whistled low. “Looks like Dracula’s summer house.”

The SUV stopped in the roundabout drive, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The front doors opened before we reached them — two men in suits stepped out, not quite security, not quite family. Somewhere in between.

Declan gestured for us to follow. “They’ve kept yer da’s rooms untouched. Thought it might make the transition easier.”

“I’m not here to take over,” I said.

He glanced back, expression unreadable. “Aren’t you?”

Angel tensed beside me, but I pressed my hand lightly to his. Not yet.

Inside, the estate was colder than outside — all stone and shadows and the scent of something old lingering in the air. A fire crackled in a distant room, but it barely touched the chill.

Portraits lined the hall. Men with stern expressions, pressed suits, and eyes like knives. My bloodline, framed in gold and dust.

Angel slowed in front of one. “That your father?”

“No,” I said quietly. “That’s my grandfather. He built this house. My father ran from it.”

Declan’s voice echoed behind us. “He ran, aye. But now you’ve returned. Blood always does.”

We reached a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Declan opened them with a heavy creak. “Get settled. The Kings are expecting you tomorrow.”

Angel stepped in first, scanning the room before letting me enter.

It was large, dark wood and velvet curtains, and a bed too big for comfort. The kind of room meant to intimidate, not soothe. A glass decanter of whiskey sat on a side table, like a silent invitation.

Guero dropped his bag on a chair. “So, we sleeping with one eye open, or…?”

Angel closed the door behind us. “Both.”

I crossed to the window and looked out over the rain-drenched land. It was beautiful. It was home. And it was dangerous in ways Angel and Guero hadn’t yet seen.

But they would.

Because tomorrow, I’d sit at a table full of men who had killed for less than a seat.

And I was walking in with two Mayans at my side.

I busied myself with unpacking, methodically folding clothes into drawers that smelled faintly of cedar and disuse. The task was simple, repetitive—exactly the kind of thing that should've grounded me. But it didn’t. My thoughts kept slipping, darting between worst-case scenarios and everything I hadn’t said out loud yet.

Across the room, Angel and Guero were checking in—Guero sprawled across a velvet armchair with his boots kicked off, Angel perched on the edge of the bed with his phone to his ear, voice low and steady.

I caught fragments of conversation. “Yeah, we landed... No, nothing yet... Just keeping eyes open.”

Guero chuckled under his breath as he hung up. “Club’s good. Bottles said Bishop already misses yelling at us.”

Angel ended his call and looked over at me. “Teresa says Maverick’s napping. He wore himself out chasing bubbles in the backyard. She sent a picture.”

He held up his phone so I could see. Maverick, cheeks rosy, hair sticking to his forehead, mid-laugh with a bubble wand in one hand and a streak of dirt on his shirt. My chest ached.

“How’s our boy?” I asked softly, eyes still on the photo.

I wasn’t sure when the word our had crept in. When that line had blurred between his son and my place in all of this. But it had. Somewhere between bedtime stories and breakfasts, bandaids and belly laughs, Maverick had become mine too.

Angel must’ve heard it in my voice. His gaze met mine, and he nodded like he understood everything I hadn’t said.

“He’s perfect,” he said. “Safe. Happy.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned into him. His arm slipped around my waist, instinctive and sure.

They were a package deal—Angel and Maverick. Two pieces of a life I hadn’t known I needed until it was mine. And now that it was, I couldn’t imagine letting go.

“They belong to me,” I thought fiercely, not as possessions, but as promises.

And I’d fight like hell to keep them.

“So your family…” Guero started, his voice trailing as his eyes wandered around the room, landing on the dark, regal tapestries that lined the stone walls. “They cool?”

I let out a dry laugh as I folded the last of my sweaters into the drawer. “That’s not exactly the word I’d use.”

He raised a brow.

“The older men—my uncles, the Kings—they’re... traditional. In the worst ways,” I said. “They don’t believe in handing power to women, and they damn sure don’t like outsiders poking around.”

“So,” Guero said slowly, “look forward to misogyny and probably some casual racism?”

“Not even subtle,” I corrected, leaning back against the dresser. “They’re blunt as hell and think being ‘old school’ is a personality trait.”

Angel, who’d been quiet until now, spoke up from the armchair. “If they’ve got a problem with me, they can say it to my face.”

I smiled faintly. “Oh, they will. But don’t take it personally—they have a problem with everyone. Unless you’re white, male, and have a family crest older than Ireland itself.”

Guero whistled low, resting his head against the back of the chair. “Sounds like a damn delight.”

“They’ll tolerate you being here because they have to,” I said, looking at both of them. “But don’t mistake that for respect. You’re only getting that if you force them to give it.”

Angel’s eyes darkened slightly, a protective edge hardening his features. “Then we’ll force it.”

I looked between the two of them—Angel steady and resolute, Guero leaning into humor to cover the tension—and for a moment, the weight pressing on my chest eased.

“They may be Kings,” I said, “but they’ve never met anyone like me.”

Or the men I brought with me.

🏍️

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, heart thudding as I weighed every detail. Hair up or down? Blazer buttoned or loose? Soft smile or steel jaw? These weren’t just choices—they were armor. How I dressed, how I acted… it all mattered in that room.

As if he could hear the thoughts clawing through my head, Angel appeared behind me in the reflection. His gaze met mine with quiet conviction.

“Just be you,” he said, voice low and steady. “If they can’t handle how badass you are, fuck ’em.”

I let out a soft breath, my lips curving despite the nerves. “I wish it were that easy,” I said, eyes dropping to the counter. “But there’s no one else I can be. If I’m fake, they’ll see right through it—and tear me to shreds.”

Angel stepped closer, his hands settling gently on my hips. “Then give them you. The real you. The one who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fold, and makes men like that nervous without saying a word.”

I looked at him in the mirror, letting his confidence seep into me like warmth on cold skin. Then I turned back to my reflection and picked up the tube of lipstick.

I didn’t overdo the makeup—just enough to sharpen the edges, to make me feel like I was walking into war, not begging for a seat at the table. A swipe of confidence across my lips. A hint of rebellion in the wing of my eyeliner.

Then I slipped into the suit—blush pink, tailored to perfection. Feminine, but powerful. A quiet rebellion wrapped in elegance. I adjusted the cuffs and smoothed the lapel before turning to face Angel.

His eyes raked over me slowly, reverent. “You look like the beginning of their end.”

And maybe, I thought, that’s exactly what I was.

The echo of our footsteps on the marble floors was the only sound as we were led through the estate’s main hall. The air was cool and heavy, carrying the scent of old stone, wax polish, and history steeped in blood and ego. Angel walked beside me, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Guero flanked us a few paces behind, taking everything in.

Declan waited at the wide double doors at the end of the corridor, dressed in all black with a dark green pin on his lapel—the only color he ever wore when business was about to get serious.

“You’re late,” he muttered with a dry smirk.

“I’m always late,” I said, brushing past him. “You just never noticed before.”

His smirk lingered as he pushed the doors open.

Inside, the room felt more like a chapel than a meeting hall. High arched ceilings, stained glass windows casting muted colors across the floor, and a long dark table where five men sat like judges. The Kings.

They didn’t rise.

No greetings. No warmth.

Just calculating eyes that slid over me with barely concealed skepticism and over Angel and Guero with outright suspicion.

“Gentlemen,” I said, letting my heels click boldly as I approached the head of the table. I didn’t wait to be invited. I pulled out a chair and sat.

Angel and Guero stood behind me like shadows.

“Yer da never had trouble respecting tradition,” said the man at the center. His voice was gravel wrapped in silk, older than it should’ve been, and laced with power.

“My da didn’t live in this century,” I replied. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

One of them scoffed under his breath. Another leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “We called you here to understand where your loyalties lie, girl. This isn't a vacation.”

I didn’t blink. “My loyalty lies with my family. That’s why I’m here. You want to test me—test me. But don’t mistake my tone for weakness. I flew across an ocean because you asked. The least you can do is show a little fucking respect.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any shout.

Angel’s hand brushed the back of my chair. A reminder. A tether. Or maybe a warning.

After a long beat, Declan finally stepped forward from the shadows of the room, folding his arms. “This one’s got teeth. Just like her da. Maybe sharper.”

The oldest King, Rhys Reilly, chuckled low in his throat. “Aye,” he said, voice like crumbling brick, “Let’s see if she knows how to use ’em.”

The laughter didn’t last long.

As soon as the last glass was set down, the mood shifted like a change in wind. Declan Brogan—the only one of them I halfway trusted—leaned forward first. His voice was calm, deliberate.

“You know why we called you back.”

I did. But I wanted to hear it from them.

Rhys Reilly, the eldest and most iron-willed of the Kings, spoke next. “Your father’s absence has left a gap. One that cannot be ignored any longer.”

I bit back a sharp response. Absence was a polite way of putting it. My father was rotting in the ground.

Leo Ryan folded his hands neatly in front of him. “The O’Shay name still carries weight here. And your connections across the Atlantic are... unique.”

Montgomery Addams—silent until now—cut in. “You’ve been living as if your birthright means nothing. We’re telling you that’s over. It’s time to act like you belong to something again.”

Declan gave me a quiet glance. Almost apologetic. But he didn’t stop them.

Finn McCarthy scoffed. “She’s been playing dress-up in America. Riding with bikers and selling silk shirts. You think she’s ready to handle what we’re dealing with here?”

Angel shifted behind me at that. His posture didn’t change, but I felt the burn of his stare on Finn’s face.

“She’s more capable than half the men in this room,” he said smoothly. “And she’s not alone.”

Peter O’Leary chuckled darkly. “And here I thought we were just getting the girl. Turns out we get her watchdog too.”

“Enough,” Rhys said sharply. “This is not about intimidation or pride. This is about survival. You want your seat at the table, girl? Earn it. Or step aside and we’ll find someone who will.”

Orris Patterson tapped his cane once against the stone floor. “We need someone who can speak for us in the States. Broker trade, push back on competition, build leverage with the clubs and cartels.”

“You want a pawn,” I said coolly. “Someone with an Irish face and an American passport.”

Rhys’s eyes gleamed. “We want a queen, if she’s smart enough to play the long game.”

I didn’t respond right away.

Because I’d spent my whole life avoiding this room, these titles, this fate.

And now here I was, the center of it.

“I need three days,” I said, my voice steady. “No more, no less. I’ll come back with my answer.”

Declan nodded, almost imperceptibly. “You’ll have them.”

“We’ll send a car,” Montgomery added.

As I rose, Angel’s hand found the small of my back. We didn’t speak until the heavy door had shut behind us.

“Hell of a welcome committee,” Guero muttered, loosening his collar.

I glanced back once. The Kings were still inside, probably already dissecting my every word, every twitch, every breath.

Three days.

Three days to figure out if I was ready to claim my birthright—or burn it all down.

The weight of my father’s name hit differently in this house.

Galen O’Shay. A name spoken in hushed tones and half-remembered war stories. He was once the sharpest blade in the True IRA’s arsenal—calculated, brutal, revered, and feared. To some, he was a visionary. To others, a monster. To me, he was a father I barely knew, one whose shadow I’ve been walking in my entire life.

And he was executed by Jax Teller.

That fact alone made my presence here controversial—if not dangerous. Some of the Kings still mourned Galen. Others were quietly grateful he was gone. But they all looked at me and saw one thing: unfinished business.

In their eyes, I wasn’t just Nova. I was Galen’s daughter. The last O’Shay. The one who lived.

And whether they admitted it or not, they expected me to either avenge him… or prove I was nothing like him.

When I stepped back into the chamber, the mood shifted instantly. It was heavy. Old-world tension hung like smoke.

Rhys Reilly, the eldest of the Kings, sat straight-backed and solemn, eyes sharp under silver brows. He was the only one who didn’t glance away when I met his stare.

Declan Brogan—my uncle, the only one who’d spoken softly to me since I landed—stood at the edge of the table like he wasn’t sure where his loyalties belonged.

Leo Ryan, Orris Patterson, Montgomery Addams, Peter O’Leary, and Finn McCarthy followed, each with their own brand of skepticism.

No one offered a drink.

Rhys finally spoke. “Your father wouldn’t have worn blush pink.”

I gave a slow smile. “He also wouldn’t have worn heels, but I like to think he’d respect the choice.”

A few smirks. One sharp breath from Leo. It wasn’t a warm welcome, but it wasn’t an execution either.

“You’re here because you carry a name that still echoes,” Rhys continued. “But echoes fade. We want to know what you are.”

Declan shifted. “She’s blood. That matters.”

“It only matters if she’s more than a name,” Montgomery said.

Angel stepped forward, shoulders squared. “She’s more than you deserve.”

Rhys raised a brow, but it was Finn who chuckled under his breath. “This the American?”

“He’s with me,” I said simply.

“You’re your father’s daughter, then,” Peter O’Leary muttered. “Always bringing chaos in your wake.”

I didn’t blink. “He was chaos. I’m the storm after.”

🏍️

Angel’s fingers splayed gently against the small of my back, his warmth cutting through the chill like armor. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath until I was outside again, lungs stretching wide beneath the gray Irish sky. The estate loomed behind us—heavy with history, secrets, and judgment—but out here, at least, I could breathe.

“That was intense,” Guero muttered, his voice low but carrying.

I gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “You have no idea.”

He cocked a brow. “I’m pretty sure Peter O’Leary tried to set me on fire with his eyes.”

Angel smirked beside me. “He’s just pissed he doesn’t have your boyish looks.”

Guero gave an exaggerated hair flip. “Envy is a disease.”

But even as the banter returned, light and familiar, I could still feel the weight of what had just happened. The Kings didn’t outright reject me—but they didn’t embrace me either. I was under scrutiny now. Every move I made would be measured against the ghost of Galen O’Shay.

“I held my own,” I said quietly, almost to myself.

“You did more than that,” Angel said, voice steady. “You walked into a den of wolves and they didn’t dare bite.”

I turned to look at him, studying the man who followed me across an ocean, across bloodlines and politics, just to stand beside me. “You still good with this?” I asked, not because I doubted him, but because I needed to hear it.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’m not going anywhere, cariño.”

Guero groaned. “Okay, lovebirds, let’s go inside before the Irish countryside turns my ass into a popsicle.”

I smiled, a little steadier now. Because no matter what waited for us next, I wasn’t walking into it alone.

🏍️

The dining hall was nothing short of regal—long oak table, polished until it gleamed, flanked by heavy chairs that probably weighed more than Guero. Tapestries lined the stone walls, depicting battles, crests, and long-dead ancestors who would likely roll in their graves knowing I’d returned not as a daughter of their legacy, but as something… other.

Dinner was formal, suffocatingly so. The Kings took their places with precision, each man seated like it was a throne instead of a chair. I was guided to a seat at Declan’s right—an intentional move, I was sure. Angel sat beside me, his hand briefly brushing my thigh under the table in quiet reassurance. Guero was further down, already earning a disapproving glance from Leo Ryan for not knowing which fork to use for the salad.

The long mahogany table glittered under dim chandeliers. Silverware gleamed beside crystal glasses, and the scent of roasted meat and smoked peat from the hearth clung to the air. The Kings sat with their usual stiff-backed formality, the weight of legacy thick around them.

Angel sat beside me, his hand resting under the table, a grounding presence against the sharp edge of tension slicing through the room.

Declan Brogan raised his glass. “To family, and to returning blood.”

A chorus of glasses lifted, but I noticed who didn’t drink first—Cormac Reilly, who sat on his father’s right, his expression unreadable as his blue eyes flicked to Angel, then to me.

“You’ve come a long way for family business,” Cormac said smoothly, setting down his glass untouched. “But some of us are still unsure which side of the family you see yourself on.”

Angel bristled beside me, but I placed a hand on his thigh, steady.

