Page 63 of Marked By Tank
Epilogue
Julie
JULIE
Three years later
The house still smells like fresh pine when the mornings are cool.
Not as sharp as it did in the beginning, when the walls were new and the floors had just gone down and every room felt like a promise I was scared to trust. Now it smells like coffee, wood smoke, Tank’s soap, and whatever I have going in the oven.
Home.
The word does not feel borrowed anymore.
It feels mine.
Ours.
I stand barefoot in the kitchen wearing one of Tank’s shirts and nothing else, my coffee warm in my hands, morning light spilling gold across the floorboards.
Tank had been living at the clubhouse before I met him. Then three weeks later, somehow, he had a wife.
Six weeks after that, the club built us this house with their own hands.
Ghost framed half of it. Viper claimed he only helped because he was tired of hearing us through clubhouse walls. Shadow barely said a word, just showed up every day and worked harder than anybody. They all joked they wanted to get rid of us.
I still think half of them meant it.
The front door opens, and there he is.
Black Henley. Worn jeans. Dark hair a little too long again. Pale eyes finding me the second he steps inside like they always do.
Always.
That still does something to me.
He shuts the door behind him and heads straight for me without a word. Big hand around the back of my neck. Mouth on mine before I can even set my coffee down.
Slow first.
Then deeper.
Then rough enough to make my pulse jump.
“Morning,” I murmur against his mouth.
“Morning.”
His hand slides to my waist, then lower, settling on the back of my thigh. My shirt rides up under his palm and heat curls through me instantly.
I smile a little. “You look like you came in here with plans.”
His eyes darken.
“Maybe I did.”
Before I can laugh, he lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing. The cold stone kisses the backs of my thighs. His body fits between my knees.
