Page 77 of Truck Stop Titan

Moriah rubbed her hands up and down her hips, lifting those damn pink sleep shorts higher up her thighs. “Dane. We need to talk.”

“We’ll talk. But let me fucking hold you. Okay?”

She answered with a smile, crawled up the bed, then settled in my lap, straddling my waist.

I breathed, a deep, head-clearing, chest-freeing breath for the first time in ages. “That’s more like it, yeah?”

She raked her fingers through my beard, her eyes searching mine, and swear to Christ, that action grounded me, settled in my veins, and rooted my ass to that damn bed, my heart to that woman.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

“For what?”

Lips pursed, she leaned back and pointed at her stomach.

A rush of unwanted feelings jostled my nerves. “No, gorgeous. Not mad.” Terrified was more accurate, not that I would admit my fear.

“I’m not scared of doing this alone, Dane.” Her gaze dropped to my mouth, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “But I don’t want to.”

I pulled her in for a kiss because…fuck, I needed that connection, wanted her to feel the sentiment I couldn’t express with words…Hear me, feel me, know me.

When she softened, every rigid muscle relaxed, I pulled away and promised, “You won’t be alone.”

With a sigh, she asked, “How’s this going to work?”

“However you want it to work, Moriah. I’m taking my cue from you.” I grabbed her ass and yanked her closer. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m in. Just be warned, I’m gonna fuck up once in a while. Probably a lot.”

“I’m gonna mess up, too, you know.” She shrugged, dropping her arms to her sides. “This is all new and weird, and nerve-wracking, and I’m clueless. You. Me. Mim. A baby.” She threw her head back, half-laughing, half-crying. “It’s like we’re in a bad soap opera.”

“So, we’ll take it one day at a time.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sounds good.” She nodded, then yawned, covering her mouth. “One day at a time.”

Much as I ached to keep her where she sat nestled over my groin, I ignored my selfish urges. “All right, gorgeous, time to hit the sack.” I squeezed her ass, one cheek in each hand. “My clothes should be dry enough to get me home.” With a grunt, I hoisted her to my side and pulled the blankets to her chin before she could protest.

We hadn’t figured anything out, or made any plans, but she wasn’t kicking me to the curb, and damn, what a burden off my chest. The past days had been torture, spent in a perpetual sweat, worried Moriah would realize that having my child was a bad fucking decision. Had I wanted to be a father? Hell no. But damn, when options were taken away, leaving nothing but cold, hard reality, a man learns what he’s capable of accepting, and fuck me, but I wanted that kid, whether or not I was deserving or capable.

Without thinking, I dropped my feet to the floor, exposing my naked skin to Moriah.

“What is that?” came from behind.

Shit. I’d been careful to hide the brand I’d been so eager to receive all those years ago.

The bed shifted. “Dane. What is that?” A sharp finger poked at my back making my muscles coil.

“Aww fuck,” I moaned, scrubbing my hands over my face. The conversation was inevitable, but that didn’t stop me from trying to hide my ugly a little longer. “Not now, gorgeous. You need to sleep.”

“Satan’s Slayers?” She brushed a finger over the words permanently etched on my skin. “You’re in a gang?”

“Something like that.”

She traced the outline of the skull and snake. “I don’t understand.”

“Motorcycle club.”

“Oh.” Her hand left my body, the bed bounced, then Moriah stood before me, hands fisted at her hips, and said, “Well. Let me hear it. What have I gotten myself into with you?”

“Had a shitty life, Moriah. Junkie mom. Drug-dealing psychopath for a father. Fell in with the wrong crowd. The wrong crowd became my family.”

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