“I didn’t come to pick sides,” I replied. “I came to make sure no one forgets I have one.”

A low chuckle broke from across the table. Bran Ryan, all shoulders and swagger, leaned back in his chair. “She’s got bite,” he said, tearing into a bread roll. “Let’s hope she doesn’t choke on the bones.”

“That’s enough,” Leo Ryan warned, though his voice lacked conviction. Bran just grinned, eyes still on me.

At the far end of the table, Aedan Brogan—younger than most, dressed in a clean navy suit with no tie—watched in silence. He hadn’t spoken since sitting down, but his gaze held something different. Not judgment. Interest.

He leaned slightly toward me after the main course was served. “I’ve read your father's reports. Galen was sharp. Strategic.” His voice was quiet, smooth. “Are you like him?”

I met his gaze. “No,” I said, “I’m better.”

Angel smirked, clearly proud, and Miles Addams, two seats down, raised a brow as he sipped his wine. “Confident,” he said. “Rare in this room. And refreshing.”

“Don’t mistake confidence for arrogance,” Cormac added coolly. “This table doesn’t reward ego.”

“It rewards legacy,” I countered, keeping my tone even. “And mine bleeds right into yours whether you like it or not.”

A low murmur of surprise rippled through the older men.

Bishop once told me there’s a difference between speaking to be heard and speaking to be remembered. I wasn’t trying to impress them. I was letting them know I wouldn’t be forgotten.

After a long silence, Rhys Reilly finally spoke. “We’ll talk business tomorrow. Tonight, we break bread. The ghosts can wait.”

Angel clinked his glass against mine without looking away from the rest of the table. “Guess that’s a win,” he murmured.

“I’ll take it,” I said, though I wasn’t fooled.

This was just the beginning.

🏍️

The night air bit a little sharper on the balcony, crisp with the scent of damp stone and distant peat fires. The estate grounds stretched beneath us, all rolling green and ghost-thick fog. I leaned against the wrought iron railing, exhaling slow. Inside, the weight of legacy and old blood had been suffocating. Out here, I could breathe again.

Angel joined me, slipping a hand into mine. Guero leaned against the opposite side of the balcony, flicking the silver Zippo I knew he kept in his jacket.

“So,” came a voice behind us, smooth as aged whiskey. “How does it feel to be the main event?”

I turned to see Cormac Reilly stepping through the balcony doors, his drink swirling amber in the glass. Bran Ryan, cocky as ever, followed behind with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Aedan Brogan trailed them, hands in his coat pockets, eyes scanning the horizon instead of us.

“Didn’t know this was a show,” I replied evenly.

“Everything’s a show here,” Bran said, taking a drag. “Some of us just wear better masks.”

Angel’s jaw tensed beside me. “You always this charming, or just when women out-rank you?”

Bran smirked, but it was Aedan who cut in before things could escalate. “Easy. We’re all carrying the same weight, just wearing different coats.” He looked to me. “You handled dinner well.”

“Wasn’t my first knife fight,” I said lightly.

Guero let out a low chuckle. “I like her more and more every time she opens her mouth.”

Cormac wasn’t laughing. He stepped closer, setting his drink on the stone railing with a sharp clink. “Let’s not mistake survival for belonging. You made a statement in there, O’Shay. But words only get you so far.”

“I’m not looking for a welcome mat,” I said. “I’m here to protect what’s mine. What was my father’s.”

A brief flash of something—respect? wariness?—flickered in Cormac’s eyes.

“And if the Kings decide you’re a liability?” Bran asked.

Angel stepped forward then, placing himself slightly in front of me. “Then they’ll have to go through me.”

Bran looked at Angel, then at me, and smiled without humor. “Well,” he said, flicking ash into the wind, “won’t that be interesting?”

“Enough,” Aedan said quietly, stepping between us. “This isn’t the night for threats.”

Cormac picked up his glass, clearly finished with the conversation. “We’ll see if tomorrow brings clarity.”

The sons began filtering back inside—Cormac first, Bran trailing with one last lingering glance, and Aedan pausing at the doorway.

He looked over his shoulder at me. “They think blood is what matters most,” he said. “But legacy? That’s earned. You might do just fine here, Nova.”

Then he disappeared inside, leaving the three of us alone with the cold and the weight of everything still unsaid.

Angel’s hand slid back into mine.

“Fuck Ireland,” Guero muttered, lighting his own cigarette. “But damn if it ain’t interesting.”

🏍️

“So, how well do you know the younger ones?” Angel asked as he settled on the sofa in our room, his gaze steady but curious.

I hesitated. How well did I know them? Cormac, Bran, Aedan, and Miles weren’t just the sons of the Irish Kings—we’d grown up in each other’s orbit. Summers running through the halls of this estate, winters spent curled in front of fires while our fathers plotted behind closed doors.

“I know them well,” I said finally, carefully.

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Define well.”

I sighed, settling beside him. “Cormac’s the oldest. Always took charge, always followed the rules—unless he thought his own were better. He’s a dick, but he’s loyal. Fair, if you can handle the blunt edge of him.”

Angel nodded, waiting.

“Aedan’s the quiet one. Thoughtful, observant. He sees more than he lets on. He’s got a conscience, which makes him dangerous in a different kind of way.”

I paused again.

“Miles was the baby. Wanted so badly to be one of us, to matter. He’s grown up since, but I think he’s still trying to prove something—to himself, maybe to his father.”

“And Bran?” Angel asked, already knowing there was more to that name than the others.

I took a breath, the weight of that name sitting differently on my tongue. “Bran was my first.”

Angel didn’t flinch, but I felt the shift in him, the tightness that settled into his shoulders.

“It was years ago,” I added quickly. “We were young. It wasn’t love. It was timing. Loneliness. Curiosity. We were both stuck in this gilded prison while our families whispered power into each other’s ears. It just… happened.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“He still carries it,” Angel said finally, voice low. “You can see it in the way he looks at you.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But that part of my life? It ended a long time ago. Before I knew who I really was. Before I ever knew what it meant to be chosen—for real.”

Angel’s expression softened slightly, though the flicker of protectiveness in his eyes didn’t fade. “You don’t owe me an apology, Nova.”

“I’m not apologizing,” I said. “I’m telling you because I don’t want there to be ghosts between us.”

He reached for my hand, pulling me gently onto his lap. “Long as I’m the one beside you now, they can haunt the hallways all they want.”

I smiled against his neck, grateful for the man who saw my past without letting it define me.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the truth: Bran wasn’t just a ghost. He was alive, present, and very much still tangled in the power structure I’d just stepped back into.

And something told me he wouldn’t stay in the background for long.

The balcony wrapped around the second story of the estate, overlooking the sloped gardens and stone courtyard below. The sky was a bruised shade of violet, and the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and peat. It should’ve been peaceful.

Instead, the air was taut with unspoken history.

I stepped out first, heels clicking softly on the aged stone. Angel and Guero followed, but hung back slightly, instinctively reading the room.

Bran leaned against the railing, nursing a short glass of something dark. He didn’t look at me right away, but I could feel the heat of his attention the second I stepped outside.

Cormac was seated at a wrought-iron table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his posture stiff with authority even as he sipped his whiskey.

Aedan nodded in greeting, eyes sharp behind a pair of understated glasses. Miles gave a crooked smile, less sure of himself than the rest but still trying.

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal girl returned,” Cormac said with a hint of amusement.

“Careful,” I replied coolly, “I bite.”

That got a laugh out of Miles, and Aedan smirked into his glass.

Bran finally pushed off the railing and looked directly at me. “You look the same.”

“You don’t,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “You look like your father now. That used to terrify you.”

His jaw flexed slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “We all grow up, Nova.”

“Some of us more gracefully than others,” I said, then turned toward the others. “Gentlemen, this is Angel Reyes and Guero Ibarra. My—”

“Her family,” Angel interrupted, stepping forward, tone casual but laced with finality.

Bran’s eyes flicked to Angel, slow and assessing. “So you’re the one who got her to cross the ocean.”

“No one got me to do anything,” I said before Angel could reply. “This is my choice. My terms.”

“Of course,” Bran said softly. “It always was, wasn’t it?”

I hated that he could still hit a nerve without trying. Hated more that Angel noticed it.

Guero, ever the peacemaker, whistled low and broke the tension. “Hell of a view. Beats a clubhouse parking lot.”

That earned a chuckle from Miles, and even Cormac relaxed slightly.

“Things have changed since you left,” Aedan said, folding his arms. “The old men are getting older. They want legacy. They want bloodlines secured and alliances carved in stone.”

I felt Angel stiffen beside me.

“And they think I’m the best stone to carve from,” I muttered.

“You always were,” Bran said. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling the ivy. Then Angel slid an arm around my waist, grounding me again.

“I don’t care what they want,” he said. “She’s not a pawn on their board.”

Bran’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—respect, maybe. Or understanding. Or challenge.

“We’ll see,” he said quietly.

Cormac poured a splash more whiskey into his glass and swirled it thoughtfully before speaking. “The old guard is holding on by their fingernails. They built this empire with blood and fear. But that only gets you so far now. The world’s changing too fast.”

Aedan nodded, ever the strategist. “They still think control looks like arranged marriages and power through intimidation. But that model doesn’t survive the digital age. People are watching. Whispers turn into headlines in seconds.”

Bran didn’t look at me when he spoke. “They want the appearance of tradition, but behind closed doors, they’re panicking. You showing up with an MC and a new family? That scares the hell out of them. And that’s a good thing.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Glad I could help.”

“No offense,” Cormac added, “but it’s not about you. It’s about her. You’re the O’Shay legacy now. Galen’s ghost still walks these halls, and they can’t figure out if you’re a threat to avenge or a future to invest in.”

I folded my arms, my tone sharp but honest. “They can’t mold me into what they want. I’m not a chess piece. If they want my loyalty, they’ll have to earn it. Same goes for respect.”

“That’s what we’re counting on,” Aedan said, finally meeting my eyes. “You’re not like them. And neither are we. We’ve seen the rot under the surface. It’s time to start burning it out.”

Guero whistled again, leaning on the balcony. “Damn. I was just hoping for a few pints and some good stew. Y’all talk like you’re planning a coup.”

Miles grinned. “Maybe we are. Quietly. With better suits.”

Bran finally stepped closer, his voice low but sincere. “There’s a storm coming. The Kings won’t survive it by clinging to the past. If we’re going to rewrite the future, we need you at the table, Nova. Not just because of your name. Because you’re the only one who can do it and not lose herself.”

Angel looked at me, then back at Bran. “You better mean that.”

“I do,” Bran said without flinching. “This isn’t about taking back what we lost. It’s about building something better. Together—or not at all.”

The others drifted back inside one by one, pulled by the promise of more whiskey or the warmth of the fire. I stayed behind, leaning against the stone railing as the wind tugged gently at my suit jacket.

Bran didn’t follow the others. I felt him lingering before I heard his footsteps.

“You always did like the cold,” he said, settling beside me, not too close but not far either.

I didn’t answer right away. My eyes stayed fixed on the dark sweep of the Irish landscape beyond the estate walls. “You always did like pretending you didn’t.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

There was a long beat of silence between us, thick with the weight of shared memory.

“You caught me off guard,” he said eventually. “Showing up like that. With him.”

I glanced at him. “That was the idea.”

He didn’t flinch. “It worked.”

Another beat passed.

“You look good,” he added, softer this time.

“Don’t,” I said, not unkindly. “That’s not what this is.”

“I know,” Bran nodded. “I just... I haven’t seen you in a long time. And I don’t think I realized how much of you stayed with me until you walked back into this house like you owned the place.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “I don’t own it. I’m just not afraid of it anymore.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “That’s the difference. You used to shrink to survive in these halls. Now you stand taller. That scares them. But not me.”

I let the words settle before responding. “Good. Because I’m not going back to the girl who let this place define her.”

Bran stepped closer. Not enough to breach the space I hadn’t offered, but enough that I could feel his sincerity. “I meant what I said earlier. About needing you at the table. If this next generation is going to take the reins, we need people like you—smart, ruthless when you have to be, but still decent underneath.”

I arched an eyebrow. “That’s your pitch? Join the revolution, we might not be completely awful?”

He grinned faintly. “We could be better. With you.”

My gaze sharpened. “You mean with me beside you.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The wind picked up, and I let it fill the pause that followed.

“I’ll sit at the table,” I said at last. “But I won’t just play along. If I do this, it’s on my terms.”

“Then we do it your way,” Bran agreed, and this time, his voice carried something else—relief, maybe even hope.

I nodded once. “Then we’ll see if the Kings are ready for a new kind of legacy.”

[venactricisfics]

Bucking Tradition: A Yellowstone Fanfic

Chapter Fifty-Two

Adult Content 18+

More Chapters

I curled into the warmth of Ryan, my body instinctively molding to his like we were built to fit this way. I couldn’t remember when we got back to the room—just the hum of arousal still low in my belly, the way we stumbled in, still half-dressed and breathless, drunk on each other and the thrill of being watched.

It was late. We were satiated. And for once, I hadn't cared who saw us.

“Morning, baby,” Ryan murmured, pressing a slow kiss to the crown of my head. “You feeling okay?”

“Perfect,” I breathed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, where his scent lingered—warm skin, sweat, and the barest trace of last night’s incense. “You?”

His arms wrapped around me more tightly, the weight of him grounding, safe. “Better than perfect.” His voice was still heavy with sleep, but there was a smile in it. “Last night was…”

He trailed off, and I felt the way his lips curled against my temple. I smiled too, the memory already blooming behind my closed eyes.

I snuggled in closer, my bare leg sliding between his. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It really was.”

The image came back in flashes—the low hum of music, the red wash of light, the other couple’s eyes fixed on us. Silent. Rapt. Their presence had been a spark we didn’t know we were waiting for. Every moan, every arch of my back had felt like a performance, but not one I faked. It was real. Raw. Unfiltered.

And it had lit me up.

Ryan shifted to face me fully, his eyes open now, dark and focused. “You were incredible,” he said, voice low and rough. “The way you moved… the way you looked at me like you wanted them to see.”

My cheeks flushed, but I didn’t look away. “I guess I did,” I murmured. “I didn’t think I’d like being watched, but… it made everything sharper. More intense.”

His fingers found their way into my hair, brushing it back as he gazed at me, something almost reverent in his touch. “I’ve never seen you like that,” he said softly. “You were wild. Untamed.”

The word slid over my skin like silk and made my breath catch. I had spent so long keeping certain parts of myself locked away, carefully folded and hidden. But last night? They’d come roaring out, bare and bold.

And Ryan hadn’t looked away.

My fingers traced the lines of his chest, savoring the warmth beneath my palm. “Maybe,” I said, voice playful, “you just bring it out in me.”

He chuckled, deep and quiet, and the vibration of it rumbled through my chest where we touched. “Then I hope I never stop.” His hands slid down my back, palms firm as they found my hips and pulled me in closer. There was no space between us now. Just heat. Just the memory of what we’d done and the promise of what we could still do.

The room was hushed, the only sound our breaths, mingling in the stillness. His touch drifted across my spine, drawing goosebumps in his wake, each stroke stoking the embers still burning low in my belly.

“Ryan,” I whispered, brushing my lips against his. “I want…”

“I know,” he rasped, cutting me off with a kiss that tasted like sleep and salt and the echo of last night. His hands slid up to cup my breasts, his thumbs teasing over sensitive skin until I gasped, my back arching into his touch.

I couldn’t hold back—the way my body responded to him wasn’t something I could ever tame. My fingers curled into his hair, pulling him down, closer, deeper into the kiss until it wasn’t soft anymore. It was desperate. Greedy.

Ryan groaned low in his throat, breaking the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to mine. “God, you’re killing me,” he said, his voice tight with restraint.

