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“Just now, tonight,” he admitted. “They’ll be dealt with. And it’s crystal clear, whoever is behind all of this not only wanted our clubs to go to war, but they also targeted you. I have no idea if it was simply because you were in the motel room that night or if it’s something more sinister. So, you see, you need to stay put.”
His logic was sound, his concern genuine, but it was the underlying current of his desire that swayed me. The thought of spending another night under the same roof, especially with the day’s adrenaline still coursing through us, was both daunting and intoxicating.
The night’s earlier danger had brought us closer, revealing vulnerabilities and strengths in us both. Yet, it was his protectiveness, the undeniable draw I felt towards him, that tipped the scales.
As I nodded my agreement, a part of me wondered at the wisdom of blurring lines further, of inviting complication into an already complex web of loyalty and desire. But another part, perhaps more reckless, was intrigued by the thrill of the unknown, by the heat that simmered just beneath the surface of our interactions.
Riptide’s apartment, once a symbol of enemy territory, had become a sanctuary of sorts. A place where the roles we played within our clubs could be shed, if only for a while. As I settled in for the night, I pushed away the guilt surrounding me.
In Riptide’s kitchen, a place that screamed bachelor with its stainless-steel surfaces and minimalistic vibe, I found myself marveling at the scene unfolding before me. Riptide, the formidable president of the Slayers, was donning a black apron and cooking dinner for me. The aroma of steaks sizzling on the stove filled the air, mingling with the scent of roasting potatoes. It was domestic, surreal, and utterly surprising.
He noticed my astonishment and flashed a grin. “You’re going to need your strength,” he joked, but his eyes held a seriousness that reversed his casual tone.
The meal felt oddly like a date, an anomaly in our rough and tumble world. It had been ages since I was on a real date. As a Heel, my nights were full of random encounters, fly by night lovers and one-night stands.
Riptide made drinks, a simple yet thoughtful gesture, and we sat at his small kitchen table, an island of intimacy in the midst of our tumultuous lives. Yet, despite the semblance of normalcy, the silence between us was laden with unspoken conflict, with the adrenaline that still coursed through our veins from the night’s earlier events.
Dinner passed in a pleasurable blur. The food was delicious but almost secondary to the ease between us. It was clear that the kitchen, with its dim lighting and the intimate setup, was just a precursor to what we both desired.
Once the plates were cleared, Riptide closed the gap between us in two strides. The heat of his body, the ultimate dessert, I instinctively wrapped my arms around him. Our lips met in a kiss that ignited the lingering adrenaline into a flame. My legs were wrapping around him next as he lifted me and carried me toward his bedroom.
Laid gently on his bed, the conversation between us resumed amidst kisses and the frantic shedding of clothes.
“This morning… it just happened,” I breathed, my hands tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the tension beneath his skin.
Riptide paused, his gaze meeting mine with a power that stilled the air around us. “But tonight, this is really premeditated,” he acknowledged, his voice rough with desire. “We know the stakes. Our clubs… if they knew…”
Our mutual desires weren’t stunted by the reminder of the danger. “Being together, it’s like playing with fire,” I admitted, the parallel between our actions and those we condemned in Blade and Cowgirl not lost on me. “We could be seen as traitors, just like them.”
He kissed me again, a promise and a reassurance all in one. “But unlike them, we’re not plotting against our clubs. We’re fighting for them, even if it doesn’t seem that way.”
The conversation continued, punctuated by kisses and the urgency to feel closer, to erase the boundaries that our roles within our clubs imposed on us. Each touch, each whispered word, was a rebellion against the roles we were supposed to play, a defiance of the rules that sought to keep us apart.
Yet, even as we gave in to our desires, the reality of our situation lingered at the edge of consciousness. Riptide, as president, risked everything, his position, his reputation, even his life, for this liaison with a member of the Hell on Heelz.
“We’re treading on thin ice,” he murmured, his hands teasing my body with desire and danger.
“I know,” I whispered back, caught in the whirlwind of passion and peril that defined us.
In that moment, on the precipice of surrendering to our desires, the complexity of our relationship was laid bare. We were allies in a shared fight, lovers in a forbidden romance, and potential adversaries in the eyes of those we called family.
Yet, as we crossed the line into the unknown, once more, the risk felt worth it, for the chance to explore the depths of what lay between us, even if it was just for one more night.
Chapter 12
Riptide
Waking up with Star curled up in my arms was like a damn calm spot in the storm of my life. Couldn’t help but drop a kiss on her forehead, soaking up the rightness of her being there. She shifted under my touch, sparking a fire in me right away. I was just about to dive back into her when a sharp knock at the door blew the moment to hell.
Muttering a curse, I snagged some shorts and headed to the door, brain racing about who the hell would show up at this hour. What I found on the other side threw me for a loop. My ex, Hillary, stormed in, her face screaming trouble, ready to unleash hell.
Bitch went off, firing complaints like a damn machine gun. My mind was racing back to Star, needing to shield her from this crapstorm. Managed to keep Hillary outta the bedroom, slamming the door like a line between my past mess and the now.
“Got someone here?” Hillary snapped, eyes slicing through me. “What, I’ve barely cooled off from your sheets, and there’s already someone new? It’s only been a week.”
“I’ve moved on,” I barked, feeling the weight of those words more than ever.
The argument with Hillary spiraled outta control, her leaving finally letting me breathe. But the peace was gone. Star was up, her face telling me she caught the whole show.
