Protected by my Hogg Daddy

The Thank You

Samantha

"Thank you," Samantha said finally. The words came out softer than she'd intended.

Bjorn's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "You don't have to thank me."

"Maybe not." Samantha looked around the room one last time before meeting his eyes. "But I want to."

For a moment neither of them looked away. The silence that settled between them wasn't awkward. If anything, it felt strangely comfortable. That realization startled Samantha more than anything else had all day. Comfortable wasn't a word she had associated with men in a very long time.

Before she could overthink it, she stepped forward. Bjorn frowned slightly, clearly confused by the movement. Then Samantha rose onto her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

The gesture lasted barely a second. Even so, both of them froze.

Heat immediately flooded Samantha's face. The moment her feet touched the floor again, she questioned every decision that had led her to that point. What was she doing? He had given her a place to stay. He had been kind when he didn't have to be. She had wanted to thank him. Somehow that had seemed like a good idea for exactly half a second.

"Sorry," she blurted out. "I just—" The words tangled together before she could finish them.

Bjorn stared at her for a moment longer than necessary.

The brief touch had caught him completely off guard. He wasn't a man who startled easily. Years in the military and years leading the club had taught him how to stay steady under pressure. Yet somehow a simple kiss on the cheek from a woman he'd known for little more than a week had left him standing there searching for words.

What unsettled him most wasn't the kiss itself.

It was his reaction to it. His d**k throbbed with the same intensity as his heart beat the moment she kissed him.

"Don't apologize," he whispered softly.

Samantha looked up.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Bjorn's mouth, though there was something uncertain in it she hadn't seen before.

"You don't have to apologize for saying thank you." He said while trying to get his mind right. The last thing he needed to do was scare her with an erection.

The knot in Samantha's chest loosened slightly. She didn't know the battle going on in Bjorn's mind.

Neither of them seemed quite sure what to do next. Eventually Bjorn cleared his throat and took a step backward toward the hallway, before his sudden desire took over his rational side. "I'll let you get settled in."

Samantha nodded, though part of her was surprised by the small flicker of disappointment she felt when Bjorn turned toward the door. Before she could think better of it, she reached out and caught his hand. The movement surprised both of them. Bjorn stopped and looked back at her, his expression shifting from confusion to concern.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Samantha swallowed her fear, closed the gap between them, and kissed him passionately. He groaned into the kiss, matching her passion as his c**k throbbed with desire. With the close proximity, Samantha felt the unmistakable ridge of his arousal through his jeans. Shifting her weight, she slid her hand down between their bodies cupping him through the fabric, anchoring him to her.

Samantha backed onto the bed and sat, tugging him by his belt loops. He stood in front of her, completely at her mercy as she looked up at him. She quickly released his pants and pulled them down, her breath hitching in awe as his massive erection sprang free, inches from her face.

Wrapping her fingers around his thick length, she guided him directly to her waiting mouth. She took all of him, swallowing down a length she was sure surpassed eight inches, until a breathy gag slipped out. Bjorn groaned loudly at the sound, his hands finding her hair. Reaching around, she anchored her hands against his buttocks, pulling him firmly against her lips to ensure he stayed deep inside until he finally came.

The tighter grip on his hips pushed him over the edge, forcing a rough moan from his throat as he muttered, "f**k yes, Samantha," completely at her mercy.

When he finally came, she swallowed the heat of his release straight down her throat, finishing with a final, lingering suck on the head as she pulled away.

Wiping her lips, Samantha looked up at the man who had rescued her from the dark. For the first time in months, she felt completely in control of her own body and her own choices. Bjorn sat beside her, his gaze filled with a mixture of intense gratitude and fierce protectiveness. He took her hand, kissing her knuckles gently, keeping his movements slow and predictable so she knew she was completely safe. "Thank you," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "But from now on, you don't owe anyone anything. This place is yours for as long as you need it."

Reaching out with a slow, deliberate movement, he gently cupped her face in his hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek with absolute tenderness."Get some rest," he murmured, his eyes searching hers to ensure she felt completely secure.

He leaned in and gently kissed her lips—a soft, lingering reassurance that carried no demands, only a promise of safety. Stepping back, he adjusted his clothes and gave her a comforting smile. "I'll be down in the shop if you need me."

The door to the apartment clicked shut, the heavy deadbolt sliding into place with a definitive, metallic thud that echoed softly in the quiet room. Above the motorcycle shop, the living quarters smelled faintly of the garage downstairs—heavy chain lubricant, vintage gasoline, rubber tires, and weld smoke—mingled with the clean scent of the fresh linens Bjorn had laid out for her.

