Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

JENNY

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth. Has it really been a month since I moved into Piston's place? Feels like just yesterday I was slinging beer and wings at Jake’s, flirting with the bikers for better tips. Now here I am, shacking up with one of the Iron Reapers. How the hell did that happen?

I spit into the sink and rinse my mouth. Don't get me wrong, being with Piston is incredible. The sex, the intensity, the way he makes me feel...I've never experienced anything like it. But as much as I want to just lose myself in him completely, part of me is still holding back.

I wander out to the living room where Piston is cleaning his guns on the coffee table, cigarette dangling from his lips. Even doing mundane shit, he looks dangerously sexy.

"Hey baby," he greets me, his voice a low rumble. "Sleep okay?"

"Yeah," I lie, plopping down on the couch. Truth is, I barely slept. Too busy worrying about...well, everything.

My eyes drift to the pile of cash stacked neatly next to the guns. I know the club is into some heavy stuff--protection rackets, loan sharking, God knows what else. Part of me doesn't want to know. Piston never brings that shit home with him, but it's always there, hanging over us like a dark cloud.

I chew my lip, debating whether to say anything. Finally I just blurt it out. "Do you think I should quit my job at Murph's?"

Piston looks up, raising an eyebrow. "You thinking about that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Now that I'm living here, with you, it feels weird still working there. Especially in that skimpy top, flirting for tips..."

He sets down the gun and turns to face me, his intense gaze boring into me. "You do what you want, Jen. I ain't your keeper. I know you love that job."

My heart swells at that. He gets me, he really does. But still...

"Yeah, it's fun and all, but...I'd rather be spending more time with you." I smile at him tentatively. "Maybe we could go for a ride later? Just us?"

Piston's face softens and he reaches out to caress my cheek. "I'd like that, baby. Let me finish up here and we'll head out, just you and me. Anywhere you wanna go."

I beam at him, my earlier reservations melting away. This is why I'm here, why I'm his. Screw the bar, screw everything else. When I'm in his arms, it all makes sense somehow. The club, the danger, the uncertainty swirling inside me--none of it matters. I'm his, and he's mine. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Got a surprise for you first," Piston says with a gleam in his eye. He reaches behind the workbench and pulls out a shiny black motorcycle helmet, holding it out to me. "Custom made, just for you."

I take the helmet, my jaw dropping as I turn it over in my hands. It's glossy and sleek, with a purple design swirling along the sides--my favorite color. On the back, "Property of Piston" is emblazoned in bold white letters.

"Holy shit, Piston..." I breathe, tracing the lettering with my finger. "This is incredible. But...property of Piston? Really?"

He shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ain't nothing to hide, baby. You're mine, simple as that."

I know I should probably be offended, assert my independence and all that feminist jazz. But the way he says it, the raw honesty and possession in his voice...it sends a shiver straight down my spine. I'm his, marked for all the world to see. And goddamn if I don't love it.

"Well then," I say, slipping the helmet on and straddling the bike behind him. "Guess you better show me off."

Piston grins wolfishly and revs the engine. We peel out of the garage and onto the open road, the wind whipping past us as we fly down the highway. With my arms wrapped around his waist and my body molded to his back, I've never felt so free, so alive.

This is where I belong, on the back of Piston's bike, the rumble of the engine between my legs and his strong body anchoring me. The rest of the world fades away until it's just us, the road, and the wide open sky.

As we ride, I find myself relaxing into him more with each passing mile. The vibrations of the bike, the heat of the sun on my back, the solid warmth of Piston...it's intoxicating. Addictive.

I rest my chin on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck. He reaches down and squeezes my thigh in response, a low growl emanating from his chest. The simple touch ignites a fire inside me and I tighten my arms around him.

This is crazy, the depths of my feelings for him. It's only been a month but I'm in deep, drowning in him, in this life. The danger, the passion, the unbreakable bonds of the club...it calls to something primal inside me. Something I never knew I craved until I met Piston.

I used to think I knew who I was, what I wanted. But straddling this bike, clinging to this man...I'm realizing I'd only scratched the surface. He's unearthed a side of me I never knew existed, a hunger for adventure, for rebellion, for something more.

As we round a curve, Perdition comes into view, the clubhouse rising up from the desert like a beacon. Piston slows the bike and pulls into the lot, killing the engine.

