Happy lay in your bed watching the clock and watching you.
The question you asked last night was innocent enough. You have met his aunt, his mom, and his beloved dog but never his brothers. Is there something wrong, you asked. Happy stroked your cheek, hoping to brush the bewildered look from your face, taking in a deep breath when it remained. You didn't press but the look of disappointment for his silence was one he had never seen on your face, at least not directed at him. Guilt was an unfamiliar notion for Happy and he wondered if that was what he felt tightening his chest as he tried to kiss your wounded expression away.
But that was last night, before your easy-going dinner. Before you thanked him thoroughly for washing the dishes by swallowing his come while he leaned back against the sink with his hands full of your braids. In the morning light of today, he watched you roll over onto your back. The fat, braids you piled up on top of your head for bed, decorated with tiny silver bands and looped in silver string, sang a siren's song to his fingers. The auburn and mahogany ends splayed out loose, contrasting against the deep rose-colored pillow under your head like a desert sunset. And the idea of Chibs nuzzling his head against them, in one of those side hugs that the affectionate bastard loved to give, sped up his heart rate.
You like to sleep under just a sheet, which baffles him. Every woman in his life so far constantly complained about being cold. They carried jackets and sweaters 'just in case' and slept under thick, fuzzy blankets. But you laughed at him with your wide brown eyes crinkling on the edges the first night he stayed over. Kicking your half of the comforter away that he had just laid across you.
I sleep better cold, Hap…you smiled.
That's why Happy was forced to close his eyes once you rolled over onto your back. The thin sheet did nothing to hide the sight of your raised nipples from him, hardened from the very cold you claim you need for deep sleep. Unfortunately, behind his closed lids he could see Jax licking his bottom lip slowly the way he did whenever he saw something he liked...and he would definitely like you. He knew, despite the respect Jax had for him, he wouldn't be able to hide that lust-filled look fast enough for Happy to miss it. And dragging his VP to the ring to beat the shit out of him was a bad idea.
Scowling at your ceiling fan, he's unable to stop his mind from running through the entire lot of them. The thought of Tig running his wild eyes over you in that lazy way. With his mouth slightly open, his tongue nudging a slow rhythm on the back of his bottom teeth, curls Happy's thick fingers into a fist. The thought of Juice's perfect grin lighting up his face, his eyes sparkling with pleasure over making you laugh with his boyish antics, curls the other.
Bobby and Opie, gentlemen at least on the surface - would acknowledge you and try to keep their eyes on your face or somewhere else altogether. But Clay, that clunking boundaryless devil, his glances would be brief enough to be forgotten by you but just long enough to make Gemma hate you on sight. You are too many things that she isn't. Shifting, you turn your face slightly toward him, making a small sound in your sleep as if you already know her darkness would try to surround your light, contaminate your well of inner joy. Happy knows she would twist her thorny vines around you without warning, wanting to bend and break you just for daring to exist in her world.
As your furrowed brow relaxes, Happy rolls onto his side to study your face, your features. Your wide eyes that stared at him from across the grass, when he stopped to smoke at the small park just outside of Lodi where your family BBQ was being held. Your full lips and high cheekbones that turned up into a sweaty-palm inducing smile when he asked your name - temporarily forgetting his own when you laughed, deep and throaty, at one of your little cousins you were pushing on the swings. Your straight nose made more attractive by the silver leaf nose ring that glittered against your burnt honey-colored skin. No, Happy didn't want you to put that face on the line for hateful, jealous whores out to prove that their used-up slits could win in the pussy war that constantly waged inside the four walls of the clubhouse.
The club was a family and family shared everything...responsibilities, pain, victories. He now knows that you come from a huge family, the kind where cousins feel like siblings and all the elders feel like parents. You would understand his family's dynamics…the bond, the loyalty. You'd understand everything about the club except the death. The reaper's scent in the room would make your skin crawl, disgust you. Could it make you turn away from me? That thought tightens his chest again and sends his pulse racing.
Selfishly Happy strokes your arm, wanting to wake you gently but the need to see the light in your eyes and your smile is growing urgent. You roll over toward him unaware of the thoughts he's been wrestling with, rubbing your face, blinking. You barely have your eyes open before he kisses you. A timid kind of start/stop, exploratory kiss you didn't know a man as bold and roguish as Happy could participate in.
"Mornin', rider." You smile against his lips, arching your body into his, partially to make contact with the hard, lean muscle his body has taught you to crave and partially in a lazy full-body stretch. You welcome the heat rolling off of him as you come closer together. His slim, hard thighs pressing against your thick, soft ones, intertwining. You are addicted to this quiet force of a man, your body is already lit up. Your hands open, sliding, squeezing, covering as much of his tattooed skin as you can reach. He slants his mouth over yours, cupping the back of your neck and head in his palm in the way that always makes you surrender your whole self. A hot rush flows from his lips working over yours through your veins, rolling your core into a tight ball. His kiss is confident now, arrogant, knowing he has you caught up, knowing that he could ask anything and you would give it. His tongue demands entrance as he rolls you onto your back, his dick nudging lightly, demanding the same as his weight spreads your thighs more. His mouth ruts under the sheet to find the hardened peaks that called to him earlier, finding deep pleasure in the squeak and moan his teeth and tongue draw out of you.
This is spiraling out quickly and his urgency could only mean one thing, he had been watching you sleep again. You know teasing him is always a risk but you can't help it.
"You been waiting long?"
Happy growled his response into your neck. The vibration of his tenor on your tender skin makes your eyes flutter closed and fingers curl into the hard plains of his back. Happy raises up, his eyes boring into yours, wanting to see your reactions, pressing in without even checking if you were ready to receive him. Groaning when he finds your body has not disappointed him, sliding inside you easily on a slick wave of your flowing need.
"Fuck," he rasps out in surprised appreciation of your tunnel gripping him one, two…three times. Your giggle letting him know the squeezes were intentional, and calculated.
"You wanna play, woman?"
You give a playful double slap to his hips, before you wrap your legs around him, "Giddy up."
You know he is going to make you pay for your teasing. It's in the clench of his jaw, in the concentrated way he has positioned and re-positioned himself between your legs, reaching above your head to grip the slats on the criss-cross pattern of your headboard for maximum force. It's a dirty, delightful price you gladly pay.
Again your sweet squeal and giggle light up his dark heart. But hearing them melt into moans channels even more blood flow to his throbbing member, filling you up. Happy is giving low grunts with every snap of his hips working his way up to a brutal pace. His vein-covered length raking your weeping walls like he has proven time and time again, that only he could. Your kisses are now wet and sloppy between gasping curses and sucking bites. Pleasure's language was the only one being spoken between you, and after months of testing and trying each other - pushing one another past previous limits, you were both fluent. Happy felt your body tense, your encouraging whispers turn to begging and is prepared to reap the rewards of your first release - letting your cries wash over him like rain, your nails on his back scrubbing him clean of every sin he has committed since last inside you, flipping your position to you being on top of him so that your sweat could trickle down and mix with his, christening him with new life.
Yes, Happy loved his club. He'd die for his brothers but he didn't want them to like you, to laugh with you, to enjoy you. Gripping your hips, driving up into you, he knew he wanted nothing more than to keep this sweet possession of you to himself. His mind momentarily focused on a singular thought… Mine. She's mine.