I felt the hard press of him against my thigh, and it only made me ache more. His hands explored every curve, each stroke of his palm a promise, a question, a demand.

The tension crackled between us, thick and alive. His fingers found the waistband of my panties, pausing only for a breath, a glance—making sure I was still with him, that I still wanted this.

I met his eyes, breathless. “Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”

Ryan didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers slid beneath the thin fabric of my panties with aching slowness—it said everything.

I sucked in a sharp breath as his touch found me, already wet, already aching. His fingertips moved with a maddening precision, teasing, circling, coaxing every ounce of tension back to the surface until I was arching into him, desperate and breathless.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice rough with need. “You’re already soaked.”

I whimpered at the sound of his voice, that gravelly edge that only came out when he was past the point of restraint. I was unraveling in his hands, every nerve ending tuned to him, to the way he watched me come apart like it was sacred.

His mouth found my throat, kissing, tasting, nipping just enough to make me gasp. His fingers kept moving, slick and insistent, building pressure with every stroke. My hips rocked into his hand instinctively, my body chasing every high, every promise he was making with his touch.

“I want to see you lose it again,” he murmured against my skin. “Like last night. Only this time, it’s just for me.”

“Ryan—” My voice broke around his name, a half-sob of pleasure. “I’m—God, I’m close…”

“I know, baby,” he breathed, his thumb stroking harder, faster, in perfect rhythm. “Give it to me.”

The world narrowed down to the rhythm of his fingers, the heat of his breath, the deep rumble of his voice in my ear. It was too much. Not enough. I buried my face in his neck, my nails digging into his shoulders as I shattered—trembling, gasping, crying out his name against his skin as the orgasm ripped through me like a wave crashing to shore.

He held me through it, kissing my temple, murmuring soft praises as I shook in his arms. But even as I came down, his touch didn’t stop. One hand cradled the back of my head, the other still between my thighs, slower now, coaxing the aftershocks, making my legs quiver.

“Still with me?” he asked, lips brushing my jaw.

“Barely,” I whispered, laughing breathlessly. “But yeah.”

He shifted, rolling me gently onto my back, his body hovering over mine. His eyes scanned me like he was memorizing everything—my flushed cheeks, my swollen lips, the way my chest rose and fell with every ragged breath.

Then he kissed me—deep, claiming, so full of hunger I felt the heat spark all over again. I reached for him, fingers sliding down his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach, lower still until I wrapped my hand around him.

He hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing under my touch.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled, forehead pressed to mine. “Right now.”

“Then don’t wait,” I breathed. “I want to feel all of you.”

He didn't make me ask again. He hooked my leg over his hip, lined himself up, and sank into me with one long, slow thrust that made both of us moan.

There was no hesitation now—just rhythm, heat, and the wild, desperate sounds of bodies colliding. He moved like he couldn't get deep enough, like he needed to touch something inside me that went beyond flesh. And maybe he already had.

Every thrust, every breath, every kiss was a reminder of the night before and a promise of everything still to come. I clung to him, gasping, trembling, feeling the tension coil again as he drove us toward the edge.

"Cum with me," he said, voice wrecked. "Don't hold back."

And I didn’t.

This time, we unraveled together.

We lay tangled together in the quiet aftermath, the sheets a mess around us, our skin still damp with sweat and heat. Ryan’s chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, his heartbeat steady and strong, grounding me in the silence.

He exhaled slowly, one hand stroking down my spine in lazy, comforting circles. “You alright?” he asked, his voice lower now—softened by satisfaction, by something deeper.

I nodded against him. “More than alright.”

We didn’t need to fill the space with words. It was enough to lie there, bodies still wrapped around each other, the early light filtering through the curtains and painting the room in pale gold. Time didn’t feel real here. Just the warmth of him beneath me, the slow slide of his fingers through my hair.

Ryan kissed my temple, then my forehead, then the curve of my shoulder, like he couldn’t stop reminding me he was still here, still with me. “You were…” He paused, as if trying to find a word that fit. “Beautiful. Brave. So fucking sexy. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I smiled, my body still humming from him, but what warmed me most was the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about how I looked, but who I was when I let go with him.

“I didn’t know I could be like that,” I admitted quietly. “I’ve never felt so… free.”

He tipped my chin up, looking at me with that kind of gaze that made it hard to breathe. “You can be anything with me. There’s nothing you have to hold back.”

My throat tightened a little at that. His words struck deeper than the afterglow, deeper than the memory of last night’s heat. They settled in my chest like something I didn’t realize I’d been waiting to hear.

I kissed him, slow and soft, my fingers brushing along his jaw. There was no urgency now—just gratitude, affection, something that tasted like trust.

We stayed like that, limbs wrapped around each other, skin cooling, breaths syncing. Eventually, Ryan pulled the blanket up over us and gathered me closer, like he needed me tucked into him just a little longer.

“I could stay like this all day,” he mumbled, already halfway to sleep again.

“Me too,” I whispered, my hand resting over his heart.

And for once, there was no pressure to move, no need to be anywhere else.

Just this. Just us.

🐎

“Did you collect all your new toys?” Ryan asked, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes following me as I did my usual hotel room sweep. His voice was casual, but the glint in his gaze gave him away.

I shot him a look over my shoulder. “You know I did,” I said, smirking as I zipped up the last pocket of my duffel. “You literally watched me pack them. All three of them.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “What can I say? I like seeing you handle your gear.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I slung the bag over my shoulder. “Three, Ryan. I still can’t believe you got me three.”

“I’ve heard variety is good for the soul,” he said with a shrug, but his tone was thick with suggestion. “Besides, I wasn’t sure which one you’d like best. Figured I’d let you test-drive them all.”

I crossed the room slowly, stopping just in front of him. “Oh, I tested them,” I murmured, my fingers grazing the front of his shirt. “Thoroughly.”

His eyes darkened, lips twitching into a crooked smile. “And?”

I leaned in, brushing my lips against the shell of his ear. “Let’s just say… you’re going to have to keep surprising me.”

His hand found my hip, pulling me a fraction closer. “Deal,” he said, voice low. “But next time, I get to pick which one we use first.”

I kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing. “Next time? Already planning ahead?”

He smiled, that slow, lazy kind that told me he was remembering every second of last night. “Oh, baby. With you? Always.”

Ryan grabbed my suitcase without a word, carrying it with that easy strength of his as we made our way down to the truck. The morning air was crisp, still clinging to the quiet heat of the night before. Travis was already there, leaned casually against the side of the truck, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s about fucking time you two lovebirds showed up,” he called out as we approached, his grin wide and knowing.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” I said dryly, tossing my duffel into the truck bed.

He chuckled. “We’ll be heading back toward Amarillo. Jason’s healing up and ready to get back on the road.”

“That’s good,” Ryan said, nodding, his tone calm but alert. He set my suitcase down gently and turned toward Travis. “What’s the plan? Straight shot?”

“More or less,” Travis replied. “We’ll stop and regroup in Canyon if we need to. Jason got his cast off yesterday and is ready to get back out there, but we’ll see how he holds up.”

I leaned against the tailgate, arms crossed, a teasing smile creeping across my lips. “I’m not sure who’s gonna miss me more—you or Bloom.”

Travis gave a low laugh, shaking his head. “Bloom will be insufferable when you leave.”

“As he should be,” I responded.

Torn. That was the only word for it. I was ready to return to camp, to the rhythm of work and the familiarity of home—but part of me wasn’t ready to let go of the adrenaline, the thrill, the part of myself that only came alive when I was rodeoing.

“Alex.”

Ryan’s voice cut through my thoughts, grounding me. I turned to find him watching me, concern etched across his brow.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head as if to clear it. “Sorry, I was just lost in my head for a minute.” I forced a small smile. “Ready to go?”

Ryan didn’t press. He never did when it counted. He simply leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, then opened the truck door for me like he always did—like I was something precious.

He didn’t need to ask. He already knew the storm I was wrestling with inside.

“Whatever you want to do, baby,” he said, voice low and steady. “I’ll be beside you.”

A wave of emotion swelled in my chest, thick and sudden. I turned to look at him as he climbed in behind me, the familiar creak of the seat settling as he got comfortable.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice quiet, my smile small but real.

And just like that, the war in my head didn’t feel quite so heavy.

🐴

I lifted my hand and waved to the crowd, my heart thudding with the weight of it all. Tonight was my last ride with Bloom. Bittersweet didn’t even begin to cover it.

But I knew where I needed to be. The ranch needed Ryan and me back at camp, prepping the cattle for the long haul back to Montana. That responsibility had always been waiting in the wings, and now it was time to answer it.

Beneath me, Bloom let out a low breath and dipped his head—almost like a bow. The crowd roared, not just for me, but for him too. And honestly? He deserved it. He was the real star out there.

We trotted out of the arena together, the adrenaline still buzzing faintly under my skin. Waiting near the fence were Ryan, Travis, and Jason, all three of them looking like they’d been holding their breath the whole ride.

“Fuck,” Jason said, pushing off the fence with a shake of his head. “You’ve completely ruined him.”

I laughed, patting Bloom’s neck. “He’s got standards now. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, well, he probably missed me.”

“He did,” I said with a grin. “Even if he won’t admit it.”

Ryan stepped forward as I dismounted, his hands steady on my waist as I slid down. “Hell of a ride, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips against my temple.

“Hell of a horse,” I whispered back, giving Bloom one last stroke between the ears. “He made it easy.”

Ryan helped load Bloom into the trailer while I leaned against the side of our truck, arms folded, watching him work. There was something about the way he moved—confident, grounded—that always settled me, even now with my chest knotted from the goodbye I hadn’t fully said yet.

When everything was secure, Ryan climbed into the driver’s seat, and I slid in beside him. Travis and Jason took the truck behind us, giving us a little space as we pulled away from the rodeo grounds. The lights of the arena faded in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the Texas night.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The hum of the engine and the soft clink of the trailer chains filled the silence. My fingers played absently with the hem of my shirt, thoughts tangled somewhere between the memory of my ride and the weight of what came next.

“You okay?” Ryan asked, his voice low in the quiet.

I nodded, then shrugged. “Yeah. Just… ending one chapter, starting another.”

He reached over and took my hand, threading our fingers together. “You made the right call. Doesn’t mean it’s not hard.”

I turned my head to look at him. The dashboard lights lit his face in soft gold, and he gave me the kind of smile that didn’t ask for anything—just offered warmth.

“I know,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t trade what we have out there for anything. But this? Us?” I squeezed his hand. “That’s home.”

Ryan brought our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of mine. “Then let’s get back.”

As the miles ticked by, the conversation shifted—soft laughter, future plans, half-serious debates about which hand missed us most. By the time the lights of camp came into view, that ache in my chest had dulled into something quieter. Not grief, not regret—just reverence for a damn good ride and gratitude for what came after.

Ryan glanced over as we pulled in. “You ready to be the boss again?”

I smirked. “I never stopped.”

🐎

The headlights cut through the darkness as we pulled into camp, the beams sweeping across the dirt drive like a quiet searchlight. Everything looked just as we’d left it—still, settled. Like the land itself had been holding its breath in our absence.

“Back to reality,” Ryan murmured beside me, his voice low, almost reverent, like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had settled over the place.

I turned my head toward him and rested it briefly against the seatback, watching the faint smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Feels good, though. Doesn’t it?”

He glanced at me, eyes soft and thoughtful, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. It does.”

The truck came to a stop with a soft crunch of tires over dirt. I opened the door and stepped down, the air cooler than I remembered, laced with hay, earth, and something unmistakably clean. Familiar.

A whistle cut through the quiet, followed by a drawl that made me smile before I even saw her. “It’s about fuckin’ time y’all got back,” Teeter called out, a cold beer dangling loosely from her fingers.

I looked up and caught her grin, sharp and easy in the dim light. “I missed you, too,” I said with a warm smile as I walked toward her.

“Bet you did,” she smirked, then gave Ryan a once-over. “Didn’t think you two were ever comin’ back.”

Ryan laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed our bags from the truck bed. 

Teeter rolled her eyes and swigged her beer. “Well, camp’s still standing. Cows haven’t mutinied. And Colby didn’t burn anything down—so I’d call it a win.”

That drew a chuckle from me. “Sounds like we’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Damn right,” she said, as we moved toward the group gathered around the chuckwagon. 

Yeah. It felt good to be back.

“Look who finally showed up,” Colby called from the other side of camp, somewhere near the horses. His silhouette moved through the shadows, flashlight beam catching the dust. “We were about to send out a search party.”

“I’d say I missed you,” I said, grinning, “but we both know I’m not that good a liar.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Teeter said you’d come back soft. Guess we’ll see about that.”

Ryan dropped our duffels next to the tent and gave me a look that was half a smirk, half a silent warning not to start a wrestling match on night one.

“Don’t tempt me,” I said to Colby with a wink.

He waved us off and disappeared into his tent, muttering something about lazy riders and princess returns.

Ryan brushed a hand down my back, grounding me. “You want to unpack now or wait till morning?”

I shook my head. “Morning. Let’s just—be here for a minute.”

He nodded and tugged me gently toward the edge of camp where we could sit, just out of the way. The stars were sharp and clear above us, framed by the dark stretch of open land. Ryan sat behind me on the cooler and pulled me in between his legs, wrapping his arms around my middle.

I leaned back into him, let my head rest against his chest, and closed my eyes for a second. This wasn’t the rodeo. This wasn’t applause or lights or last rides.

The clang of the dinner bell rang out across camp, sharp and familiar, cutting through the quiet like a memory you didn’t know you’d been holding onto. It echoed off the horse trailers and tents, and I swear I could smell cornbread in the air before we even made it halfway across the lot.

“God, I missed that,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips.

Ryan chuckled behind me. “You mean the bell or Gator’s cooking?”

“Both,” I admitted, stretching out a kink in my back as we made our way toward the mess tent. “But mostly Gator’s cooking. I’d kill for one of his biscuits right now.”

“Pretty sure he’d make you a whole batch just to hear you say that,” Ryan smirked.

We rounded the corner, and sure enough, Gator was already behind the long table, ladling stew into mismatched bowls like he hadn’t missed a beat. The glow from the camp lanterns caught the steam rising off the pot, and the smell—savory, warm, comforting—wrapped around me like a damn hug.

“Well look what the cattle dragged back,” Gator called out, not looking up from the pot. “You bring me back any trophies, sweetheart?”

“Just a few bruises,” I said, laughing, “and maybe a story or two.”

He finally looked up, grinning wide. “Good. Means you did it right.”

Ryan nudged me gently as we stepped in line. “Camp sweet camp.”

And it was. Dirt under our boots, stars overhead, and a plate full of whatever Gator had thrown together—damn if it didn’t feel good to be back.

We found a couple of empty spots near the firepit, the folding chairs creaking as we sank into them with steaming bowls in hand. The air was thick with the scent of stew, smoke, and the familiar dust of Texas earth. Walker strummed his guitar in the distance, strumming soft chords, nothing fancy—just enough to keep the night from going too quiet.

Ryan passed me a biscuit from the center tin without saying a word, just a small smile as he watched me tear into it like I hadn’t eaten in a week.

“I take it rodeo life treated y’all well?” Gator asked, easing into a chair nearby with his own plate and a cup of sweet tea.

“Can’t complain,” Ryan said. “We came back in one piece.”

“Barely,” I muttered, rubbing my shoulder. “But yeah… it was good. Real good.”

Teeter dropped into the chair beside me with a clatter, one boot off and dangling from her fingers. “I give it three days before you’re missin’ it.”

“Probably,” I grinned. “But for now, I just want to sleep in my own damn cot and eat food that doesn’t come wrapped in tinfoil.”