I climb off, legs shaky from the ride, and pull off my helmet. Piston does the same, reaching out to run his fingers through my windblown hair, his touch electric on my scalp.

"Best ride of my life," I tell him, my voice husky.

His eyes darken and he tugs me closer, his lips hovering over mine. "Ain't over yet, baby."

And then he's kissing me, deep and dirty, right there in the middle of the crowded lot. Claiming me, in front of everyone.

I kiss him back just as fiercely, not giving a damn who sees. Let them all know who I belong to. Property of Piston, now and always. I'll wear his brand with pride.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to come up for air," a deep voice chuckles.

We break apart and I turn to see Mason striding towards us, Carlie tucked under his arm. She's grinning like the cat that got the cream, her cheeks flushed.

"Can you blame me?" Piston smirks, his arm snaking around my waist. "Got the hottest old lady in the club."

Old lady. The words send a thrill down my spine. It's crazy how much has changed in such a short time. A month ago, I was just Jenny, the sports bar waitress with a dead-end job and a nonexistent love life. Now I'm Jenny, Piston's woman, his ride or die.

"I don't know about that," Mason drawls, pressing a kiss to Carlie's temple. "Think I might have you beat there, brother."

Carlie swats at his chest, her smile blinding. "Quit it, you two. There's plenty of hot to go around."

I laugh, but it dies in my throat as I take in the gentle swell of her belly beneath her tank top. Holy shit. Carlie's pregnant.

She catches me staring and her grin widens. "Surprise! Guess Mason's swimmers were stronger than we thought."

Mason puffs up with pride, his hand coming to rest on her stomach. "Damn straight. My kid's gonna be a force to be reckoned with."

I'm stunned. Carlie, sweet, innocent Carlie, is going to be a mom. And she looks...happy. Radiant, even. Like this is everything she's ever wanted.

My gaze darts to Piston, wondering if he's thinking the same thing I am. Kids. Marriage. The whole white picket fence deal. Is that what he wants? What *I* want?

I'm saved from spiraling by the arrival of the rest of the crew, whooping and hollering as they surround us. Hugs are exchanged, backs are slapped, and I'm welcomed into the fold like I've always been here.

As I'm passed from person to person, engulfed in leather and sweat and laughter, it hits me. This is my family now. My home. And as Piston's eyes meet mine over the sea of bodies, I know there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Piston takes my hand, pulling me onto the dance floor as some old school rock blares from the jukebox. The crowd parts, making space for their VP and his girl.

"Time to show 'em how it's done," he says with a wink, spinning me into his arms.

I laugh, letting him lead me into a fast-paced two-step. "Since when do you dance?"

"Since I got a reason to." His hand slides dangerously low on my back, pressing me flush against him.

We move together, our bodies synchronizing to the beat. Piston's usual intensity morphs into something playful, something free. He twirls me out and back in, dipping me so low my hair brushes the floor.

I come up breathless, giddy from more than just the dance. This is a side of him I rarely get to see, the man behind the hardened biker facade.

As the song fades into something slower, Piston's grip softens. We sway in place, my head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"Having fun?" he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

"Mmmm." I nuzzle closer, breathing him in. Leather, whiskey, and something uniquely him. "I always have fun with you."

His chuckle reverberates through me. "Good. 'Cause you're stuck with me."

We dance until my feet ache and my eyelids droop, lulled by the warmth of his body and the lazy rotation of the ceiling fans.

Piston must sense my fatigue because he steers us off the dance floor, keeping a steadying arm around my waist.

"Let's call it a night, yeah? Gonna stay here, in my room in the back."

I nod, too tired and content to question it. Staying wrapped in his arms sounds perfect.

He leads me down a dim hallway, the muffled thump of music fading behind us. With each step, anticipation curls in my gut. I'm ready for this, for him. To take our relationship to the next level.

Piston shoulders open a door, ushering me inside. The room is sparse but tidy, dominated by a king-size bed. Our bed, at least for tonight.

I turn to him, rising up on my toes to loop my arms around his neck. "Thank you for tonight. For everything."

His eyes soften, a rare vulnerability shining through. "You don't gotta thank me, Jenny. You're my world. My fucking heart."

The words wash over me, settling deep in my bones. I am his, and he is mine. Nothing else matters.

