“You cannot tell me you’re not a fan of Lord of The Rings, we’d have to break up,” I said semi-seriously. I didn’t think even the dislike of the three greatest movies of all time would make me want to break up with him. Shit was serious.
Hansen regarded me. “Never seen them,” he said.
I opened my mouth in shock. “How is that possible?”
Hansen grinned. “Babe, those movies are three hours long,” he stated like this was a problem.
“And?” I probed.
“And, you see me sitting on my ass watching roughly nine hours’ worth of anything on television?” he asked.
I chewed my lip. No, I couldn’t exactly see Hansen vegging out in front of the television, consuming his body weight in food, wearing a shirt that said ‘What about second breakfast?’ like I did.
“We’ll have to change that if we’re to remain… whatever we are,” I trailed off on labeling us.
Hansen’s hands tightened and his nose rubbed against mine. “You’re mine, that’s what you are,” he said firmly. “And if you want me to watch nine hours of anything, you better be prepared to at least give me a blow job while watching it,” he joked.
I grinned. “I can do that.”
His phone dinged in his pocket. “That’ll be Jagger,” he said. He kissed me soundly, in a way that made me forget all about Viggo Mortensen, and even the existence of Aragon. And Legolas. No easy feat.
“Take it easy. Rest and nothing else,” he commanded, depositing me on the couch.
I saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
He rolled his eyes and grinned.
“See you, baby,” he said softly.
“Bye,” I told the rider on his back as he walked out of my house.
I sunk back into my pillows, trying to let the events of the past day and a half sink in. Hansen had driven me home last night, smirked slightly at my house, namely the LOTR and Star Wars paraphernalia and then got himself a beer, put his feet up on the coffee table and turned on a sports game of some sort. He had, of course, kissed me firmly before this.
I stared at him a moment, in my house, in my space. Relaxed, like he belonged. Then it hit me, he did belong. For however long, he belonged to me. Or like I’d told Arianne, I belonged to him.
Then I’d shaken myself out of it, glued myself to my computer screen and banged out the projects I needed to get done. After giving myself an even bigger headache from being glued to the computer screen, I ordered us some takeout, which we ate in front of the television, then promptly passed out on Hansen’s lap. I had awoken when he was carrying me to my room, just in time for him to fuck me senseless.
This morning was the same deal. Although this time, he’d woken me up with his mouth between my legs, suffice to say, it was awesome.
And now I was left alone to process all of this. I didn’t exactly know how to process a relationship that had gone from zero to ‘you are mine’ in the space of a day. Nor did I want to dwell too much over Hansen’s apparent indifference to the fact I’d slept with his brothers. I wasn’t ashamed exactly, I was comfortable with the life I’d chosen, happy with the family it came with and the sex hadn’t been bad either. But there was this niggling part of me that wondered if, in the back of his mind, he’d always think of my past as a club whore. Or maybe by some miracle, he wouldn’t. Who’s to say the men, who I mostly loved and adored wouldn’t struggle with this transition. It certainly wasn’t normal, not in this chapter anyway.
The fact this had happened so quickly had me searching for the catch. The hidden trick. There had to be one. As much as I wanted this to be what it was, I doubted I’d get exactly what I wanted without some sort of condition.
“Stop fidgeting,” Hansen ordered as we walked into the clubhouse. It was a big concrete structure on the street downtown. It had a sign over the door, ‘Sons Of Templar, New Mexico.’ The part of town was mostly industrial, and the garage that the boys owned was just down the street. This functioned as sleeping quarters, which were upstairs since the place had three levels. It also had an enormous common area and bar as you walked in, complete with stripper pole and pool table. There was a kitchen and dining area further back and a massive courtyard with picnic tables and fire drums out back. I didn’t know what was on the third story. That was strictly members only business.
“I’m not fidgeting,” I snapped.
Hansen stopped us just before the doors. He turned me to face him and put his hands lightly on my hips.
“Wanna tell me why you’re so nervous?” he asked.
I paused. “I’m yours, right?” I started uncertainly.
Hansen’s grip on my hips tightened. “Right,” he confirmed firmly.
“Well,” I started, looking at my hands. Hansen gripped my chin so I had his eyes.
“Well?”
“Who I’ve been, what I’ve been to the club isn’t exactly something a man would want his Old Lady to be. The guys might not treat me the same as, Amy, for example.”
Hansen’s face went hard. “Sometimes I forget, you see the world with your own glasses, babe. Those glasses mostly mean you see goodness and happiness in everyone you meet and find a way to joke about even the darkest of shit,” he started tightly. “Those glasses obviously also stop you from seeing that, ‘cause of who you are. Every single man in there…” he nodded his head to the doors, “…would risk their life, same as they did for Amy. In a heartbeat. Just ‘cause of who you were to them doesn’t make you any less than her, babe…” He paused. “You also should know, every one of those men would’ve killed to be in my shoes, claim you as their Old Lady. Only thing they’re gonna be feeling is stupid for not realizing it sooner. And I’m gonna be feeling proud as shit.”