Page 48 of Knife Volume 2

Property of Knife. In that moment, she felt the claim in her bones.

Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned. For the first time since she’d left her pack, she didn’t feel untethered. She felt anchored.

The crowd erupted and snapped her out of her internal emotional overload — boots stomping concrete, hands slamming tables, wild whoops and cheers rolling across the water like thunder. She laughed through the tears threatening to spill, twirled once to show off the vest, the weight of it settling on her shoulders like it’d always belonged there. With emotions engulfing her, she threw her arms around Knife and buried her face in his neck, breathing him in, heart so full it hurt.

But that wasn’t enough for him.

He leaned her backward, a strong arm locked around her waist, and claimed her mouth in a kiss that wiped out the entire world.

It wasn’t gentle. It was fierce and deep, and threatened to devour her. The kind of kiss that said mine with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips, every tight grip of his hand in her hair. She tasted the beer he’d been drinking and felt the rumble of his growl against her chest. Their auras brushed, then slammed together, locking so tightly she swore she could feel his heartbeat inside her own ribs.

In that moment, with a hundred people cheering around them, she wasn’t just wearing his vest. She was his. And he was hers. Completely. Irrevocably. The kind of belonging that didn’t need words or oaths or pack bonds — it simply was.

When he finally pulled back, both of them breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, he whispered against her lips, “Mine. All mine, little painslut.”

- - - ❖ - - -

Knife’s hands weren’t entirely steady. He’d known she’d say yes. Deep in his bones, there hadn’t been a single doubt she would wear his vest. Would ask him to put it on her.

And still, he’d stood with the vest dangling from his hands with his pulse racing while she’d looked around the pool area for seven damned seconds before asking him to put it on her.

And the wave of pure relief when she said the words punched him square in the sternum.

He held the vest open for her to slide her arms in, settled it onto her shoulders, and ran his hands down her back, feeling the texture of his name and his club’s emblem wrapped around his woman.

His ol’lady.

A fierce, possessive satisfaction roared through him as his brothers whooped and hollered around them. This was more than just putting leather on her back. This was claiming her in front of his brothers. This was telling the club — his family — that she was his and he was keeping her. The pride that swelled in his chest was almost painful.

Her arms came around his neck, and she tried to hide her face against him, fighting tears of happiness, and before he knew what he was doing, he had her leaned backwards, his lips pressing hers open, and he kissed her raw and deep, claiming her mouth with his. She melted into him, and he poured everything he felt into the kiss: ownership, love, the absolute knowledge that she was his and he was hers. Their auras clashed and then merged again, locking tighter than any rope or vow could ever manage.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers and spoke low enough that only she could hear it.

“Mine. All mine, little painslut.”

Because when his brothers had voted he could give her the vest, they’d accepted her into the family. Ol’ladies aren’t members, but fuck if they aren’t a huge part of the club.

Later, when the noise around the pool had finally settled and every brother and ol’lady had hugged her, slapped her new vest, and offered some version of “Congrats, welcome to the family,” Knife put her over his shoulder and took her inside like a damned caveman, though he was careful not to bash her head into the doorframe.

He locked the door before he dumped her onto the bed and pulled her bathing suit bottoms off. “Top comes off too. Vest stays on,” he ordered, voice rough with pieces of his wolf coming into his psyche.

She obeyed, managing to get the top off without taking the vest off, and his cock throbbed so hard it hurt.

“On the bed. All fours. Center.”

She crawled up and presented herself perfectly — knees spread, back arched, ass high, the vest riding up just enough to frame her like the gift she was. He took a moment to admire it, then pulled his belt free in one smooth motion.

He striped her ass without mercy. The thick leather cracked across her cheeks again and again, covering the pale lines from her earlier belting back to deep, deep red. She was silent the first five strokes, and that wouldn’t do, so he put more strength into it. Everyone who’d seen her ask for the vest needed to hear her screams follow every slap of leather belt striking flesh. Needed to know exactly how much he owned of her.

Now, she cried out with every lash, the sound raw and uninhibited. When her ass was appropriately striped and her scent told him she needed more than the belt could provide, he dropped it, lubed his cock with the bare minimum, climbed on the bed, and lined up.

He stared at the back of her vest while he pressed his cock into her ass.

And kept staring at it while he gave a single, brutal thrust and buried himself balls-deep. Her scream was long and sharp, breaking into gasps and yelps, and her sounds went straight to his dick. He fucked her hard, hips slamming against her striped ass, eyes locked on those words across her back.

PROPERTY OF KNIFE.

“Mine,” he growled, pounding into her. “Every fucking inch of you is mine.”