Page 70 of Hammer

“It should.”His voice dropped lower, threaded with something that might have been regret.“I can’t give you what a younger man could.Can’t give you more children, can’t promise you decades.Hell, my knees creak when it rains.”

This man who’d faced down an entire motorcycle club without flinching was afraid -- not of violence or death, but of inadequacy.Of not being enough for me.

I stepped back, hurt blooming in my chest despite my understanding of his fears.For a moment, we stood in silence, the space between us charged with unspoken things.Then, watching him turn away, something hardened within me.A resolve I’d thought beaten out of me by years with Piston suddenly crystallized into certainty.

I moved toward him again, determination guiding each step.This time, when I placed my hands on his chest, I didn’t let him push me away.

“Listen to me, Hammer,” I said, my voice low but firm.“I’ve been with younger men.I was with Piston for years, and all his youth and strength brought me was pain and fear.I don’t want young.I don’t want promises you can’t keep.I want you.Just you.Nothing you say will change how I feel.”

Before he could respond, I pressed my lips to his, pouring everything I couldn’t articulate into the kiss.For one heart-stopping moment, he remained passive, unresponsive.Then, with a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him, his arms came around me, one hand fisting in my hair as he took control of the kiss.

The gentleness from before was gone, replaced by raw hunger that matched my own.I pressed myself against him, mindful of his injuries but unwilling to allow any space between us.His beard tickled my skin as his mouth moved from my lips to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear that he’d discovered during our first night together.

“This is a mistake,” he murmured against my skin, even as his hands slid beneath my shirt, calloused palms rough against my back.

“Then it’s my mistake to make,” I whispered, arching into his touch.“I want you, Hammer.All of you.The gray hair, the creaky knees, every scar, every year.”

Something broke in him then -- the last barrier of restraint giving way to need.He lifted me with surprising strength despite his injuries, carrying me the few steps to our bed before laying me down with unexpected gentleness.

“If we do this,” he said, his voice hoarse as he looked down at me, “you become mine.For real.”

I reached up, cupping the strong jaw that had become so dear to me.“I’m already yours.Have been since you claimed us as your family.”

The admission seemed to satisfy something in him.His eyes, normally guarded and unreadable, softened with an emotion I’d never seen there before.Then he was kissing me again, his body covering mine, and we were speaking a different language altogether -- one of touch and taste and breathless sighs.

His hesitation melted away beneath my hands as I showed him with every caress exactly how much I desired him.Age, scars, the gray in his beard -- none of it mattered.What mattered was the way he moved against me, the way his touch made me feel both protected and desired, the way he whispered my name against my skin like a prayer.

Our kisses grew deeper and hotter as he nibbled his way down my neck, sending shivers down my spine.His rough hands trailed along my sides, causing me to arch into him with anticipation.

“I want you,” he said softly against my ear.All I could do was nod in agreement, wanting him every bit as much.

Seeing he’d made it back alive was one thing, but I needed to feel it too, remind myself he was alive and well, right here with me.We quickly stripped out of our clothes and his weight settled over me.No foreplay tonight.Just raw, aching need.

“Please,” I whispered, spreading my legs wider, inviting him in.

His eyes, dark with desire, held mine as he positioned himself.In one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside me, both of us gasping at the sensation.The slight sting of his entry quickly gave way to pleasure as he began to move, setting a rhythm that spoke of possession and need.

“Mine,” he growled against my throat, his silver beard tickling my sensitive skin.“Say it.”

“Yours,” I whispered, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper.“I’m yours, Hammer.”

“Jeff.Use my real name when it’s just us,” he demanded.

Tears stung my eyes.I knew what it meant that he wanted me to use his name and not his road name.“Jeff.”

Despite his injuries, he moved with surprising strength, each thrust deliberate and claiming.I ran my hands down his back, careful of his bruises but needing to touch him, to feel the solid warmth of him above me.Alive.Here.Mine.

Our lovemaking was different this time -- more intense, more desperate.The shadow of what could have happened hung over us, making each touch more meaningful, each kiss more urgent.I felt myself climbing toward release, the tension building low in my belly as Hammer shifted his angle, hitting that perfect spot inside me.

“Let go,” he commanded, his voice rough with exertion and desire.“Let me see you come apart.”

His words pushed me over the edge.I shattered beneath him, waves of pleasure rolling over me as I clung to his shoulders.He followed moments later with a deep groan, his body tensing above mine before collapsing carefully to avoid crushing me.

We lay tangled together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.His weight was a welcome anchor, grounding me in the reality that he had returned, that we were still here, still together.

“I meant what I said,” I murmured against his chest once our breathing had steadied.“I’m falling in love with you.”

He was quiet for so long I thought he might have fallen asleep.Then his arms tightened around me.

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