Outside the Lines: A Sons of Templar Novella 2.5

by Anne Malcom

  “You don’t need to carry me bodily, I was just catching my bearings,” I protested weakly, my head throbbing.

  Hansen ignored me and walked us into his house. The cool, fresh air assaulted me as soon as we walked in, it was a welcoming chill from the hot sticky climate.

  I didn’t get to inspect much as Hansen quickly walked us through his open plan living room and into a hallway. I spotted a leather sofa and armchair, and a huge television, not much else. His hallway was devoid of pictures—devoid of any personality. The same could be said about his room. He walked us in, a nearly made bed displaying a gray bedspread and dark wooden headboard—it was meticulously tidy. He deposited me gently on his soft bed, his hand tenderly brushing my forehead.

  “Stay there,” he commanded softly.

  I couldn’t do anything but nod and he disappeared. I looked around his bedroom, other than the huge bed, there was a set of drawers, a door leading to what I guessed was a bathroom and smaller double doors of a closet. The items on his dresser were lined up tidily, and there was only a framed picture of the Sons emblem on the wall. I knew he was in the military, which was probably why this place was so gosh darned tidy, but that didn’t explain why it didn’t have anything other than the bare necessities.

  He would have hated my room. I was far from tidy. My bed was more often than not unmade, my walls were covered with pictures, places I wanted to go, snaps of Arianne and me, and a couple of me and the boys from the club. It was full of knick-knacks, shit that didn’t serve a purpose but looked cute. I wanted my personality to bleed into my home, wanted it to reflect me. Hansen obviously didn’t agree with that decorating idea.

  What felt like seconds later, he appeared with a little torch and one of his hands rested gentled at the side of my head.

  “Gonna shine this in your eyes, babe,” he told me in a brisk tone.

  I squinted slightly at the light. Then I did as he instructed, looking various ways.

  He clicked it off, seeming satisfied. His eyes still held a note of concern.

  “You feeling sick? Any numbness?” he asked, his voice brisk.

  I shook my head, remembering Hansen’s history as a medic in the military.

  “Okay, good. You tell me if you start feeling either of those things,” he said firmly.

  I nodded again.

  “You tired?” he asked.

  I took stock of myself, then glanced at the clock beside the bed. It was just after ten. I was a night owl, so this was seriously early for me, but the knock on the head had me quite drowsy.

  “Not really,” I lied, not wanting to waste my time in what I deduced was Hansen’s bed unconscious.

  He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me but didn’t say anything. He moved to grab a remote then turned on the flat screen across the room. It was big, like the one in his living room.

  “Got movies and shit on here,” he told me gruffly.

  Then, because it seemed like his goal of the night was to shake an already shaken brain, he lifted me and moved me slightly so he could lie on the bed and tuck me into his shoulder.

  I stared at the cords of his neck in amazement.

  I was snuggling… with Hansen… on his bed… watching movies! Granted I was suffering from a head injury, but that didn’t matter hugely at that moment.

  “Babe…” he muttered, flicking through the channels, “…eyes required to be on the screen to pick a movie.”

  I kept staring, imprinting this moment into my memory. “I think I’m happy with where my eyes are right now,” I whispered, deciding a head injury took away what little filter I had. And any sense of self-preservation.

  His body tightened. His eyes didn’t move from the screen. “Macy. You’re hurt. Which means, as much as I would like to do otherwise, only thing we can do right now is watch a movie. So pick a fuckin’ movie,” he said tightly.

  His voice was harsh but the meaning behind it wasn’t. My stomach jumped and with effort, I tore my gaze away from his handsome face and proceeded to pick a movie. One that Hansen groaned and teased me about, but watched nonetheless. I wouldn’t know how much he actually watched, considering I passed out in the first fifteen minutes, despite my efforts to suck as much time out of this moment as I could.

  I woke up feeling warm. Really warm. That was because I was quite literally tangled up with Hansen. I blinked a couple of times, just to make sure I wasn’t in some super realistic, superbly amazing, yet PG fantasy. Nope. This was real. I was actually half lying on his chest, my leg draped over his thighs. His corded arms were tightly coiled around my shoulder and waist. He did literally smell like a delicious mix of sexy and masculine.