She snorted. “Gator’s feelin’ appreciated tonight.”

“Damn right,” Gator said, tipping his hat back. “Ain’t nothing wrong with rodeo, but the stew pot don’t travel, honey.”

We all chuckled. The kind of easy laughter that comes from shared dust and long days.

Someone asked about the horses next, and Ryan answered, his voice low and steady as he described Bloom’s run and the way the crowd reacted. I leaned back in my chair, bowl resting on my lap, listening to him talk like it was the first time I’d really exhaled all day.

The fire crackled, warming the circle. Boots scuffed the gravel. Cups clinked. It wasn’t much—but it was ours.

And it felt good to be back.

🐴

The inside of the tent was just as I’d left it—neat, organized, familiar. Except now, Ryan’s clothes were piled in the corner like a personal landmark of chaos. T-shirts half-folded, jeans draped over his duffel, and a rogue sock hanging off the edge of the bed.

I looked over my shoulder at him, smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “So… no laundry service while I was gone?”

Ryan stepped in behind me, arms slipping loosely around my waist. “You think I trust just anyone with my rotation of three good shirts?”

I laughed, leaning back into him. “Pretty sure one of those was mine.”

He looked down at the pile with a squint. “Possession’s nine-tenths of the law, sweetheart.”

“Mmhm. Is that why my hoodie smells like your cologne and regret?”

Ryan grinned and kissed the side of my head. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” I murmured, turning in his arms. The tent may not have had the luxuries of a hotel room, but it felt more like home than anything else had in weeks. Warm, worn-in, and full of him.

As I rested my forehead against his, I whispered, “Just don’t expect me to fold that mess.”

“Fair,” he said. “But I can be convinced… if there’s a kiss involved.”

“Oh, there will be lots of kisses involved,” I murmured, tilting my head as my lips ghosted over his—just enough to tease, not enough to satisfy.

That was all it took.

The moment my back brushed the cool fabric of the tent’s wall, Ryan’s mouth found mine—hungry, urgent, unrestrained. His hands slid up my sides, fingers digging into the curve of my waist as he pulled me flush against him. I could feel the tension in him, the way his chest rose and fell, every breath syncing with mine like we were trying to remember how to breathe together again.

“Missed you,” he rasped against my lips, voice thick, low, and frayed with need. The sound of it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Missed you too,” I whispered, threading my fingers into the messy strands of his hair, tugging gently. Our mouths met again—deeper this time, raw and desperate, like we were making up for every second of space that had stretched between us.

His hands were everywhere—palming my ass, gliding up my back, tugging at the hem of my shirt like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch me most. I broke the kiss just long enough to pull the fabric over my head and toss it toward the heap of his already discarded clothes.

His gaze dropped, darkening as it roamed over me. “Fuck,” he breathed, his hand brushing lightly over the lace of my bra before settling over the swell of my breast. “You’re killing me.”

I smirked, arching into his touch. “Good.”

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth claimed the delicate skin of my neck, teeth grazing just beneath my ear, making me gasp. His fingers found the clasp of my bra, and the moment it slipped free, he stepped back slightly to take me in, his eyes stormy with hunger.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, voice rough like gravel under heat.

I reached for his shirt and tugged it over his head, baring the lean, muscular lines of his torso. My hands slid over his skin, tracing the familiar path of muscle and warmth. I pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, right over the steady, pounding thrum of his heart.

“Ryan…” I breathed, fumbling with the button on his jeans.

He helped me, working quickly until he was bare before me, skin golden in the low lantern light, hard and ready. I stepped back for just a second, letting my eyes drink him in—the lines of his body, the tension coiled beneath his skin, the way his cock stood heavy and proud between us.

“Stop staring,” he said, grinning as he stepped in, stealing a kiss. “Come here.”

He reached for the waistband of my jeans, tugging them down with swift, sure hands. My panties followed, and I was bare, vulnerable and open to him. His gaze softened for just a heartbeat before his fingers slid down my hips and between my thighs.

“So wet,” he murmured like a prayer, circling my clit with his thumb. I gasped, my body jolting at the sudden intensity of his touch.

“All for me?” he asked, his voice dark velvet.

“Always,” I managed, digging my fingers into his shoulders to stay upright.

His smirk faded into focus, his fingers slipping lower to push inside me. One, then two. I moaned as he moved with practiced ease, his thumb still teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers curled inside me, finding that perfect spot that made my knees quake.

“Ryan…” I whimpered, rocking against his hand, the pressure building in waves that crashed harder and faster with every breath.

“Cum for me,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of my ear, fingers moving faster, deeper.

The orgasm ripped through me before I could brace for it, a cry bursting from my throat as pleasure flooded every inch of me. He held me through it, steady and strong, whispering softly until the tremors in my thighs gave way to weakness.

But he wasn’t done.

His hands found the backs of my thighs, lifting me effortlessly as my legs wrapped around his waist. He pinned me gently but firmly against the tent wall, his cock pressing against my entrance.

“Ready?” he asked, breath ragged.

“More than,” I whispered, nails scraping lightly across his shoulders.

With one slow, smooth thrust, he filled me completely, and I cried out, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside me again. We fit like this—perfectly, deeply.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, burying his face in my neck as his hips began to move. Each stroke was deep, steady, dragging pleasure across every nerve ending, setting my skin ablaze.

He moved with intent—grinding, thrusting, kissing me like I was the only thing tethering him to the earth. My fingers tangled in his hair as I met each roll of his hips with my own, chasing that high again, desperate for more.

And in the sacred quiet between gasps and groans, I knew—this was home too. Right here. Wrapped around each other, breathless and burning.

We stayed like that for a moment—still tangled, still pressed against the tent wall, skin slick with sweat and hearts thudding in tandem. His forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath in the quiet that followed, the air warm and thick with the scent of sex and summer.

Ryan’s hands traced lazy circles along the sides of my thighs, not ready to let go just yet. His chest rose and fell against mine, steady now, calmer, but every now and then I felt a tremor beneath the surface—like his body still hadn’t fully come down.

I kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the damp spot just beneath his ear. “You okay?” I asked softly, brushing a hand through his hair.

His arms tightened around me. “Better than okay,” he murmured. “I feel human again.”

I laughed under my breath, letting my forehead rest against his. “That’s a hell of a review.”

He finally eased back just enough to look at me. There was something different in his eyes now. Softer. Still wild, but steady. “I missed your voice,” he said. “And your laugh. And the way you always act like you’re not about to wreck me… even when you do.”

Heat bloomed in my chest, gentler than before, but no less intense. “You wreck me too, Ryan.”

He kissed me again—this time slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss meant to linger. Then he lowered me down to the mattress on the floor of the tent, his hands still resting on my hips like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

We found our way deeper in the mountain of blankets in a tangle of limbs and whispered words. He pulled a thin blanket over us, even though the air inside the tent was still warm, his arms wrapping tight around my waist from behind.

I settled into the curve of his body, my back to his chest, his heartbeat steady against my spine. His hand slid across my stomach, fingers threading with mine.

Neither of us said anything for a while. We didn’t have to. The silence was full—of understanding, of everything we hadn’t said aloud but had already told each other with our bodies.

Just as I was starting to drift, Ryan’s voice broke the quiet. Low, hoarse, real.

“I don’t sleep when you’re not here.”

I didn’t move. I just squeezed his hand. “I’m here now.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder, soft and lingering. “Don’t go again,” he said.

I turned in his arms, facing him now, and reached up to cradle his jaw. “Then don’t give me a reason to.”

His eyes searched mine for a beat—then he nodded. Like a promise. Like he meant it.

And this time, when we fell asleep, it was together.

🏇

I buried my face in the crook of Ryan’s neck as I stirred awake, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of skin, sweat, and sun-worn cotton. His arm tightened around me in response, the slow rise and fall of his chest steady beneath my cheek. The tent was still dim, golden light just beginning to filter through the fabric in thin slivers—too early for anyone not chasing cattle through the Texas fields.

I groaned softly, shifting against him but not moving far. “Tell me it’s not morning yet.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his throat. “Hate to break it to you, but the sun’s already trying to burn us alive.”

His fingers drifted lazily through my copper hair, combing through the tangles with a kind of tenderness that made my chest ache. I felt the scratch of stubble against my temple as he tilted his head to press a kiss there.

“You ready to get back to work?” he murmured.

“Depends,” I said, my voice still thick with sleep. “Do I get to sit on a horse, swear at the heat, and pretend I don’t smell like cow shit all day?”

“That’s the dream, sweetheart.” He smirked, but I could hear the fondness in it. “And maybe if you're lucky, I’ll let you chase strays while I watch and drink all the cold water.”

I lifted my head just enough to give him a look, eyes narrowed. “You do that, and I’m filling your boots with fire ants.”

Ryan laughed and rolled us gently so I was under him, braced on his elbows. “That’s fair,” he admitted, dropping a kiss to my nose. “But you gotta catch me first.”

“I always catch you,” I whispered.

His smile faded just a little, not with sadness but something more solemn—respect, maybe. Something he didn’t say often but showed me in moments like this. He brushed my hair back from my face and just looked at me for a moment. Then he kissed me again—soft, unhurried, like we weren’t about to sweat through our shirts before breakfast.

“Come on,” he said finally, nudging his nose against mine. “Let’s get our asses in gear before Teeter starts yelling about lazy cowhands and steals all the coffee.”

I sighed dramatically, but nodded. “Fine. But only because I want Gator’s biscuits.”

He grinned. “Best damn reason I’ve heard all week.”

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Day 56 of posting first Ian Bohen Pinterest recommended photo

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Bucking Tradition: A Yellowstone Fanfic

Chapter Fifty-One

Adult Content 18+

chapters

Ryan’s fingers traced the line of my spine slowly, like he was trying to memorize the curve of my back, every little part of me that was now his, that had always been his. His breath was still heavy, but steady, the rush of our passion beginning to fade into something more tender, more intimate.

I could feel him nuzzling against my neck, his lips brushing over my skin in soft, lingering touches as if trying to ground himself in this moment, in us. He murmured my name, like he couldn’t say it enough, like every time it left his lips, it meant more.

“Are you real?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I lifted my head to look at him, his gaze intense, almost searching, like he needed reassurance, like he feared I’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.

“I’m right here,” I replied softly, pressing my hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my palm.

His eyes softened, and he cupped my face in his hands, guiding me in for a kiss—a slow, deep kiss that held more than just desire. It was full of everything he couldn’t say with words, a rawness that spoke louder than anything we could ever share verbally.

“I don’t ever want to lose you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them, raw and unguarded. His voice cracked slightly, and the vulnerability in it hit me harder than any of the passion we’d just shared.

I could see the weight in his eyes, the fear of losing me, of the uncertainty that always lingered at the edges of something this intense. And it mirrored my own fear, one I hadn’t wanted to admit even to myself.

“You won’t,” I promised him, my voice steady even as my own heart twisted with the depth of everything I felt for him. “I’m not going anywhere, Ryan.”

He let out a shaky breath, a half-laugh, half-sigh, and pulled me closer, burying his face against my shoulder as if the simple act of holding me could reassure him that everything was okay. That we were okay.

I wrapped my arms around him, my fingers tracing absent patterns along his back, drawing circles that somehow felt more intimate than anything we’d just shared. “I’m not going anywhere,” I repeated, holding him tighter, as if to make sure he could feel the truth of it in my embrace.

For a long while, we didn’t speak. Just laid there, tangled up in each other, each breath slow and synchronized as if we were trying to inhale the same air, feel the same pulse. And in that silence, everything else melted away—no worries, no fears, just us.

He broke the quiet first, his voice low and laced with an emotion that made my heart ache.

“I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he confessed, his words barely audible as he pressed a kiss to my hair. “Like... like you’ve become part of me. More than just someone I’m with. You’re in me.”

His words settled over me like a blanket, warm and heavy, and I let out a quiet breath, trying to hold back the emotions that suddenly threatened to overtake me.

“I know,” I whispered back. “I feel the same way.”

He pulled back slightly to look at me, searching my face for any sign of doubt, but all he found was the truth, written in my eyes, in the way I clung to him like he was the only thing that mattered in this world.

And when he kissed me again, it wasn’t about the urgency of desire, but about a tenderness that sent tears to the back of my throat. His lips were soft, gentle, like he was worshipping me, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me against him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice thick with the weight of it. “I really do.”

“I love you, too,” I whispered, the words simple but so true, more real than anything else in the world.

Ryan held me close after that, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration of my skin, tracing the edges of my collarbone, the curve of my ribs, as if he was learning me all over again.

And as we lay there together, the world outside seemed so far away, like it didn’t matter anymore. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

🐴

The sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. I shifted slightly, catching a glimpse of Ryan still sound asleep beside me. His features were relaxed, peaceful, in a way that made my heart ache with tenderness. I loved seeing him like this, vulnerable and unaware of the world around him. It was a rare moment, and I soaked it in.

But eventually, the pull of morning routines took over, and I sighed quietly, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed. I slipped out slowly, careful not to disturb him, my feet brushing the cool floor as I made my way to the adjoining bathroom. The soft light of dawn followed me, like it didn’t want to let go of the moment either.

After taking care of myself, I tugged on one of Ryan's t-shirts—too big, but it felt comforting against my skin—and padded to the kitchenette. The hum of the coffee machine soon filled the quiet space, and I allowed myself a few moments of peace, the aroma of brewing coffee wrapping around me like a familiar embrace.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Travis had made it back last night. The thought lingered for a moment, but was swiftly answered when I glanced toward the couch. There, draped casually over the back, was a hot pink bra—one I knew wasn’t mine. A slow, resigned breath escaped my lips as I turned my attention to the woman who was the clear owner of that piece of lingerie.

She sauntered into the kitchenette, completely unbothered by her lack of clothing, the matching pink panties hugging her curves. She paused, catching sight of me, and grinned like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thank God, you’re making coffee,” she said, her voice carefree, as though her state of undress was nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes flicked to the coffee machine, then back to me, clearly more focused on her need for caffeine than the awkwardness of the situation.

My mind raced for a moment, caught between disbelief and irritation. But I didn’t let it show on my face. Instead, I offered a tight smile, my eyes flicking to Ryan’s still form in the bedroom.

“Yeah,” I said evenly, my tone almost too calm, “I’m making coffee. You might want to ask Travis if he needs anything.”

The woman didn’t seem phased by my response. She wandered over to the counter, casually pulling a mug from the cupboard. I let the moment stretch out, forcing myself to stay calm, though a million questions raced through my mind. What the hell had gone on here last night?

But for now, I focused on the brewing coffee, grounding myself in the familiarity of the morning routine. The questions would come later.

“Travis said we could order whatever we want for breakfast from room service,” a second blonde chimed in, her voice annoyingly cheerful, as she leaned against the doorframe to the second bedroom.

I froze for a moment, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. I’d seen these two at the bar last night—the ones who had been all over Travis, laughing and making eyes at him. My stomach twisted as I processed the scene in front of me.

Way to go, Travis.

I didn’t look at her right away, instead letting the silence stretch for a few beats, my grip tightening around the mug I’d just pulled from the cabinet. I could hear Ryan still snoring softly from the bedroom, completely unaware of the chaos I was already beginning to feel. The woman from the kitchen, the one in the hot pink, was still helping herself to coffee, humming under her breath like this was just a normal morning.

Finally, I turned my gaze toward the second blonde. She stood there in nothing but a flimsy robe that barely hung on her shoulders, her hair perfectly tousled, as though she’d just walked out of some magazine ad for ‘spontaneous mornings.’

I forced a smile, tight and unconvincing, and said flatly, “Yeah, you two go ahead and order whatever you want. Just… don’t wake him.”