I pull him down into a kiss, pouring every ounce of love and longing into the press of my lips. He responds with equal fervor, his hands roaming my curves, igniting sparks beneath my skin.

We stumble towards the bed, shedding clothes as we go. I know tomorrow will bring new challenges, new obstacles to overcome. But right now, cocooned in Piston's arms, I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

And nothing, not even my own doubts, can take that away from me.

Piston's hand freezes on the light switch. "What the fuck?"

I peer around his broad shoulders, my post-dance floor haze evaporating in an instant. There, sprawled across our bed, is a naked woman. A club whore, by the looks of her smudged makeup and cheap lingerie scattered on the floor.

"Who the hell are you?" I demand, my voice shaking with a volatile mix of shock and fury.

The woman sits up, a smug smile playing on her artificially plumped lips. "I'm Piston's old lady. Who the fuck are you?"

My heart seizes, a wave of nausea crashing over me. This can't be happening. Not after everything we've been through. Not after he claimed me, in front of God and the Iron Reapers.

Piston's face hardens, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Get out," he snarls, jabbing a finger towards the door. "You don't belong here."

The whore pouts, her breasts spilling obscenely from the sheet she clutches to her chest. "But baby, I thought-"

"You thought wrong," Piston cuts her off, his voice colder than I've ever heard it. "I ain't your baby. I ain't your anything."

He steps fully into the room, hauling me in after him. His grip on my hand is the only thing keeping me upright, the only tether in a world turned upside down.

"See this woman?" he says, his gaze never leaving the intruder. "She’s my old lady. The only old lady I'll ever fuckin' have."

The whore's eyes widen, darting between us in disbelief. "But you said-"

"I didn't say shit," Piston roars, slamming his fist against the wall. The room shudders, a picture frame crashing to the floor. "I’ve finally found my goddamn reason for living."

He turns to me then, his expression softening imperceptibly. "That’s right baby, you're it for me. "

Tears blur my vision, my heart swelling with a fierce, all-consuming love. This man, this beautiful, broken man, is mine. And I am his. Anything else is just background noise.

"Get the fuck out," Piston growls, his attention snapping back to the whore. "And spread the word. Hers is the only pussy I want, the only pussy I'll ever fuckin' need."

The woman scrambles from the bed, gathering her clothes in a haphazard bundle. She shoots me a venomous glare as she scurries past, but I barely register it. All I can see is Piston, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with an intensity that steals my breath.

The door slams, the sound ricocheting through the charged silence. And then we're alone, just us and the weight of the future stretching before us.

Piston turns to me, his expression a mix of fury and desperation. "Jenny, I swear, I didn't-"

I cut him off with a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of my love, my trust, my commitment into the press of my lips against his. He freezes for a heartbeat, then his arms come around me, crushing me to his chest as he deepens the kiss.

We break apart, gasping for air, our foreheads touching. "I know," I whisper, my hands fisting in his cut. "I know, baby. I trust you. I'm yours, completely."

A broken sound escapes him, half-laugh, half-sob. "Fuck, Jenny. You're everything to me. Everything."

Our clothes hit the floor in a frenzied rush, hands and mouths exploring with a desperate hunger. We tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and gasping breaths.

I straddle him, sinking down on his hard cock with a moan of pure bliss. His hands grip my hips, his eyes locking with mine as I start to move.

"Say it again," I murmur, my hands splayed across his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath my palms.

"Say what?" he grits out, his hips surging up to meet my downward thrusts.

"That I'm your old lady."

"Fuck, baby." His grip tightens, his eyes blazing with a fierce possessiveness. "You're mine. My old lady, my heart, my fuckin' soul. I'm nothing without you, Jenny. Nothing."

Tears streak down my face as I ride him harder, chasing the edge of oblivion. "I love you," I gasp out, my body trembling with the force of my impending release. "I love you so goddamn much."

"I love you too," he rasps, one hand sliding between us to rub at my clit. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."

I shatter with a cry, my world narrowing to the exquisite pleasure radiating from where we're joined. He follows me over the edge with a hoarse shout, his hips slamming up one final time.

We cling to each other as we float down from the high, sweat-slicked skin and racing hearts, and whispered words of love. In this moment, nothing else matters. Not the club, not the world outside these four walls.

Just us. Just this.

And for the first time in my life, I know with a bone-deep certainty that I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.