Silver Saints MC Volume 2

I switched to the other one and gave it some attention before throwing my head back and rasping, “Come, Arya. Come for me, baby.”

She detonated, screaming my name as she climaxed. Her pussy massaged my hard length, and I followed her over the edge. I bellowed her name as my cock exploded with come, filling her until she couldn’t hold anymore, and it leaked out between us.

There was just something about the cabin. We couldn’t actually stay more than four days—especially missing our little man—but true to my word, we spent nearly every minute working on making another baby. Two weeks later, a pregnancy test confirmed that Arya was pregnant with our daughter.

Epilogue

Arya

Heading through the kitchen toward the attached garage on a mission to find my husband now that our daughters were settled in their rooms for the night, my pace slowed at the low murmur of his deep voice. He and Grady had headed in there hours ago to work on the motorcycle they were restoring. The bike had been our gift to our son on his sixteenth birthday, and he’d been obsessed with getting the old Triumph into road-ready condition for the past six months.

I still wasn’t sure how Dax had talked me into the idea, except that many orgasms were involved. I loved motorcycles, but the thought of my baby riding one freaked me out. Giving him one that needed plenty of work had given me the time I needed to come to terms with how much he’d grown up.

Feeling nostalgic for the days when I’d listen in on their daddy and son time through the baby monitor, I pressed my ear to the door leading out to the garage.

“I figure you know better since I raised you right, but I’m gonna tell you to make sure there’s no confusion—no putting girls on the back of your bike.”

Ugh, it was one thing to come to terms with the fact that my son was old enough to have his license. It was something totally different to think about him dating, let alone wanting to give some girl a ride on his motorcycle. I held back from banging my head on the door and letting them know I was there because I wanted to hear if there was someone Grady had his eye on at school.

“I’m not stupid, Dad. I know that spot’s reserved for the woman I’m gonna make my old lady someday.”

As much as my heart melted at his answer, I wanted to storm in there and lecture Grady about how he didn’t need to think about finding his old lady for at least another decade.

“If you want to give your sisters a ride, that’s fine. Just make sure they wear their helmets and be extra careful while you’re on the road.”

Oh, good grief. How had I not thought about the possibility of the girls wanting to ride on their brother’s motorcycle like they did with their dad and me sometimes?

“What about Mom?” Grady asked.

“Your mom doesn’t ride on the back of anyone’s bike but mine.”

My panties grew damp at the steely determination in my husband’s tone. It didn’t matter that we’d been married for seventeen years and had three kids; he was just as possessive of me as he’d been when we first got together.

“Aww, c’mon, Dad. The bike was a gift from the two of you. The least I can do to say thank you is give Mom a ride on it when we’re done.”

I recognized the teasing tone in my son’s voice. He loved to push his dad’s buttons, and he knew exactly how to get a reaction out of him. Determined to save our teenager from himself, I turned the knob and pushed the door open. I stood on my toes on the landing to peer over my SUV to where they were working on the motorcycle on the other side of the garage. “Are you guys almost done out here? Grady still has some homework to finish up tonight.”

“You heard your mom.” Dax snapped the towel he’d been using to wipe his hands at our son. “You only get to ride this thing once we’ve got it running if you keep your grades up.”

“Yeah, okay.” Grady held his hands up in mock surrender. “It’ll take me all of fifteen minutes to finish my Algebra assignment, but I could use a shower anyway.”

“It’s probably a good idea to get cleaned up before you do your homework.” I pointed at his hands as he walked toward me. “If you leave smudges on the paper, your teacher might not be able to tell if you got the answer right or not.”

“Or I could just do what I did when I was little”—he climbed the four steps up to me in two long strides, holding his palms out toward me—“and treat your clothes like they’re my own personal towel.”