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Nash clocks all of it, I know.

Gingerly, I reach up and touch the bruise on his jaw. He lets me, watching my face while I do it.

“I'm not going to be careful with you,” I say. I mean it as a warning.

“Good,” he says. "I don't want careful.”

“I'm difficult.”

“That’s my type.”

“I'll argue with you constantly.”

“I’ll let you win sometimes,” he shoots back.

“Nash—”

He kisses me again, and this time, there's no slow about it.

I stop arguing. And in his arms, the fear melts away. In its place, the future stretches before me. A future with a mate by my side. And I’m stronger for it.

He pulls his mouth from mine just enough to say, “Is that a yes?”

I smirk. “It’s a yes from me. But there’s still the matter of asking permission for my hand.”

“Already done.”

I lift a brow.

“You think I wouldn’t talk to Charlie about this first?” he challenges.

I give a slow, evil smile. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about Charlie.”

His eyes widen. “You want me to ask Grey for your hand?”

“Grey will be the easy one,” I scoff. “You have to convince Dutch, Crow, and Razor to give me up. That’s how I’ll know you’re worthy.”

“That’s asking a lot,” he says.

“You’d be taking your life into your hands,” I agree.

“Or I could just bring them breakfast sandwiches.”

“And with that, you have passed the test. You are officially worthy of me.” I kiss him before he can talk any more shit.

He smiles against my mouth, and I feel it everywhere.

Through the bond. Through my skin. Through the place in my chest that has been braced for impact for so many years I’m not sure I know what to do now that the hit never comes.

Nash doesn’t take.

He waits.

Even now, with me in his lap and his mother’s ring clenched in my fist and my mouth on his, he waits for me to decide how much of this moment I’m willing to give.

It almost makes me want to bite him right here, right now, on principle.

So I do.