The second blonde looked at me with a raised brow, clearly unfazed by my tone. She took in my attire, then the coffee brewing on the counter, before giving a nod. “We won’t,” she said breezily, giving me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes before turning back toward the room service menu on the counter.

I stood there, stunned, as the two of them made themselves at home like they belonged here.

For a few seconds, I was frozen in place, my mind swirling in a mix of annoyance and disbelief. But then the sound of a soft groan from Ryan broke my thoughts.

He was waking up.

“Baby?” I heard Ryan’s voice float through the bedroom door, sounding groggy but undeniably warm.

“I’m in here,” I called back, trying to sound casual, though my tone was sharp from the tension that was still simmering under the surface. “Travis brought some guests back, so make sure you have pants on when you come in here.”

The words were out before I could think, but once I said them, I couldn’t take them back. My chest tightened, my fingers still gripping the coffee mug as though I were holding onto something solid in the middle of a storm.

There was a moment of silence before I heard him shift in the bedroom. I tried not to think about how his reaction might play out, how he'd deal with the situation. But that wasn’t the part of this that gnawed at me.

I looked down at myself, at the oversized t-shirt I was wearing—Ryan’s, of course—and felt the sudden sting of self-consciousness. I had always been confident in my appearance, the kind of woman who knew what she brought to the table. But looking between these two women—perfectly poised and entirely comfortable in their skin—and then at myself, that confidence faltered.

They were a picture of effortless allure, with tousled hair and radiant skin, barely aware of their own power. And here I was, standing in a worn-out t-shirt, trying to act like this was all fine. Trying to pretend I wasn’t bothered by the scene unfolding before me.

The blonde in the kitchen reached over, her fingers brushing the counter as she casually refilled her cup, not even sparing me a glance. The other one from the bedroom doorway was scanning the room service menu, humming like she was making decisions about her favorite morning indulgence.

I felt the sting of comparison. It was impossible not to.

But then I heard Ryan moving, getting closer, and the sound of him shuffling toward the door jolted me back to reality. The two women’s presence—this strange new dynamic—didn’t matter when it came to what Ryan and I had, what we’d built.

Or did it?

Before I could convince myself to move, Ryan’s voice called again, this time louder, closer.

“Hey, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I answered quickly, though the lie slipped past my lips effortlessly. I wasn’t fine.

I raked my fingers through my hair, then filled two mugs with coffee—Black for Ryan, a ton of cream and sweetener for me. 

Ryan stepped out of the bedroom, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He barely acknowledged the other women as he walked into the kitchen and slipped his arms around my waist. 

“Morning, baby,” he said as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. 

I felt the warmth of his body as he wrapped his arms around me, his familiar scent of cedarwood and cologne grounding me in the chaos of the moment. His lips brushed against my forehead, and for a second, it was like everything else faded away. It was just him, just us, like it always had been in the mornings—simple, comfortable.

But that small sense of normalcy was fleeting. The tension I was trying so hard to ignore pulled at me again, and I instinctively leaned into him, trying to keep the moment from slipping through my fingers.

“Morning,” I muttered, my voice soft but strained, as I poured the coffee into his mug and handed it to him. The hot liquid warmed my hand, but it did nothing for the chill I felt inside.

Ryan took a sip, his eyes briefly drifting to the two women still lingering on the couch, then back to me, his expression unreadable. His casual indifference was something I had come to expect, but today, it felt different. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to avoid the situation or if he truly hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in the air.

One of the blondes, the one in the kitchen, broke the silence with a soft giggle. “Well, aren’t you two cute,” she said, her tone sweet as she casually leaned against the counter.

I stiffened at the words, the faint edge of irritation rising within me. She was practically ogling Ryan, her gaze flicking to him in a way that made my stomach churn. It wasn’t her fault—she didn’t know about us—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Ryan, ever the smooth talker, flashed her a brief, polite smile but didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his focus on me, his hand gently resting on my lower back, a subtle reassurance that he was still here, still mine. But something in the back of my mind nagged at me, something I couldn't put into words.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice softer now, like he could sense the tension rolling off me. His thumb gently brushed along my side, a small, almost unconscious gesture that used to make me feel safe.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, avoiding his gaze as I busied myself with adding more cream to my mug. I didn't want him to notice how much I was struggling with the whole situation. I wanted to be the confident woman he always saw me as, but right now, I was anything but.

“Good,” he replied, taking another sip of his coffee. Then, without warning, he pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “You okay? You seem… off.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look up at him. I didn’t want to ruin the moment or make him feel like I was being dramatic. But I couldn’t help it. His question made the insecurity I had been holding back surge to the surface.

“I’m fine,” I said, but my voice cracked, betraying the lie. Ryan's eyes softened, and he took a step back, looking at me with that intense, knowing gaze that I couldn’t hide from.

His thumb moved to my chin, tilting my head up so our eyes locked. “You’re not fine,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to exhale slowly, trying to calm the storm swirling inside me. The last thing I wanted was to lay all of this on him, but the weight of it was suffocating me.

“I just… I don’t know. It’s nothing,” I said, feeling my heart race as I glanced at the women again, now both laughing on the couch like they were part of the scenery. Like they belonged here.

Ryan followed my gaze, and the brief flicker of recognition in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He didn’t miss the unease in my posture, the tension in my voice. But instead of confronting it right then, he stepped closer, his presence a comforting wall against the rest of the world.

“You sure?” His voice was low now, almost a whisper.

I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak without giving everything away. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to feel in this moment—anger, jealousy, frustration—but none of it came out. Instead, all I could feel was the silence between us, the unspoken understanding that something had shifted, but neither of us knew what to do about it.

Ryan didn’t press further, but I could feel the weight of his concern. He gave me one last squeeze, then turned to face the women, clearly deciding it was time to break the silence.

“So, what are we thinking for breakfast?” he asked, his tone light and unaffected, as though nothing had changed. 

Travis strolled out of his room, completely at ease in nothing but his boxer briefs, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And I had to admit, it was an impressive view—too impressive, considering the early hour.

My eyes involuntarily flitted over his muscular frame before I caught myself and forced my gaze back to my coffee mug, pretending to be interested in the swirling cream.

“You’re not wearing pants,” I muttered, trying to keep my tone neutral, though it was more out of disbelief than anything else.

He flashed a grin, completely unfazed by his lack of clothing. “Neither are you, but I wasn’t gonna mention it.”

My mouth opened to retort, but I didn’t have the words. Instead, I just shook my head, casting a sideways glance at the two women lounging on the couch.

Travis gave a half-hearted glance at them, as though trying to remember their names. "Guess you met... Carla and... uh... Brittney?" he said, his voice trailing off as if that was supposed to clear up the situation.

I raised an eyebrow. "It's Carlie," the blonde in the hot pink lace panties corrected, giving me a sweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "And she's Bethany," she added, gesturing toward the other woman, who was now flipping through the room service menu with a level of casualness I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around.

I blinked, suppressing a sigh. “Right,” Travis acknowledged, rubbing his neck with an awkward chuckle. “Carlie. Bethany. Yeah, good to know.”

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. “Looks like you had a good time last night.”

Travis glanced at me, his lips pulling into a smirk as his eyes flicked over to Ryan, then back to me. “About as good as the two of you had,” he replied, his tone casual, but there was something in his eyes that hinted at more.

Bethany stood up and stretched, drawing my attention to the way she moved with effortless grace, clearly accustomed to being the center of attention. “So, what’s the plan today?” she asked, her tone sugary sweet as she sauntered into the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the floor.

Travis shrugged casually, his gaze flicking over to me for a brief moment before settling back on the two women. "Guess we’ll figure that out after breakfast," he said, his easygoing demeanor never faltering. "But we should definitely get a move on. You guys want anything specific? Mimosas? Pancakes? Eggs Benny?"

Carlie and Bethany exchanged a quick glance before both of them perked up in unison. “Mimosas!” they chimed, their voices practically synchronized.

I glanced at the two women, their presence hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. They didn’t seem to care about the tension, their easy laughter cutting through the silence as if everything was perfectly normal.

I looked back at Ryan, whose eyes met mine. There was something unspoken between us—a connection that went deeper than any of this mess. 

“I’m gonna grab a shower,” I muttered, the need to escape, even for a few minutes, feeling more pressing by the second. I set my mug down a little harder than necessary, then made my way to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind me.

I leaned against the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to sort through all the conflicting emotions. My heart was racing, my mind too full to focus on anything.

A soft knock on the bathroom door pulled me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I said, my voice a little more strained than I meant it to be.

The door creaked open just a bit, and Ryan stepped inside, his familiar presence filling the space. He didn’t say anything at first, but I felt the way his arms slipped around me—strong, steady, a silent comfort.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice was low, soothing, like he already knew I was unraveling even before I said anything.

I closed my eyes and rested my head back against his chest, trying to collect myself. His warmth was grounding, but the words that had been gnawing at me all morning spilled out before I could stop them.

“Sometimes I wonder if you only picked me because of proximity. Like if there were other women on the ranch that weren’t covered in dirt and sweat, you’d be here with them and not me.” The confession felt raw, too honest, and I hated how vulnerable it made me feel, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

I felt Ryan’s breath against my neck, warm and steady, and I almost regretted speaking the words aloud. But before I could backpedal, I heard the familiar lilt of a smile in his voice.

“What are you going on about?” he asked, his tone light, teasing in that way that only he could do.

I turned slightly in his arms, just enough to see his face, but he wasn’t looking at me like I expected. His eyes were soft, understanding, and there was a hint of amusement behind them, like he wasn’t taking me too seriously—but also wasn’t dismissing me either.

He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Baby, what you just said? That’s not how I see you. I didn’t pick you because you were the only one around. I picked you because of who you are.” His voice was calm, steady, the kind of reassurance I needed, but didn’t know how to ask for.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my chest loosening just a bit. “But—”

He cut me off gently, his thumb brushing across my lips, silencing me with the tender touch. “There’s no ‘but.’ You’re everything I want, and I know that because when I’m with you, it feels like nothing else matters. Not the dirt, not the sweat, not the mess of it all. Just you.”

I blinked up at him, something like disbelief flickering across my expression. He was always so sure, so steady, and yet it was moments like this that made me feel like I was still trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the depth of it all.

“Ryan,” I whispered, my voice breaking slightly. "I don’t know why this is bothering me so much, but it’s like… sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for you."

His eyes softened, the teasing edge in his voice fading entirely as he took a step closer, wrapping me up in his arms even tighter. “Listen to me. You are everything to me. If there was anyone else who even came close to what I have with you, you think I’d still be here, holding you like this?” He paused, his grip tightening. “I don’t need anyone else. Just you.”

I pressed my forehead to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against me. There was something so simple, so raw in the way he spoke, and it made all the insecurities swirling in my mind start to settle, just a little bit.

“You sure?” I asked quietly, the doubt still lingering, even though his words had started to chase it away.

“I’m sure,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re it for me, baby. There’s no one else.”

I nodded against his chest, feeling the weight of his words settle over me, grounding me. Slowly, the tension I’d been holding onto for far too long began to melt away, leaving behind something softer, something more vulnerable.

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words feeling small but sincere.

He kissed the top of my head, his arms around me tightening just a little more, like he was afraid to let go. “Anytime.”

And in that moment, it felt like everything was finally where it was supposed to be.

🐎

“I swear if they are still out there topless when we go back out there,” I murmured after tugging my jeans up over my hips, “I might have to strangle them.” 

“They were topless?” Ryan chuckled. “I didn’t even notice.” 

“Sure you didn’t. Two sets of perfect boobs and you didn’t look once?” I quirked a brow. 

Ryan let out a low laugh, the sound warm and easy. “Okay, maybe I noticed,” he admitted, his smirk almost too casual. “But that doesn’t mean I was paying attention. I was more focused on you, you know, the one I’m actually interested in.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. “You sure about that? Because it seems like Travis knows how to find distractions.”

He moved closer, his hands resting lightly on my hips as he leaned in, brushing his lips against my ear. “Believe me, baby, there’s no distraction that could compare to you.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and it made something in me flutter.

I shook my head, trying to keep the teasing tone going despite the way my heart was skipping. “You’re so full of it, Ryan. You’re practically drowning in distractions, and yet you’re telling me you don’t care?”

Ryan chuckled, pulling back just enough to catch my eye. “When it comes to you?” He paused, his gaze softening. “I don’t need anything else.”

The words hung between us for a moment, the lightness of the teasing suddenly giving way to something deeper. It was always like this with him—his charm, the humor, the easygoing way he had with everything, but underneath it all, there was this undeniable sincerity that always seemed to knock me off balance.

I took a breath, realizing how much I needed to hear that right now, with everything swirling around us.

“You’re really something, you know that?” I said, shaking my head, but the fondness in my voice was unmistakable.

Ryan grinned, slipping his hand down to the small of my back, pulling me a little closer. “I could say the same about you, babe. You just don’t know it yet.”

I gave him a playful shove, but it was more out of affection than annoyance. “Stop being all smooth and cute, you’re ruining my bad mood.”

His grin widened. “Guess I’m just gonna have to make you forget all about it.” He lowered his voice again, his smile turning into something more mischievous. His lips pressed against that spot at the base of my neck. The one he knew would make me forget everything else. 

“That’s not fair,” I murmured, “you know I can’t think straight when you do that.”

“Good,” he said against my skin.

His lips lingered there, warm and insistent, sending a shiver down my spine. The pressure of his kiss, just right, made everything else blur into the background. I tilted my head slightly, giving him more room, unable to stop the soft breath that escaped me as I closed my eyes.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips.

Ryan chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my skin. “You make it too easy.” He pulled back just enough to catch my eye, his gaze dark with intention. “You like it though, don’t you?”

I bit my lip, trying to suppress a grin, but it was useless. He knew exactly how to push my buttons. “I’m trying not to.”

His hands slid down my back, pulling me in just a little closer, his body a steady warmth against mine. The tension between us, that electric pull, was undeniable. “Trying’s no fun. Let go.”

 His lips found that spot again, and all the noise inside my head faded into nothing. My heart was pounding, a familiar ache starting to build in my chest.

I exhaled a shaky breath, my hands gripping his shoulders. “You’re not fair.”

“Never said I was,” he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye. His lips pressed against my neck again, a slow, deliberate movement that made me forget everything I had just been thinking.

My fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him closer, even though I knew I should pull away. I should keep my head in the game. But every time his mouth moved against my skin, every time his hands roamed, it was like all my thoughts scattered to the wind. And for just a moment, I didn’t care about anything except him.

“Ryan,” I breathed, my voice trembling slightly. “We should—”

“We will,” he interrupted, his voice low and smooth. “But not just yet.”

Before I could protest, he kissed me—long, deep, and slow. 

I glanced over at Ryan as we stepped into the main room, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. We were both a little out of breath, and I could feel the lingering heat between us, the tension still simmering under the surface. It felt like the air was thicker now, charged with something neither of us could quite name.

Travis, Carlie, and Bethany were seated around the table, looking... almost normal. Well, as normal as anyone could look after the chaos of the morning. Carlie, now fully dressed in a loose tank top and some faded jeans, was flipping through her phone, while Bethany—still looking every bit as carefree as before—was picking at a plate of eggs.

Travis, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a too-casual smirk, glanced up as we walked in. His grin widened when he saw Ryan and me.

"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence," he said with an exaggerated stretch, obviously trying to sound casual but failing miserably at hiding his amusement.

I rolled my eyes, walking over to the counter and grabbing a mug for coffee. "We were busy," I muttered, too tired to even feign sarcasm.

Ryan, as usual, was the calm to my storm. He was already heading over to the coffee machine, reaching for the pot. “Morning,” he said to the group, his voice warm.

Bethany perked up and shot us a smile. "Morning! We were just talking about what to do for the day. How are you guys feeling?"