Samantha lay back against the pillows and let herself sink into the mattress. For the first time in what felt like years, some of the tension began to leave her body. Her shoulders relaxed against the bed, and the constant knot of anxiety that had lived in her chest for so long loosened slightly. The room was quiet except for the faint sounds of the motorcycle shop operating somewhere below, a steady reminder that life continued beyond these four walls. The hospital gown was gone, replaced by an oversized flannel shirt she had found neatly folded in the dresser Bjorn had prepared for her. It hung loosely on her frame, soft from years of wear and carrying the clean scent of laundry. As she pulled the blankets higher and stared at the ceiling, Samantha realized she wasn't bracing herself for the next argument, the next criticism, or the next moment she would have to defend herself. For the first time in a very long while, she felt safe enough to simply lie still and breathe.

Her lips still tingled. The phantom taste of him lingered on her tongue, warm and heavy, a stark contrast to the sterile, clinical memories of the hospital ward she had just left behind.

She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the muffled, rhythmic sounds of life filtering up from the floorboards. The low hum of a lathe. The occasional, deliberate clink of a wrench against metal. Bjorn was down there, working, just like he said he would be. He was giving her space, keeping guard at the only entrance to her new sanctuary, a fierce and silent sentinel.

An involuntary shudder rippled through her, not of fear, but of profound, overwhelming relief.She closed her eyes, and her mind immediately drifted back to the minutes before. She thought about the weight of his erection in her hand, the sheer size of him, and how her breath had hitched when she first pulled his pants down. It had been massive, a daunting sight for anyone—but especially for her. Her past had taught her to fear a man's arousal. In her old life, a man’s desire was a storm to be weathered, a volatile catalyst for anger, control, and pain. It was a weapon used to diminish her, to make her feel small and trapped.

But today, with Bjorn, everything had shifted.The realization brought a sudden rush of warmth to her cheeks, her heart hammering a steady, rhythmic beat against her ribs. Taking his full length into her mouth until she gasped and choked hadn’t been an act of submission. It hadn’t been a chore born out of fear or a desperate attempt to appease a volatile temper. For the first time in her life, it had been an act of pure, unadulterated agency. She had chosen it. She had initiated it. She had looked at the man who had rescued her and made sure she was safe. The man who brought her to his own home when she had absolutely nowhere else to go, and she had decided exactly how she wanted to thank him.

She remembered the feeling of her fingers digging into the firm muscle of his buttocks, anchoring him to her lips, refusing to let him pull away. She had held him there, dominant in her vulnerability, taking every drop of his release because she wanted to consume his pleasure. She wanted to prove to herself, and to him, that her body belonged to her again.

When he had groaned out her name—that rough, unscripted “f**k yes, Samantha”—it hadn’t sounded like a demand. It had sounded like a prayer. It was the sound of a strong, protective man completely unraveled by her touch, entirely at her mercy. Hearing him lose control because of her hadn’t frightened her; it had empowered her. It washed away the dirt and the shame of the hospital bed, replacing it with a fierce, intoxicating sense of her own worth.She rolled onto her side, curling her knees toward her chest, wrapping Bjorn's blanket tightly around her shoulders. The fabric felt soft against her skin.

She thought about the way the scene had ended. The physical heat had faded so naturally into something sacred and gentle. He hadn't used her and turned away. He hadn't demanded more. Instead, he had sunk onto the mattress beside her, his large, calloused hands trembling slightly as he framed her face. The roughness of his palms against her cheeks had felt grounding, like an anchor keeping her from drifting back into the dark memories of her abuser.“Get some rest,” he had murmured.

Those three words had carried the weight of an entire world. They meant she didn't have to perform anymore. She didn't have to walk on eggshells. She was allowed to be tired, she was allowed to heal, and she was allowed to just be. And then he had kissed her lips—a soft, lingering touch that carried no expectations, only a quiet, fierce promise that as long as she was under his roof, no one would ever lay a cruel hand on her again.

Downstairs, the lathe spun down to a halt, followed by the heavy, deliberate footsteps of Bjorn moving across his shop. Samantha closed her eyes, a tear finally slipping down her cheek, hot and clean. It wasn't a tear of sorrow. It was the shedding of a ghost. Safe in the quiet room above the workshop, surrounded by the scent of exhaust and the man who protected her.

Samantha finally let go of the tension in her jaw. She breathed in deeply, letting the steady hum of the workshop below lull her into a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing that if she woke up afraid, he was only a flight of stairs away.