No warning, no hesitation. He just drives upwards, filling me with his cock. My body burns and stretches around him in the most exquisite way, and a strangled gasp is ripped from my throat. He’s big, he’s long, and it feels fucking sweet. I jerk when he slides out, and slams back in. Oh, God. Oh, yes. He does this again and again.

Then my back is against the wall, one of his hands is gripping my thigh, the other is in my hair, and he’s fucking me slow. Real slow. Deliciously slow. His body rocks in and out of mine, his cock sliding into my waiting, warm depths. I cry his name, my face drops into his shoulder and I press my lips to the skin there.

His body is tight and wound up, but he doesn’t stop the wickedly slow, deep pace. He just fucks me, right there against the wall, throwing everything away and giving in to what we both have wanted for weeks now.

I know when my time is near. My back arches, his mouth finds my nipple, and I come. I come so hard my head slams into the wall behind me and I yell his name.

He makes a low, throaty hiss before his body starts working faster, harder. We’re in the moment, my mind is spinning, my body is alive with him and I can’t gather one solid thought in my mind. That is, at least, until he says one word that rips my world to shreds and shatters me in mere seconds.

“Ingi,” he rasps, so low I nearly don’t hear it.

I go so tense; so fucking tense. My throat burns as realization hits me. He was thinking of . . . her. The one. The woman who stole his heart. He was thinking of her while he was fucking me. My chest burns, and my eyes well with tears. I’ve heard women talking about their men saying another woman’s name, but never, never did I think it would wound me so deeply.

Nothing in the world could compare me to the pain inside my chest.

His body has stilled, and I know, I know he knows, but it’s too late. It’s too fucking late.

“Jaylah,” he murmurs.

“Mack, put me down,” I croak, broken.

“Honey.”

“Now.”

He lets me go and the moment my feet hit the floor, I pull away from him. I don’t lift my nightie, or my panties, I just run to my room and shut the door.

Then I fall to the ground and let my heart tear itself to pieces.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Crying sucks.

It hurts, it makes me look terrible, and I hate it.

Yet I spent my night doing it. I tried not to, and for a while I succeeded. Then I heard Mack playing his guitar, singing softly. The song ripped me to pieces. It was a song from Lady Antebellum, and I knew it was him trying to tell me what he clearly couldn’t say. It didn’t matter. The damage was done. He said another girl’s name while he was inside me. He was thinking about her. He broke my heart.

I might not love Mack, but I care about him. Enough for it to rip through my soul. Enough for me to feel so damned pathetic it burns. Whatever has happened, I let him get to me, and that moment . . . I thought it was the first of many. I thought he’d finally let me in. I thought maybe I would be able to help him grow, help him to love his son, to help him be a happy man.

But I wasn’t even on his mind.

Not even close.

Thinking about that was what got the tears started, and then every time I relived that moment they just got worse. I spent the night in my own agony, my own heartache and my own shame. How I was going to face him in the morning, I didn’t know. It would happen, though, because I couldn’t leave.

That just made it so much worse.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I stare at the club.

I wouldn’t be here, but I need to talk to Santana, Ash and Pippa. Maybe even the other girl I met two days ago, Indi. I could have called them over, but I needed to get out. This made sense.

I know Mack is here, or at least, I think he is. He was gone when I woke this morning and I haven’t seen or heard from him since, so I can only assume he’s here.

Tucking Diesel into my arms, I enter. Tyke is at the gate with Austin and another guy called Grimm. They’re smoking and when they notice me, all of them give me a smile. I smile back, giving a lame little wave. “Morning, guys.”

“Mornin’ Jay,” Tyke says, nodding. “How’s things?”

Shit. Terrible. Awful.

“Fine, how are you?”

He shrugs. “Livin’.”

I grin at him, and then wave again before passing them and heading into the club. Diesel is strapped to me in one of those baby carrier things, and he’s dead to the world. Sleeping seems to be his favorite thing to do. I thought babies were meant to cry a whole lot, but not Diesel. No, he’s mellow and laid-back.

When I step through the front doors, bikers are strewn about, as always. They all greet me, some with nods, others with hellos, and I wave to them before heading to the area where the girls usually hang out. It’s a space Maddox set up for Santana, so she could come and be with him, but have her own space. It’s somewhat like a living room, only it’s smaller.

When I walk in, the girls are in there, drinking coffee around a small table. They notice me, and their eyes widen. “Jaylah,” Santana says. “We were coming to yours this morning?”

“I wanted to get out,” I say, my voice soft.

“Uh-oh,” Ash says, standing. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I just . . .”

“Don’t lie, honey,” Santana says softly.

I close my eyes and turn to Ash, “Can you take Diesel?”

“Sure, honey.”

I unstrap him and she takes him in her arms. “Hi baby,” she coos. “I missed you.”