Page 72 of Jasper
She sets the cut across her lap and meets my eyes. “You think someone’s trying to sabotage that?”
Taking a deep breath, I tell it to her straight, “No, I actually think they’re going to show up here en masse and try to take over our club. We found another drone, and when we hacked it, we discovered we may have a turncoat feeding them information.”
Her face tightens, her protective instinct showing. “You have any idea who? If you do, you should get rid of them right away.”
“I’ve got a few guesses. If I had to put money down, I’d say Silver’s stirring shit again. She always shows up when trouble starts.”
Tessa exhales through her nose and folds the cut over her knees. “Then I guess it’s a good time to show you I can handle myself.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You show me. And keep your eyes open. I’m not ruling out anybody at this point. Remember, just because someone wears a patch doesn’t mean they’re above suspicion.”
Chapter 25
Tessa
Irun my fingers over the stitching on my cut again, tracing each letter with my fingers.Sons of Rage MC, Property of Jasper. The thread is light cream, and I admire the handiwork. I can hardly believe my luck. When I think about all the people who never find the person they love, this is humbling to say the least.
I lift the leather to my chest and hold it there for a second, breathing in the faint scent of him buried in the collar.
Beside me, Jasper says nothing. Just watches with a small, contented smile on his face. This is an important moment for both of us as a couple.
“I hope to make you proud of me,” I murmur.
“Mission accomplished,” he responds, his voice low and rough. “You said you wanted to prove yourself. This is the way. You have personal integrity, so I’m certain you will be amazing when it comes to managing the clubhouse.”
I stand and face him, the cut still in my arms. He comes to his feet, looking at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever truly loved. This man of mine doesn’t let many people into his heart, so I think it might be true. I can’t begin to explain what that does to me.
When I reach up and drag him down for a kiss, he comes willingly. The kiss gets away from us rather quickly. It always does, if I’m being honest.
When we pull back, he says roughly, “Let me see what you look like in my cut.”
I let him slip it from my hands. He brushes my hair back, gentle as ever, then eases the leather over my shoulders. His knuckles graze my collarbone, and my skin responds to his touch. Once it’s on, he steps back to look at me.
“You look right in it,” he says. “It suits you.”
I smile, but my heart’s hammering now. “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than being with you.”
His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. I lean into his touch, craving him more with every passing moment. When he kisses me, it’s not rushed or hungry. He’s savoring the experience, cherishing me in his own way. We’ve made love a lot since I moved into his suite, but this is our first time doing it as his old lady.
I kiss him back with everything I’ve got. I want him to know how much I love and adore him.
He lifts the cut off my shoulders, careful as ever, then lays it respectfully on the coffee table. His mouth finds my neck, then my shoulder, trailing heat as he peels my clothes away piece by piece.
I straddle his lap, feeling his hands come to rest at my thighs. There’s tension in his body, but not the bad kind. It’s the kind that comes from holding back, from letting me ride his cock the way I like because he loves it when I take the initiative.
His hands slide up my sides, under the loose edge of his cut still hanging from my shoulders. He could pull me close or push me away, but he doesn’t do either. He waits, letting me set the pace, letting me climb into this moment with him.
My hands flatten over his chest. I feel the steady beat of his heart. Others see him as a big, scary biker, but I see him as a flesh and blood man that needs love and tenderness.
When I sink down and take him into me, his breath catches. Mine does too because he always feels so good filling me up. For a few seconds, we don’t move. We just stay like that, forehead to forehead, his hands gripping my hips, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
He exhales slowly. “God, you feel good.”
“So do you,” I whisper.
I start to move, finding a slow rhythm that lets me feel every inch of him. His eyes stay locked on mine the whole time. I’ve never had this kind of connection before. The kind of closeness that makes everything else fall away.