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you think we're feeling?"

Carlie, not missing a beat, leaned back in her chair with a mischievous grin. "Like you just had the best night ever." She twirled a lock of her blonde hair, her eyes darting between us.

I met her gaze briefly before turning back to the counter to fill my mug with coffee. It wasn’t hard to see what she was getting at, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy for her games this morning. I took a sip of the hot coffee, letting the warmth settle into my bones, hoping it would somehow calm my racing thoughts.

Ryan poured his own coffee, then slid into the chair next to me, his knee brushing mine under the table. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with the way the conversation was going, either.

"What's for breakfast?" I asked, trying to steer things in a more familiar direction.

"Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and all the fixings," Travis answered before anyone else could. "You two hungry, or should we just let you keep doing... whatever it is you were doing?"

I couldn’t help the half-laugh that escaped me. "Bacon sounds good."

"Good, ‘cause we’ve got plenty," Carlie said with a wink, as if she were the one who had cooked it all.

“Great.” I settled into my chair, the absurdity of the situation slowly sinking in. “Just… don’t expect me to sit through some weird morning-after chat.”

Ryan chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his eyes scanning the room briefly before settling on me. “Agreed.”

Travis shot a look at Carlie and Bethany, a slight grin playing at the corners of his lips. “Guess that’s a no to breakfast in bed, then.”

“Guess so,” I said dryly. There was a slight edge to my tone that I couldn’t quite suppress, though. But even in the face of it, all I wanted right now was a moment of normalcy, even if it meant navigating awkward conversations with people I barely knew.

I took another bite of bacon, letting the crispness and warmth settle the tension that had been building inside me. It wasn’t these women’s fault that I was feeling insecure. They were just doing what they did, and I was the one who had let my mind wander into places it shouldn’t have.

As I glanced over at Ryan, I saw him watching me with that familiar softness in his eyes, his gaze warm, steady. Like I was the only woman in the room. It was a look that still made me feel like I mattered, like I wasn’t just another face in the crowd.

His hand brushed mine across the table, a small but reassuring gesture. He didn’t need to say anything for me to know that I was exactly where I belonged. And that, for some reason, was enough to quiet the doubts that had been buzzing in my head.

I glanced over at Carlie, who was busy scrolling through her phone, and then at Bethany, who was now chatting animatedly with Travis.

Ryan’s fingers lightly traced over mine again, grounding me in the moment, pulling my attention back to him. He gave me a look, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"You good?" he asked softly, his voice low, as if he already knew the answer but wanted me to say it anyway.

I nodded, feeling the weight of everything in that simple exchange. “Yeah,” I whispered back, a smile tugging at my lips. “I’m good.”

“I told you I knew who she was!” Carlie shoved her phone in Bethany’s face.

“Oh right,” Bethany responded, looking from the phone to me, “You’re the horse girl on TikTok.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. “Horse girl?” I repeated, unsure whether to laugh or groan.

Carlie smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yep. You’ve got some serious followers, I hear. You post all those videos with your horses, right? Like, the ones where you do tricks or whatever?”

I flushed slightly, a mixture of pride and embarrassment swirling in my chest. “It’s just something I do in my free time. Horses have always been a big part of my life,” I explained, my voice a little quieter than I intended.

Bethany gave me a knowing grin. “I get it. It’s impressive, honestly. I don’t even have the patience for a dog, let alone a horse. You must have a lot of time on your hands.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, glancing at Ryan, who was sitting across from me. He gave me a small, reassuring smile, but I could tell he was trying to suppress a chuckle.

“Don’t let them get to you,” he said, his voice light but full of affection. “Your horse content is awesome.”

I shot him a playful glare. “I swear, if this turns into a joke about how much time I spend with horses…”

Carlie raised her hands in mock surrender. “Not a joke, I promise. I was just surprised to see you in person. You look nothing like I imagined, but in a good way. Definitely a lot more... put together.”

“Thanks?” I said, not sure how to take that. Was that a compliment?

Bethany nudged Carlie with her elbow. “I just thought it was funny that you’re this internet sensation and you’re sitting here eating breakfast like the rest of us.”

I shrugged, still feeling that mix of flattery and discomfort. “I’m just... me. Horses are my thing, but they’re not everything. Just like how Ryan here is more than just a ranch hand.” I gave Ryan a pointed look, but he just smirked, clearly unbothered.

“True,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But it’s hard to forget that she can literally run a horse better than some people drive a car.”

I rolled my eyes, but my chest warmed at the compliment. Despite all the chaos in the room, Ryan’s steady presence always managed to calm my nerves.

Bethany gave a soft chuckle. “I’d love to see that sometime.”

“Maybe you will,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her. 

Carlie and Bethany exchanged glances, and for a second, I could’ve sworn they were sizing me up. But then, Carlie just shrugged and leaned back in her chair, her phone now forgotten.

“Maybe,” she said. “If I’m ever out this way again.”

“Not if,” Bethany added with a wink. “When.”

And just like that, the conversation moved on, but my mind lingered on their words. Being recognized in this way, even in a casual setting like this, felt strange. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d be hearing more about this “horse girl” reputation, whether I liked it or not.

At least Ryan didn’t seem to mind.

🐴

Ryan stood beside me, his presence as steady as always, his arm lightly brushing against mine as we both watched Travis guide his horse through the intricate patterns of the reining competition. The horse’s hooves pounded the dirt with each precise turn, spinning effortlessly in tight circles, a feat I knew required immense control, timing, and coordination.

I tilted my head, watching the fluid movements. “I don’t know how he does it without getting dizzy,” I said, chuckling softly. “I’d be spinning in circles for hours trying to keep my balance.”

Ryan grinned, glancing at me. “It’s a talent,” he said, eyes back on Travis. “You’ve got the skills with the horses, but this is a whole other level.”

I nodded, appreciating the compliment, but couldn’t help feeling a little envious. While I had my own confidence with horses—whether it was riding or training them—watching Travis move so fluidly with the horse in the reining competition made me realize just how much there was to learn.

Travis’s horse made a flawless slide stop, and the crowd cheered. He grinned, his usual cocky smile spreading across his face, and I found myself laughing under my breath.

“He looks like he’s loving every second of this,” I remarked, my eyes still locked on him. “I think he was born to do this.”

Ryan chuckled. “Yeah, that’s Travis for you. He thrives in these moments. Always has.”

“Way to go!” I shouted to Travis as he led his horse out of the arena, “You managed to do all of that without throwing up. Impressive.”

“Wait until you see my scores,” he responded, “That’s impressive.” 

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m sure you’ll blow us all away with those too,” I teased, leaning against the fence. “You really know how to work that horse.”

Travis shot me a grin, his cocky confidence in full force. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

Ryan, who had been standing beside me, let out a low chuckle. “I’ve seen it firsthand. Travis doesn’t just ride horses; he owns them out there.”

I smiled at Ryan’s words, feeling the pride in his voice. Despite the playful banter between us all, I could tell he respected Travis’s skills as much as I did. There was something magnetic about watching someone completely in tune with their horse, the way the animal and rider moved together as one.

As Travis came up to the fence to join us, I gave him an exaggerated once-over. “So, what’s the secret to making it look so easy?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Lots of practice, a little bit of natural talent, and a whole lot of attitude,” Travis said, puffing out his chest with a smirk.

“Attitude, huh?” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Guess I’ll need to work on that then.”

Ryan chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve got the attitude, just not the spins.”

“We hitting the bar again tonight?” I asked after the horses were settled. 

“Y’all can,” Travis responded, “I’ve got a date with Carla and Brittnay.”

“Carlie and Bethany,” I corrected. “You sure your heart can take them two nights in a row?” 

“I ain’t that much older than you,” he replied. “I’ve still got plenty of stamina.” 

I snorted, shaking my head. “Plenty of stamina, huh? I’m sure the two of them will keep you on your toes.”

Ryan shot me a sideways look, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “You sure you’re okay with that?” he teased. “Him and his entourage?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “It’s not my problem.”

Travis raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it. I saw you admiring their assets.”

I shot him a look, my smile widening. “I’m just saying—next time, maybe let me know so I can brace myself.”

Ryan squeezed my shoulder lightly, his gaze soft but knowing. “We’ll stick with the quiet nights. You and me, just like we planned.”

Travis gave a dramatic sigh. “You two are getting all cozy. It’s almost cute.”

“Almost,” I muttered, bumping Ryan’s shoulder lightly with mine.

Travis smirked, clearly unbothered by our teasing. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Just don’t end up in a hot tub with a bunch of strangers,” I shot back, giving him a pointed look.

He laughed. “No promises. But if I do, I’ll make sure you’re the first to hear about it.”

With that, Travis swaggered off to the tent where the prize ceremony was taking place, his confidence fully intact.

I leaned into him, with Ryan, everything felt a little lighter, like I could breathe easier. No pressure. No distractions. Just the two of us. 

“Since Travis will be occupied tonight,” Ryan leaned in so only I could hear, “I saw a store not far from the hotel where we can pick up a few teammates.” 

My lips curved into a smile. “I’m still trying to figure out how getting me a new vibrator is a gift for you.” 

“Watching you cum is a gift for me, baby,” he whispered, his arm pulling me closer to him. 

My heart skipped a beat at his words, the intensity of his gaze pulling me in as much as the promise in his voice. I let out a quiet laugh, trying to cover the warmth spreading through me.

“Well, in that case,” I said, my voice just as low, “I guess I can consider it a gift for both of us.”

Ryan’s smirk was all sorts of dangerous, his hand sliding down my back, pulling me a little closer. "You don’t even know what kind of gift it is yet, baby." His lips brushed against my ear as he spoke, sending a shiver down my spine.

I tilted my head back slightly, catching his eyes. "Guess I'll just have to wait and see," I teased, my fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the heat radiating off of him.

Travis dropped us off at the hotel, waving as he took off for his ‘date’. His sandy blond hair caught the neon lights of the city as he flashed that signature grin, the one that always made you feel like you were in on some kind of secret. Ryan and I watched him drive off, the hum of his car fading into the distance, before we turned and walked the few blocks down to the Sapphire Lounge.

The building was unassuming from the outside, just a sleek black facade with a glowing blue sign that flickered faintly. Ryan held the door open for me, his hand brushing the small of my back as I stepped inside. What greeted us was nothing short of a revelation. This wasn’t just an adult toy store—it was a sex club.

The air was thick with perfume and pheromones, the kind of atmosphere that made your skin prickle with anticipation. I looked at Ryan with a smirk, my voice low and teasing. “I’m game to hang around for a while if you are.”

He raised an eyebrow, that confident grin spreading across his face. “Oh, I’m game,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of something darker, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“ID’s, please?” The voice came from behind the front counter, sharp and businesslike. I turned to see a woman in her early thirties, her dark hair neatly styled, her crisp suit hugging her figure in a way that was almost unfair. She was the definition of no-nonsense, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of curiosity, maybe even longing.

Ryan flashed his ID with a practiced ease, then turned to me, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge me to keep up. I followed suit, pulling mine from my purse, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The woman gave a quick glance at our IDs before handing us two black wristbands. “Welcome to the Sapphire Lounge,” she said, her tone warm but professional. “Feel free to explore.”

I glanced at Ryan as we moved past her, my heart beating a little faster. “Well, this is... unexpected,” I said, my voice teasing but with an edge of excitement.

Ryan chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly against mine as we walked into the dimly lit space. “You said you were game,” he replied, his voice low and purposeful.

I gave him a playful nudge, matching his tone. “You’re the one who wanted to get me a vibrator. This is just... a bonus.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “This is just the beginning, baby.”

We moved deeper into the club, the air thick with anticipation. Around us, people were mingling, some lounging in private booths, others dancing in the middle of the floor, and a few even disappearing through velvet curtains that led to who knew where. The energy was electric, and I could feel it buzzing through my veins.

“Let’s just enjoy the night,” Ryan murmured, his hand slipping to the small of my back as he guided me toward the bar. “Whatever happens, happens.”

“I like the sound of that,” I said, my lips curving into a smile as I slid onto a barstool next to him.

Ryan ordered us drinks, his gaze never leaving me, and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of what the night might hold. It was going to be an experience—one I wasn’t sure I was ready for, but I was damn well going to enjoy.

Our drinks arrived, and Ryan raised his glass in a silent toast. I clinked mine against his, the sound drowned out by the low thrum of the music. The first sip of my drink sent a warm wave through me, and I felt myself relax a little, letting the atmosphere seep into my bones.

“So,” Ryan said, leaning in close so I could hear him over the music. “What do you think? Want to explore, or should we just see where the night takes us?”

I glanced around, taking in the dimly lit booths, the couples whispering to each other, the occasional gasp or moan that floated through the air. “Let’s explore,” I said, my voice steady but with a hint of mischief. “But only if you’re up for it.”

Ryan’s grin widened, and he stood, offering me his hand. I took it, letting him lead me through the crowd, his touch light but firm. We passed a room with a glass wall, inside of which a couple was engaged in a heated make-out session, their hands roaming freely. I felt my cheeks flush, but I didn’t look away. Something was intoxicating about the freedom here, the way people seemed to shed their inhibitions without a second thought.

He led me through a narrow corridor, the walls adorned with erotic artwork that blurred the lines between art and pornography. The air was thick with the scent of incense, masking the underlying aroma of sweat and desire. We reached a door, unmarked, its surface smooth and unadorned.

“Interested?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “Maybe,” I said, my voice trembling just a little. “But not alone.”

Ryan’s lips curved into a smirk, and he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “Then let’s go together.” He reached for the door, his other hand still holding mine, and pulled it open just enough for us to slip inside.

The room was small, lit by a single, soft red light. A plush couch stood in the center, and a couple was already there, their bodies entwined in a way that made my breath catch. They didn’t seem to notice us, too caught up in each other, and I felt a jolt of something—nervousness, excitement, desire—course through me.

Ryan’s hand tightened around mine, and he pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my temple. “Still game?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

I looked up at him, my heart racing, and nodded. “Still game.”

Ryan guided me to the plush couch, his hand warm and firm on the small of my back. The couple on the other end of the couch barely glanced our way, too absorbed in each other, their breaths mingling in the dim red light. I could feel the heat in the room, the air thick with anticipation, and my pulse quickened as Ryan’s fingers traced a slow line down my arm before he turned me to face him.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and intense, and I felt a shiver run through me. His hands came up to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above mine. “You sure about this?” he murmured, his voice low and raspy, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

I nodded, my breath catching as I whispered, “More than sure.”

His lips crashed into mine, hot and demanding, and I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. His kiss was deep, possessive, and I could feel the tension that had been building between us all night finally snapping. His tongue teased mine, and I moaned softly, my body pressing against his as his hands slid down to my waist, pulling me closer.

The sound of a low, appreciative hum from the couple on the couch broke through the haze of desire, and I felt Ryan’s lips curve into a smirk against mine. He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Looks like we’ve got an audience.”

I glanced over and saw the other couple watching us, their eyes dark with lust and curiosity. The woman’s hand was trailing down her partner’s chest, her lips parted as she watched us, and her partner’s gaze was fixed on me, his eyes smoldering. I felt a flush of heat spread through me, and Ryan’s grip on my waist tightened, his breath hot against my ear.

“Do you like being watched?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice trembling slightly.

Ryan’s smile was wicked as he leaned in again, his lips brushing against my neck. “Let’s find out,” he murmured, his teeth grazing my skin as his hands slid up to the hem of my shirt.

I gasped as his fingers found the bare skin of my stomach, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through me. His lips moved back to mine, kissing me deeply as his hands pushed my shirt up, revealing my lace bra. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with hunger, and I felt a thrill of excitement as he reached behind me to unhook it, tossing it aside with a smirk.

