Page 46 of Thor

"If we keep going," he said, his voice rough as gravel, "I won't want to stop."

I nodded, understanding the warning. "I know."

"And I want to do this right," he continued. "Not rush it. Not when it matters this much. I have to do it right."

A part of me wanted to argue, to pull him back to me and damn the consequences. But the larger part—the part that had waited my whole life to be understood like this—knew he was right. This wasn't just physical attraction. It was the foundation of something deeper, something that deserved care and attention.

"Okay," I whispered, swallowing my disappointment. "You're right."

Thor's smile was gentle but tinged with regret. "Don't look at me like that. It's taking everything I have not to carry you to my bedroom right now."

Heat rushed to my face at the image his words conjured—his large body covering mine, those capable hands exploring every inch of me. I squirmed slightly on the counter, and Thor's grip on my thighs tightened in warning.

"Not helping," he growled.

I laughed softly, surprised to find joy bubbling up alongside the desire. "Sorry. Not sorry."

Thor shook his head, but he was smiling too. "You're trouble, Amanda Wright."

"You have no idea," I replied, feeling bold in a way I never had before. With Thor, I could be playful, flirtatious—another side of myself I rarely showed.

He helped me down from the counter, his hands lingering on my waist. The kitchen felt too small suddenly, charged with energy we were both trying to contain.

"So what now?" I asked, smoothing my hair back into some semblance of order.

"Now, we slow down," Thor suggested, though his hands still on my waist like he couldn't bring himself to let go. "Go somewhere public. Actually talk this through before we get carried away." I nodded reluctantly, even as every cell in my body protested the idea of putting space between us. His thumb traced small circles against my hip, contradicting his words.

"Where did you have in mind?" I asked, stepping back to create some much-needed space between us. My body still hummed with the aftershocks of our kiss, like a tuning fork that had been struck and wouldn't stop vibrating.

"King's Tavern," Thor said, reaching for his leather cut hanging on a hook by the door. "Neutral ground."

I raised an eyebrow. "A Heavy Kings bar is neutral ground?"

Thor's mouth quirked up at one corner. "It's club ground, which means I won't be tempted to show you exactly what I've been thinking about for weeks." He shrugged on his cut, instantly transforming from the gentle man who'd held me to the intimidating Sergeant-at-Arms. "Not with the brothers watching."

The promise in his words sent heat spiraling through me again. I cleared my throat. "Let me change first. I can't go out in your t-shirt."

Twenty minutes later, I'd showered quickly and changed back into my clothes from yesterday—jeans and a simple blouse that felt too formal for a biker bar but were all I had.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Thor was waiting by the door, keys in hand. He looked me up and down slowly, his eyes darkening. "Ready?"

I nodded, suddenly nervous. This would be our first time in public together—not as the club's accountant and Sergeant-at-Arms, but as . . . whatever we were becoming.

The ride to King's Tavern was short but exhilarating. I wrapped my arms around Thor's waist, pressed against his broad back as the motorcycle rumbled beneath us. The vibrations and Thor's solid presence combined into a heady mixture that left me breathless by the time we arrived.

Friday night had turned King's Tavern into a hive of activity. Motorcycles lined the parking lot, alongside pickup trucks and a few sedans belonging to regulars. Music and laughter spilled out each time the door opened. I'd been here before on club business, but always during quieter hours, never when it was this lively.

Thor cut the engine and helped me off the bike with a steadying hand. "Stay close," he said, his voice shifting into something more authoritative. This was his territory, and I could see the subtle change in his posture—shoulders squaring, chin lifting slightly. The club's Sergeant-at-Arms had returned.

Yet when his hand came to rest on the small of my back as he guided me toward the entrance, it was with the same gentleness he'd shown in private. That hand remained as we entered the bar, a warm, steady pressure that somehow made me feel both protected and claimed.

The crowd parted for Thor automatically. Nods of respect, raised glasses, and a few curious glances at me accompanied our progress through the packed room. I felt the weight of those stares—club members and their women, wondering what I was doing with their enforcer.

It was a thrill to be with someone who commanded so much respect.

Thor led me to a booth in the corner, partially secluded but with a clear view of the room—a habit of vigilance I'd noticed in him before. He signaled to the bartender, who nodded in acknowledgment.

"You come here often?" I asked, trying for humor to mask my nervousness.

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