  My shoes and kimono had been taken off at some point during the night and I was only in my shorts and cami.

  I ignored the pounding in my skull. I’d take twelve rounds with Tyson if this was what I got in return. My eyes trailed across his chest, which was bare.

  I repeat—bare.

  His pecs were defined like they’d been sculpted out of clay and his chest was positively the best I’d ever laid eyes on. It was also devoid of tattoos, apart from one over the top of his heart, the words ‘Semper Fidelis’ scrawled over the top of a cross and dagger. I frowned at a scar on his chest, then moved my gaze. His shoulders were naked of ink also, which I was glad of. Who needed to ink over muscled perfection?

  I moved up slightly so I could look over his sleeping face. With the relaxation of slumber, his normally tight face was soft and blank. I lifted up, unable to help myself, touching my lips to his softly. Even if this was the only moment I got, I was going to make sure I made the most of it. My movement caused his body to tighten and his arms moved so I was positioned entirely on top of him, his hard-on pressing into me. Desire pooled in my stomach. My lips, which were positioned close-mouthed on his, were suddenly set on fire. His mouth moved with mine, moving past the tender peck I’d intended, to a full on kiss. It was a kiss that I’d been imagining, dreaming of, ever since he’d given me a taste a week ago. One that seemed to surpass every one of my expectations and go right up there with Leo and Kate as one of the best kisses in history.

  He abruptly disengaged, and his face turned tight. His eyes were flaming with desire, but his jaw hardened and his neck pulsed with restraint.

  “You’re hurt,” he clipped, his voice rough.

  “I’m fine,” I protested, leaning forward. I’d have to be bleeding from a stab wound to not capitalize on the fact he had seemed to forget about the fact he wasn’t interested in me. I would regret it later when he finally dropped me, but I was all about instant gratification.

  He held my head gently, but putting enough pressure so my lips couldn’t meet his.

  “You’re testing every inch of my restraint right now, Mace. And I’ll tell you, it’s almost in fuckin’ tatters after only tasting that mouth once in the year I’ve been dreaming about it,” he growled. “And it tastes a fuck of a lot sweeter than I remember.” His eyes darkened. “I remember honey, baby.”

  Every part of my body seemed to turn to jelly at his words, and my panties dampened at the sex in his tone and in his eyes. I didn’t even register the allusion to the fact he’d been holding himself back for a year, I just attacked.

  This time his gentle hold wasn’t enough to stop my mouth from hitting his, and he seemed to pause for a split second before returning my furious kiss with an intensity that rivaled the one moments before.

  He flipped me on my back, his hard body pressing into mine, almost drowning me in muscle. My legs went around his waist, needing friction, needing his body as close as humanly possible.

  He yanked back from my mouth, his eyes clouded over. “You need to tell me right fuckin’ now if we gotta stop, babe. ‘Cause after this moment, I ain’t gonna be able to,” he informed me tightly.

  “Only thing I want you to stop doing is talking,” I ordered huskily, needing him inside me, like yesterday. Or more accurately a year ago.

  He search
ed my face for a split second then his mouth went back for another brutal, beautiful assault. His hands running up and down my sides, moving to cup my breasts. I made a little sound in his mouth at the contact.

  His body was gone from mine, I was about to protest when his hands went to my cami.

  “Arms up,” he ordered.

  I complied, watching him through my lashes. He let out a hiss when I unclasped my lacy bra once he’d thrown my cami aside. His reaction to my bare breasts made my already damp panties drenched with need. He pushed me back on the bed and his mouth fastened on my nipple.

  I gasped at the feeling, running my hands over his smooth head. His hands moved to my shorts, undoing them quickly, and yanking them off my body, my panties going with them. His attention moved to my clit, I gasped, almost climaxing from the contact of his callused fingers.

  “Fuckin’ drenched,” he bit out, eyes never leaving mine.