The cool air of the room hit my bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Ryan’s gaze as he looked at me, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, and I moaned, my head falling back as pleasure shot through me.

Ryan’s lips found my neck again, his tongue tracing a hot path down to my collarbone as his hands continued to tease me. I could feel the other couple’s eyes on us, their hushed whispers adding to the heat of the moment, and I felt a wave of arousal crash over me.

Ryan’s hand slid down to the waistband of my pants, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric to tease the sensitive skin there. “Look at them,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. “They can’t take their eyes off you.”

I glanced over and saw the couple watching us, the woman’s hand now sliding down her partner’s thigh, her lips parted in a silent moan. Her partner’s eyes were locked on me, his hand gripping her hip as he leaned in to kiss her neck.

Ryan’s fingers slid lower, and I gasped as he found the edge of my panties, his touch light but deliberate. Ryan’s smile was feral as he leaned in, his lips capturing mine in a searing kiss. His hand slid into my panties, and I cried out as his fingers found me, already wet and aching for him. He teased me, his touch maddeningly slow, and I whimpered, my hips arching into his hand.

“Ryan,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders as pleasure ripped through me.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine as his fingers continued to work me.

I could barely think, my body on fire as I whispered, “Please.”

Ryan’s smile was wicked as he pulled back, his eyes locking on mine. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough.

He slid off the couch, his hands on my hips as he pulled me to the edge, his lips trailing a hot path down my stomach. I gasped as his hands slid my pants and panties down my legs, tossing them aside as he knelt between my thighs.

I could feel the other couple’s eyes on us, their whispers growing louder, and I felt a thrill of excitement as Ryan’s lips found me, his tongue tracing a hot path over my sensitive skin. I cried out, my hands tangling in his hair as he licked me, his touch sending waves of pleasure through me.

“Ryan,” I gasped, my hips arching into his mouth as he teased me, his tongue flicking over the most sensitive spot.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with hunger as he whispered, “Let them watch you cum for me.”

Ryan’s fingers dug into my hips, holding me in place as his mouth worked me with slow, deliberate precision. Every flick of his tongue sent sparks up my spine, and I clenched the edge of the couch, the fabric rough against my palms. I was close, so close, my thighs trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The woman across from me bit her lip, her own fingers trailing down between her legs as she watched.

"Let go," Ryan murmured against my skin, his voice vibrating through me. 

I shattered. 

A cry tore from my throat as pleasure crashed over me in waves, my body arching, fingers twisting in his hair. The room blurred—the red light, the scent of sweat and musk, the whisper of fabric shifting as the couple beside us moved closer. Ryan didn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder until I was limp, gasping, my skin slick with heat.

He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The couple across from us exhaled in unison, their own tension unspooling in the charged air.

Ryan's eyes sparkled with a mixture of triumph and desire as he took in my post-orgasmic state, my body sated but already craving more. He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. I moaned, tasting myself on his lips.

 "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with want. "Absolutely beautiful."

I felt a flush of pleasure at his words, my body still thrumming with the aftermath of release. The other couple's presence snapped back into focus, their eyes locked on us, their expressions a mix of satisfaction and longing. The woman's hand rested on her partner's thigh, her fingers idly tracing patterns as she watched us, her breath still slightly unsteady.

With a wicked smile, Ryan stood, his eyes never leaving mine as he unbulked his belt and lowered his zipper. Letting out a groan as he freed himself from the confines of his jeans. Moving back towards me, Ryan's body hovered over mine, his lips finding my neck, my shoulders, his tongue tasting the salt of my skin. I felt the length of him, pressing against me, and I arched my back, inviting him to take what was his.

My fingers dug into his back as he drove into me. My legs hooked high around his hips, pulling him deeper. Ryan's thrusts were slow and deliberate, each one sending sparks of pleasure through me. I felt every inch of him, the stretch and burn, the exquisite friction as our bodies moved in perfect sync. The other couple's eyes were fixed on us, their gazes intense, their own passions rekindled by our erotic dance.

Ryan's lips found mine, his kiss deep and passionate. I tasted myself on his tongue, a heady reminder of the pleasure he'd drawn from me, even as he stoked the flames anew. His hands gripped my hips, guiding, possessing, as he moved inside me, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

The woman on the couch bit her lip, her eyes dark with desire as she watched our passionate display. Her partner's hand gripped her thigh, his gaze intense, his breath quickening as he imagined himself in Ryan's place, taking, claiming.

Ryan's thrusts became more urgent, his body moving with a primal need. I met his pace, my hips rising to greet each thrust, my fingers digging into his back, leaving marks that would fade with the night.

"Ryan," I gasped, my body on the brink once more, pleasure coiling tight within me.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured as he felt my walls clench tighter around him. Deep moans fell from my lips as he drove me further over the edge. His thrusts became more erratic as he chased his own release. With one deep final thrust, he spilled his release inside me. 

Ryan's body shuddered as he found his release, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. He buried his face in the curve of my neck, his lips seeking the sensitive skin there, even as his body continued to pulse within me. I felt his heart pounding against my chest, his breath hot on my skin.

The other couple's presence seemed to fade away as we rode out the waves of our mutual pleasure. The world narrowed to the two of us, our bodies entwined, our hearts pounding in sync.

Ryan's lips found mine, his kiss soft and tender, a contrast to the fierce passion that had just consumed us. "Incredible," he whispered, his voice hoarse with satisfaction. "Absolutely incredible."

I smiled, my body still buzzing with the aftermath of release. "They seemed to enjoy the show," I murmured, glancing over at the other couple. They were locked in an embrace, their eyes closed, their breaths steadying as they savored the moment.

Ryan's hand trailed down my body, his touch sending shivers in the wake of our climax. "Let's give them an encore," he whispered, his voice low and laced with desire. "If they're very lucky."

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

Chapter Forty-Four

Family Trip? Joining an infamous club... 18+

Chapter List

The soft sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting golden lines across the bedroom floor. Maverick was curled between us, his little body finally still, breathing in that deep, even rhythm only babies could manage after crying their hearts out.

I blinked the sleep from my eyes and turned onto my side, watching Angel. He was already awake, one arm tucked behind his head, the other gently resting across Maverick’s back. His gaze was on me, and he smiled like he hadn’t stopped all night.

“Morning,” he said softly.

I stretched with a quiet sigh. “How long was he up?”

“Not long,” Angel said. “Changed him, rocked him a little. He just wanted someone to hold.”

I nodded, brushing my fingers along Maverick’s tiny sock-covered foot. “He gets that from me.”

Angel grinned, then leaned in to kiss my temple. “Yeah, he does.”

The quiet lingered a little while longer, peaceful and thick with the kind of comfort you only get after a night that felt like more than just sex—something deeper, something that left you aching in the best way.

My stomach growled, and Angel chuckled low. “You need food before you start getting grumpy.”

“Hey,” I said, swatting his chest lightly. “I’m adorable when I’m grumpy.”

He kissed me again, this time on the mouth, slower. “You’re adorable all the time.”

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “Too early for sweet talk.”

He laughed again, the sound so easy it made my heart skip. “I’ll make coffee. You stay here with Maverick.”

He slipped out of bed again, this time slower, careful not to jostle the baby still dozing between us. I watched the way he moved—like the man knew his way around a kitchen and a crib—and I felt something tighten low in my chest.

Love. 

Maverick stirred, fussing just a little as I gathered him into my arms, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“You’re lucky, you know,” I whispered against his skin. “Your dad’s kind of a good one.”

In the distance, I heard the coffee pot kick on and the faint sound of Angel humming in the kitchen. The scent of toasted bread and fresh grounds slowly crept down the hall.

And just like that, it was a morning worth waking up for.

By the time I wandered into the kitchen, Maverick resting on my hip, Angel already had breakfast going. He was shirtless, his tattoos on full display, wearing nothing but those damn grey sweatpants that really should’ve been illegal this early in the morning.

He was flipping pancakes like a man on a mission, the smell of butter and cinnamon filling the air.

“If you keep looking at me like that, princesa,” he said without turning around, “we’re gonna end up back in bed with a hungry baby watching.”

I grinned, leaning against the counter. “I’m just admiring your multitasking. Hot dad, short-order cook, part-time temptation.”

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “Part-time?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

He turned, plate in hand, setting it on the table. “Too late.”

I slid into a chair as he brought over the rest—pancakes, scrambled eggs, sliced fruit. He even remembered the oat milk I liked in my coffee. Show-off.

Maverick started fussing a little, and I bounced him gently, kissing the top of his head. “Alright, alright. You want pancakes too?”

“He’s got good taste,” Angel said, stealing a strawberry off my plate.

“Hey!” I swatted his hand away, grinning. “You made your own.”

“Yeah, but yours always looks better. It’s the same logic you use when you eat my fries.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s completely different. Fries are community food.”

Angel laughed, sitting down across from me. “So are strawberries. New house rule.”

We ate, teasing and stealing bites from each other’s plates, and every now and then he’d lean over to check on Maverick.

At one point, he caught me watching him, my chin propped in my hand, lips tugged into a soft smile.

“What?” he asked, mouth full of pancake.

I shook my head. “Just… kinda like this.”

He reached across the table, brushing his fingers over mine. “Yeah. Me too.”

And just like that, it didn’t matter if the kitchen was a mess or we hadn’t slept more than a few hours. This moment—Maverick laughing softly, Angel smirking at me with syrup on his cheek, the whole morning sun-drenched and a little too perfect—it felt like something worth keeping.

Perfection never lasts.

The scent of coffee, syrup, and baby lotion still lingered in the air when the shrill buzz of my phone shattered the peace. It vibrated across the counter like it had something urgent to say.

I glanced at the screen. Uncle Declan.

I sighed, pressing the call button. “Good morning, Uncle,” I answered, keeping my tone light. “Or I guess it’s afternoon for you.”

“Aye, lass,” came the gravelly brogue that always made me sit a little straighter. “I didn’t call for pleasantries. I need ya here.”

My brow arched. “There? As in Ireland, there? Why?”

Angel looked up from across the table, immediately alert. His fork paused midair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read my face.

“There’s been a shift,” Declan said, low and urgent. “The Kings are meetin’ in Dublin on Sunday. And ya need to be here.”

I blinked. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not a King. Or a man.”

“Aye, maybe not,” he said gruffly, “but you’re your da’s only heir. That seat’s yours whether you want it or not. The family needs ya, even if it’s just for a while.”

I looked down at Maverick, who was sucking on his spoon with blissful ignorance. My heart clenched. “I can’t just drop everything and fly to Ireland, Declan. Patrick’s up to his ears with the new shop, and—”

“Bring your Mexican man with ya,” he said, cutting me off. “Bishop, I think his name was?”

I scoffed. “That… ended. A while ago.”

There was a pause on the line. “Then bring someone else. But you need to be here. No more delays.”

I swallowed the knot in my throat and forced my voice to stay even. “Let me see what I can work out. I’ll call you back.”

I hung up before he could say more.

Angel set his coffee down. “Everything okay?”

I met his gaze, the warmth from earlier still flickering there—but now shadowed by worry. I gave him a tight smile.

“That depends,” I said softly, brushing my fingers over Maverick’s head. “How do you feel about Irish castles, whiskey politics, and very sharp suits?”

Angel leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes never leaving mine.

“I feel like I just walked into a Peaky Blinders episode,” he said slowly. “Only you’re the one in the flat cap, and I’m the poor bastard who didn’t read the script.”

I gave a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “It’s not that dramatic.”

His brow lifted. “You’re getting summoned to a secret meeting of Irish Kings and you don’t think that’s dramatic?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t dramatic,” I muttered. “I said it’s not that dramatic. No one’s asking me to start a war.”

“Yet.” Angel stood and walked around the island, stopping in front of me. “Tell me what that was about. For real.”

I hesitated, glancing down at Maverick again like I could hide behind his baby snores. “My uncle thinks I should take my dad’s place. Sit in on a meeting. Show face for the family.”

“And you haven’t done that before?”

I shook my head. “Not since the funeral. They don’t take kindly to women in the room—unless they’re serving tea or secrets. But things are changing, apparently. Slowly.”

Angel was quiet for a moment. His fingers brushed my cheek, gentle. “Are you sure this is something you want to walk back into? Because from the sound of it, they’re not just asking. They’re expecting.”

“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted, the words soft, but honest. “But I can’t ignore it, Angel. If I don’t show up, someone else will claim that seat. And they won’t have the name, but they’ll have the power.”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I said I’ve got you,” he said simply. “If you want to go, I’m going with you. If it gets heavy, I’m not afraid to throw hands with a room full of grumpy old Irishmen.”

That made me smile, finally. “You’d really go with me?”

Angel leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. “Princesa, you think I’d let you walk into a den of wolves without backup? Please.”

I exhaled, some of the pressure lifting.

“Alright,” I murmured. “Ireland it is.”

We spent the rest of the morning juggling logistics — passports, flights, figuring out what to pack when the destination was a fog-soaked castle and not sunbaked Santo Padre.

“Ireland in the spring means cold rain, angry wind, and locals that never stop reminding you about both,” I muttered, scrolling through my weather app. “You’ll love it.”

Angel grinned, zipping Maverick’s overnight bag. “You trying to scare me off or turn me on?”

“Little bit of both,” I teased, leaning over to steal a kiss before he grabbed his kutte and slung it over his shoulder. “You sure you want to bring this up with the club today?”

“I have to.” His tone turned serious. “If I bounce overseas without a word, it’s a problem. Better to face the music up front.”

“I called Teresa,” I said, “she’ll take care of Maverick while we’re gone. And she’s on her way now, so we can meet with the club.” 

🏍️

The clubhouse was humming with low conversation and the lingering scent of smoke and motor oil as I pulled my SUV to a stop. Angel’s bike rumbled behind me, the sound fading as he cut the engine.

My nerves felt like they’d been strung too tight for days. What if EZ said no? What if the club wouldn’t let Angel go?

As we walked up the porch steps, I glanced sideways. “Do you need me to talk to him? Tell him everything?”

Angel shook his head, jaw set. “I got this.”

His voice was calm, but I wasn’t comforted. I wasn’t sure anyone had this.

Inside, the air was thicker. Familiar. Loud in its quiet. I took a seat at the bar, keeping my gaze on Angel as he leaned against the bar beside me, arms crossed, waiting. A few more club members filtered in, nodding toward me with curiosity they didn’t bother to hide.

Then Bishop walked in — last, deliberate — and cut a glance at me before leveling it at Angel. “You called this urgent meeting,” he said, voice dry. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

I watched the stained glass door close behind Angel, sealing me out.

-Inside Templo-

The room was already heavy with expectation.

Bishop dropped into his chair. “This about the girl?”

Angel’s jaw twitched. “It’s about her family.”

The table went still — that cold kind of still, like something was creeping just under the surface.

“She’s being called back to Ireland,” Angel continued. “Family business. Political, tied up in old money and old grudges. The kind that doesn’t just go away. I don’t know everything yet, but I know she’s not safe going in alone.”

“You asking for time off?” EZ asked.

Angel shook his head. “I’m saying I’m taking it. A week or two, max. I’ll keep my burner on. If you need me, I’m there. But I’m going with her.”

“You trust her?” Hank asked, voice low but direct.

“With my life,” Angel replied without missing a beat.

Bishop studied him from across the table, unreadable. “You going as her man,” he said slowly, “or as her shield?”

Angel met his eyes. “Both.”

The silence that followed said a lot — the kind of silence that weighed options, counted risks.

Finally, EZ nodded. “Handle your business. Hell, it might even open a door the club can use later. But if this brings heat, we need to know fast.”

He turned to Guero. “Your passport up to date?”

Guero blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good. You’re going too. I’m not letting my brother walk into that kind of old-world shit without backup.”