  Hansen stood, and I watched as he divested himself of his jeans, revealing him in all of his magnificent glory. He reached to his bedside table, grabbing a condom and quickly sheathing himself.

  The act of him doing that—of watching him while keeping his eyes firmly on me was hands down the most erotic thing I’d ever witnessed.

  Then he was on top of me, everything seemed to fall away, apart from his body on mine. His eyes keeping me captive. He gently ran his hand over the top of my forehead. “You good baby?” he asked in a tone that juxtaposed the furious need blazing in his eyes.

  That moment was one that required brutal honesty. “I’m the best I’ve ever been in my entire life,” I whispered.

  His body jolted slightly, his eyes flaring. Then, he was inside me. Filling me. Consuming me. Every stroke that built me up was also a stroke I treasured. The feeling of him inside me, his body pressing into mine. The fact that his eyes stared into me, with that that tenderness that I yearned for from the moment I laid eyes on him. If this were all we’d ever have, I’d cradle that memory until the end of my days. This wasn’t fucking like it was with anyone in the club, this was something else. Something deeper.

  He flipped us, so I was on top, straddling him. His hands went to my hips.

  “Want to watch you ride me, baby,” he growled. His hand moved to cup my breast.

  So I did. I rode him, not slow and gentle like it had been before. Fast and furious and chasing the climax I knew would shatter my world. The whole time, my eyes didn’t leave the face of the man I’d been in love with for a year.

  It hit me. Like a ton of bricks, an explosion of fireworks. My entire body shuddered on top of him as I rode the waves of desire. I vaguely registered Hansen flipping us back over while I clutched onto his back, scratching his skin as he prolonged my ecstasy by slamming into me hard and brutal.

  He made a sound signifying his own release, his mouth inches from mine.

  We stayed frozen, breathing heavily. I searched his face, letting the beauty of the moment sink into my soul. His hand traced my lips lightly.

  “That…” he began roughly, “…was the beginning of me being the only man to possess that sweet pussy. The only man who sinks into that tight velvet,” he declared firmly. “That…” he continued, “…was me finally claiming what’s mine.”

  I blinked at his words, my heart soaring, but being unable to fathom it. “It’s always been yours,” I whispered, sounding like a lovestruck idiot, but not giving a shit.

  He blinked, then moved to claim my mouth.

  We didn’t speak for a long while after that.

  “Take these,” Hansen commanded, dropping two pills into my hands.

  We were standing in his small, but impressive kitchen. Me with wet hair, both sipping coffee. I was wearing one of his tees, which reached almost my knees. He was wearing jeans, the top two buttons undone.

  I struggled to move my eyes away from his defined ‘v’ and dark hair peeking out from below.

  “Usually, I only take E at raves and dubstep concerts, but okay dude,” I told him seriously, shrugging my shoulders.

  He smirked slightly.

  I took the pills, washing them down with my coffee.

  His hands stroked my spiky hair gently. “You in much pain, baby?” he asked gently.

  I still wasn’t used to his gentle words and the fact he was touching me with such tenderness, so it took me a moment to register his question. “Nah, nothing I can’t handle,” I replied honestly.

  He gave me a look, then jerked his head to the breakfast bar. “Sit, I’ll make you breakfast.”

  He kissed me firmly before patting my behind slightly and turning to his fridge.

  I padded wordlessly around the kitchen island and moved to perch on one of his stools. I swiveled to admire the view his sliding doors had of the dry and rolling landscape. Not another house was in sight and it seemed like we were in the middle of nowhere, the only two people left on the planet. I swiveled the chair back to an arguably better view. Hansen’s back, which was not only corded and muscly, but covered in the club’s insignia. I struggled not to drool into my coffee.

  We didn’t speak for a few minutes, the sizzling of the pan and clanging of pots and bowls serving as the only noise. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but I wasn’t one to do well with not speaking for long periods of time. I also, it seemed, wasn’t one to revel in a moment I had been dreaming of for a year.

  “What gives?” I asked suddenly.

  Hansen turned his head around, raising his brow in silent question.