“Alright, jefe,” Guero said with a grin.

As they stood, Bishop gave Angel a hard look. “Watch your back, hermano. Old blood doesn’t forget.”

-Back at the clubhouse bar-

I tapped my fingers on the bartop, impatient.

“Why do their meetings always seem to take fucking forever?” I muttered.

“’Cause you don’t know what’s goin’ on in there,” Bottles said from behind the bar, wiping down a spot that already gleamed. “That’s what makes it feel longer.”

I didn’t respond. Just stared at the stained glass like it could tell me something.

When the door finally creaked open, I didn’t breathe — not until I saw Angel first.

“What’s the verdict?” I asked, standing.

Angel didn’t answer right away. He just stepped into my space and slid his arms around my waist, his forehead resting lightly against mine. “You think you can book another ticket?”

“For who?”

“Me,” Guero cut in with a grin, leaning on the bar next to me. “I like first class.”

“Of course you do,” I muttered, even as relief poured through me.

Angel kissed the side of my head, low and warm. “We’re going to Ireland, princesa. And we’re not going alone.”

🏍️

Back at my place, the house was quiet — too quiet for how fast my thoughts were racing. Maverick was down for his nap, the baby monitor blinking steady beside the crib. I stared at the open suitcase on the bed, clothes folded too neatly, like that might control the chaos.

Angel stood by the closet, holding up one of my jackets. “This warm enough for Irish weather?”

I arched a brow. “Barely. It’s bone-deep cold over there. The kind that makes you question every life choice.”

He tossed it on the bed and grabbed another. “You want bone-deep, you should try Stockton in January.”

“Touché.”

His duffel was already half-packed, the way men always seem to throw things together like they don’t worry about anything getting wrinkled — or forgotten. 

He stepped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, chin on my shoulder as we looked down at the suitcase together.

“You ever think we’d be doing this?” he murmured.

“Running back to my ancestral homeland to deal with men in wool coats and blood feuds?” I smirked. “Not exactly.”

His arms tightened just a little. “I meant this part. Us.”

I turned in his arms, meeting his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”

Angel’s gaze flicked down to my lips, then back up. “Good,” he said, before kissing me — slow and full of promise.

The kind of kiss that said we’re in this now.

That we didn’t flinch.

🏍️

Maverick sat in his high chair with peanut butter on one cheek and a teething ring dangling from his fist like a tiny weapon. Teresa moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, scooping up toys with one hand and stirring warm cereal with the other like she’d done it all her life. She was calm, sharp, and didn't let anything slide — which made leaving Maverick with her slightly easier. Slightly.

“You sure you’ve got everything?” I asked, glancing at the carefully packed overnight bag by the door. “Diapers are labeled by size, snacks are in the—”

“Color-coded bins. I know, mi amor,” Teresa cut in with a wink. “This boy is in the best hands. Go handle your business.”

Angel crouched down beside Maverick, his fingers brushing through his hair. “You gonna behave for Teresa?”

Maverick babbled happily and reached out, smacking a sticky hand against Angel’s cheek. Angel laughed, pulling his son into a quick hug before standing and wiping his face on his sleeve.

“You okay?” I asked him under my breath.

“No,” he said, honest and low. “But he’ll be safe. And that’s what matters.”

I bent down to Maverick next, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and smoothing the soft baby hairs down. He smelled like cinnamon and milk and sleep. My chest ached.

“I love you, baby,” I whispered, my throat tight. “Be good for Teresa, okay?”

Maverick waved his hand aimlessly, chewing on his toy. No clue we were about to cross an ocean.

“I’ll text you updates every few hours,” Teresa said, seeing the look on my face. “Even if he’s just napping.”

Angel nodded, gave her a quiet thank-you, then took my hand as we stepped outside. The air felt heavier without the background noise of our boy babbling inside.

Guero was already waiting by the car, arms crossed, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Got the passports? You two ready to cause an international incident?”

“I’m ready to not cry in the car,” I muttered, sliding into the backseat beside Angel.

As we pulled away, I looked back once more. Teresa stood in the doorway with Maverick in her arms, waving one of his little socks like a flag. My heart cracked open.

Angel reached for my hand. I didn’t let go.

🏍️

The hum of the plane was steady, almost lulling. First class was quiet, save for the occasional clink of a glass or the murmur of a steward. Angel sat beside me, his long legs stretched out, one arm draped casually over the armrest between us. His fingers toyed absently with the ends of the airline blanket, but his jaw was tight.

I glanced over my shoulder. Guero was behind us in the second row, headphones on, already halfway into a movie he probably wasn’t actually watching.

“You thinking about him?” Angel asked softly.

“Maverick?” I nodded. “Always.”

He reached over and laced his fingers with mine, warm and grounding. “Teresa’s got him. You did good, setting that up. He’s okay.”

I let my head tip against his shoulder. “It just feels... wrong. Leaving him. Leaving our life.”

Angel was quiet for a moment. “We’re not leaving it. Just taking a detour.” His thumb rubbed slow circles over my knuckles. “One we come back from.”

I sighed, trying not to stare too long at the dark clouds sliding by outside the window. “You sure you’re okay with this? Ireland, the politics, my family’s mess?”

He turned toward me fully, his voice low. “I’m not afraid of your mess. I’ve seen worse. Been worse.” A beat. “What I don’t like is not knowing what we’re walking into.”

“I don’t either,” I admitted. “Declan wouldn’t have called unless it was serious. If the Kings are moving, something’s changed. And they don’t like change.”

Angel leaned closer, brushing a kiss against my temple. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, soaking in the weight of his words.

The cabin lights dimmed. A steward offered wine. We both declined.

Later, when Angel drifted off with his head tilted against the headrest and his hand still wrapped around mine, I stared out the window into the blackness. Ireland waited below those clouds — and with it, whatever legacy I’d spent years avoiding.

My past was calling.

And I was bringing a Mayan to answer with me.

I nudged past Angel with a quiet excuse me, already unbuckling as I stood.

“Where you going?” Guero asked, glancing up from his seat.

“I was thinking about going for a little stroll outside,” I deadpanned, giving him a mock-sweet smile before jerking my thumb toward the back. “I have to pee.”

He snorted. “Say hi to the clouds for me.”

As I walked down the aisle, I heard the muffled thud of a foot hitting the back of Angel’s seat. There was a low exchange of voices—too quiet to catch—but I knew that tone. Guero was stirring something.

I rolled my eyes and ducked into the cramped bathroom, doing my best not to bump into every surface. After washing my hands, I leaned against the tiny sink for a second, letting the cool water anchor me. The flight. Ireland. The meeting. It was all building.

A gentle knock on the door pulled me back.

“I’m almost done,” I called.

But the second I cracked the door, Angel slid in like it was rehearsed, shutting it behind him with a click.

“Thank fuck,” he muttered, pressing back against the door like he’d just escaped something terrible. “I almost walked in on some poor abuelita in the other bathroom.”

My brow lifted. “So naturally, you thought this was the better option?”

His grin was wicked as he leaned in closer. “Guero said you wanted to join the mile high club.”

My mouth fell open. “He what?”

Angel only shrugged, smug and unbothered. “Said you were eyeing the bathroom with purpose. That you gave him the look.”

“I gave him a look, alright.”

Angel’s hands landed on my hips, his voice dropping lower. “So was he lying?”

I should’ve pushed him out right then.

But instead, I leaned up, brushing my lips just beneath his jaw. “If you get us arrested over international airspace, I’m blaming you in court.”

He grinned, already reaching for the lock. “Then let’s make it worth the charge.”

I barely had time to register the soft click of the lock before Angel’s mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t rushed, not at first. It was that slow kind of kiss — all tongue and heat and familiarity — the kind that said you’re mine without needing the words. His hands skimmed down the backs of my thighs, lifting me effortlessly onto the edge of the tiny sink.

“You know this is a federal offense, right?” I murmured against his mouth.

He smirked, sliding his fingers under the hem of my shirt. “So is kidnapping. One more won’t kill me.”

“Charming.”

“Desperate,” he corrected, brushing his lips against the side of my neck. “You disappeared to the back of the plane in leggings and didn’t think I’d follow?”

“You’re insatiable,” I said, but it came out breathless as his hands roamed lower, guiding my hips toward him.

Angel chuckled low in his throat. “Yeah, but you like it.”

I let his lips find mine, his hands already moving with a practiced confidence. His fingers slid under my shirt, creeping higher until they found the clasp of my bra. With a flick, it was undone, and I gasped into his mouth as his hands roamed freely.

“Flying to Ireland and you didn’t think I’d make a move?” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot as he nipped at my collarbone. “You must’ve forgotten who you’re traveling with.”

“I didn’t forget,” I breathed, arching into him as his hands moved lower. “I just didn’t think this bathroom was on your agenda.”

“You’re always on my agenda,” he growled, his lips trailing down my neck.

I reached for the waistband of his pants, my fingers trembling slightly as I worked the button free. “You’re lucky I’m in the mood to indulge you.”

“Indulge me?” he said, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.

His hands gripped my hips, lifting me higher onto the sink as he stepped between my legs. The cramped space forced us closer, every movement amplified by the proximity. His lips found mine again, hard and demanding, while one hand slid down to my waistband.

“These leggings,” he muttered, his voice rough. “They’re going to be the death of me.”

“Then maybe you should take them off,” I suggested, my voice low and teasing.

His hands gripped the fabric, pulling them down in one swift motion. The cold air of the bathroom hit my skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his body as he pressed against me.

“Angel,” I whispered, my fingers tangling in his hair. “We can’t— I mean, someone could—”

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear. “Let me worry about that.”

His hand slid between my thighs, his fingers moving with a patience that drove me wild. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, muffled by his mouth on mine.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Let me hear you.”

I couldn’t help it. His touch, his voice, the way he seemed to know exactly what I needed—it all overwhelmed me. My hips moved against his hand, seeking more, and he gave it to me willingly.

The plane hit a patch of turbulence, jolting us slightly, but Angel’s grip tightened, keeping me steady. “Don’t stop,” I breathed, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Never,” he promised, his voice rough. “Not until you’re completely fucking wrecked.”

Angel’s fingers teased my entrance, his gaze locked on mine as if he were trying to read every thought, every desire I couldn’t put into words. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the hum of the plane’s engine like a blade. “You want this?” he asked, his fingers barely brushing against me, making my breath hitch.

I nodded, too lost in the tension building between us to form a coherent sentence. Angel’s smirk was faint, but it was there—that wicked, knowing curve of his lips that always made my stomach flip. He didn’t rush. He never did. Instead, he pushed in with a slow, deliberate thrust that had me gasping, my head falling back against the mirror behind me. The sink rattled against the wall, but neither of us cared.

“Angel,” I breathed, his name slipping out like a plea.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his free hand gripping my hip to steady me. His fingers began to move, igniting a fire that spread through my entire body. The rhythm was maddening—slow at first, then faster, deeper, until I was clutching at his shoulders, my nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice trembling as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me.

His lips brushed against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice rough with need.

I didn’t hesitate. “More. I want more.”

Angel didn’t make me wait. His fingers withdrew, and for a moment, I felt the loss like a punch to the gut. But then he was unbuckling his belt, the sound of the metal clinking against itself almost drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears. His eyes never left mine as he positioned himself, his hands gripping my thighs to pull me closer to the edge of the sink.

The first thrust was slow, agonizingly so, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning too loudly. Angel’s hands tightened on my thighs, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he pushed deeper, filling me completely. My head fell back against the mirror again, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between us.

“Angel,” I whispered, my voice breaking as he began to move.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he thrust into me again. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much to bear, but I couldn’t look away. There was something raw, vulnerable in the way he watched me, as if he were memorizing every detail, every sound, every expression.

The pace quickened, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the tiny space. My hands gripped the sides of the sink, the metal biting into my palms, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was Angel—the way he felt inside me, the way his hands tightened on my hips, the way his breath hitched every time I clenched around him.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “You feel fucking amazing.”

My response was a broken moan, my nails digging into his back as he drove into me with a force that made the sink rattle again. The turbulence of the plane only added to the chaos, jolting us with every thrust, but Angel’s grip never wavered. He kept me steady, kept me grounded, even as the world seemed to spin out of control around us.

“Don’t stop,” I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Never,” he promised, his voice rough with need. He shifted slightly, angling his hips in a way that had me seeing stars. My back arched off the sink, and I was pretty sure I left nail marks in his shoulders as I clung to him.

The heat between us was unbearable, all-consuming. Every thrust, every movement, brought me closer to the edge, but Angel wasn’t ready to let me fall just yet. He slowed his pace, his eyes locked on mine as he whispered, “Not yet. I want to feel you come around me.”

I whimpered, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. “Angel, please—”

His lips crashed into mine, swallowing my plea in a kiss that was almost as desperate as the way he moved inside me. His tongue tangled with mine, his hands roaming over my body as if he were trying to memorize every inch. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, almost black with desire.

“Cum for me,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

It was all it took. The tension that had been building inside me finally snapped, and I came undone, my body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. Angel’s hands tightened on my hips, holding me steady as he continued to move, drawing out every last bit of my orgasm.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Let me hear you.”

My moans were loud, almost too loud for the confined space, but the noise of the plane drowned them out, leaving only the sound of our breathing, our racing hearts. Angel didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, until he finally came with a groan, his forehead resting against mine as he shuddered.

The hum of the plane, the distant rumble of turbulence, the occasional clink of a drink cart — it all blurred into background noise. In here, it was just us. A mess of hands, whispered curses, and barely-stifled laughter between kisses.

Angel pressed his forehead to mine for a beat, breath warm against my lips. “You good?”

I nodded, fingers curling in the collar of his shirt. “You?”

“Always with you.”

We stayed tangled like that for a long minute before reality began to knock — figuratively this time — in the form of a flight attendant’s voice just outside, announcing drink service.

Angel pressed one last kiss to my lips, then helped me down with a sheepish smirk. “Guess we should get out before someone files a noise complaint.”

“Guero’s going to know.”

“He already knows,” Angel said, unlocking the door.

I adjusted my hair in the mirror, then gave him a playful look over my shoulder. “You better walk out first. I’m not dealing with the smirk he’s got loaded.”

Angel gave a mock salute and stepped out like he owned the plane.

I followed a moment later, chin lifted like we hadn’t just joined the most infamous club in the sky.

Guero was already grinning, arms crossed over his chest. “I told you she gave me the look.”

I shot him a glare. “Next time I give you a look, it’ll be followed by a punch.”

He winked. “Still worth it.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile on my face betrayed me. Guero’s laugh echoed through the cabin, far too loud for the confined space, but I didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, I felt light. Free. Whatever was waiting on the other side of this descent — politics, family, ghosts of the past — I was ready for it.

Angel’s fingers tightened around mine, and I knew he was too. There was nothing casual in the way he held me now. It was a tether.

Before I could say anything, the seatbelt sign dinged above us. The flight attendant’s voice crackled through the intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our descent into Dublin. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened and your tray tables are in their upright position.”

The plane tilted forward slightly, and I felt the familiar dip in my stomach. Angel leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Ready?”

I nodded, swallowing back nerves as the lights of Dublin bled into view beneath the clouds — soft, gold-tinted pinpricks scattered over the dark earth. Home, and yet not. Not anymore.

Whatever was coming, I didn’t expect peace.

But Angel’s hand stayed firmly laced with mine.

Whatever came next, we’d face it together.

Even if it meant walking straight into a storm.

[venactricisfics]

Werewolf cowboy

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Day 41 of posting first Ian Bohen Pinterest recommended photo.

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I am completely normal about this man (No I'm not)

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Day 39 of posting first Ian Bohen Pinterest recommended photo.