  “Well…” I continued, “…you don’t seem to show any interest in anyone. Then you corner me in the kitchen last week and kiss the shit out of me. Then inform me you don’t want me. Then this…” I waved my hands between us. After my mind caught up with my mouth, I mentally chastised myself. Could I not just revel in the moment of relative domestic bliss with the man I’d been pining over? No. Me and my stupid mouth had to question the why of it, potentially setting flames to it all.

  Hansen’s face hardened and he turned his attention back to the stove, moving the pans from the heat. Then he rounded the counter and moved my stool so he was standing in front of me. His hands framed my face.

  “Just ‘cause I didn’t show any interest in you doesn’t mean I wasn’t interested, Macy,” he said softly. “I was. Fascinated in fact, by this girl who seemed to radiate happiness and goodness. This girl didn’t belong in the life she’d chosen, she deserved something more, something better.” He searched my face. “So I waited for her to realize that. For her to see her kind heart and gentle soul would get trampled if she stayed. But I lost my restraint, my willpower, that night I saw you dancing like you didn’t have a care in the world, like your life was sunshine and rainbows.” His hand played with my short, cropped hair. “Been punishing myself for doing that, babe. For getting a taste of something, I shouldn’t have let myself have. Last night, watching you get thrown across the room like a fuckin’ rag doll,” his jaw hardened, “I decided I wasn’t waiting anymore. You gonna stick with this life, you’re going to do it belonging to me. I’ll make sure nothing tramples over you, ruins the goodness that’s endured,” he informed me firmly.

  I blinked at him. This was all moving at the speed of light. I felt like I’d just won the emotional lottery. How could getting knocked out at a biker bar equate to getting everything you’d always wanted?

  I swallowed. “It doesn’t bother you…” I started carefully, “…that I’ve been with...” I started to voice my hidden fear, needing to know now if the position I’d chosen in the club was going to make him think of me in that way forever.

  He silenced me by pressing his hand to my lips, his eyes hardening. “Yeah, it bothers me,” he clipped tightly.

  My heart fell.

  “That I was pursuing some fucked up reasoning, and by doing that, all my brothers in the club got a taste of what I’ve always considered mine,” he continued. “Lost sleep over that fuckin’ shit. Almost lost my mind….” He paused, his hand moving from my lip to m
y jaw. “Do I think of you any differently? No babe. That shit was on me. You’ll always be the girl that radiates happiness and goodness, the one with no fuckin’ filter, and a brain that comes out with craziest of shit.” The hands at my jaw tightened. “My girl,” he finished.

  Yep. Emotional lottery. In the billions.

  “You told them that?” I deduced. “That’s why no one has so much as checked out my ass in the past week and a half?”

  Hansen’s gaze turned blank. “Trust me, babe, even when I threaten them with death and dismemberment, they ain’t gonna stop checkin’ out that perky ass,” he stated flatly. His hand moved to trace my lip. “Moment I tasted the sweetness, realized it was better than I ever could have imagined, was the moment I knew no one else was tasting that shit again.”

  I jolted. “So you scared them all off, even though you decided to push me away?” I said sharply. Even though his words were sweet, I couldn’t help but be irritated. He may have been trying to protect me from his big, bad, biker world, but that wasn’t his decision to make. I chose to be in this world. I wanted it. I was getting mighty sick of people deciding the only place I felt I belonged wasn’t right for me.

  Hansen sighed. “I was trying to make sure I didn’t commit murder,” he stated. “‘Cause that’s what I would’ve done, had someone touched what I had finally tasted after a year, brother or not.”

  I sucked in a breath. “If you felt this way, why in the heck did you push me away you big idiot?” I asked, smacking his shoulder. “You had to have known I’d be yours, the moment your mouth touched mine,” I said quieter, losing my bravado.

  He did that thing, that thing where his eyes swam the depths of my soul. “Yeah babe, I knew. Which was why I pushed you away. If I didn’t claim you like I have now, I knew I’d never let you go, let you have the chance of a better life.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. “And now?” I breathed.