Crimson Steel

Chapter Twenty - New Rules, Same Fire

Avery didn’t move back into Colt’s room.

And Colt didn’t ask her to.

It was a silent agreement. Not rooted in distance—but in rebuilding.

They didn’t need shared walls to prove they belonged to each other.

Not anymore.

They needed something else: consistency.

The first few days were strange—but not uncomfortable.

Colt still had his usual routine—early mornings, meetings, checking in with Cal, handling club business with a presence that now felt sharper. More focused. Like something inside him had settled.

Avery stayed in her room. Woke when she wanted. Made her own tea. Talked with Frankie. Helped with club projects and continued her work with the shelter.

They passed each other often.

Sometimes with a quiet smile.

Sometimes with a brush of the hand.

Sometimes with nothing but a look that said, “I see you.”

It was slow.

It was deliberate.

And it was working.

That third night, Colt stopped by her door.

He didn’t knock.

He just leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching her read at her desk.

“You’re not gonna invite me in?” he asked, voice low but amused.

She glanced up, not putting her book down.

“No,” she said with a teasing smirk. “But you can sit.”

He stepped in without hesitation, grabbing the chair across from her. He didn’t fill the space with small talk. Just watched her.

“You sleep okay in here?”

“Better than I ever did in your room.”

That answer should’ve stung. It didn’t.

It grounded him.

“Yeah?” he said.

She finally closed her book, looking at him fully.

“It’s not about the mattress, Colt. It’s about having space that feels like mine. I’m not disappearing—I just… need to keep that part of me.”

He nodded slowly. “I get it.”

“And when I invite you in,” she added, softer now, “you’ll know it’s because I want to. Not because you expect it.”

That made him smile.

It wasn’t smug. It was proud.

“You’ve always been better at this than me,” he admitted.

“No,” she said, “just better at hiding how hard it is.”

They sat in silence after that.

But it wasn’t tense. It was easy.

Two people who had finally stopped trying to dominate each other—and started figuring out how to walk beside each other instead.

Later that night, Avery opened the door to find Colt still sitting in the hallway chair outside her room.

Not slouched. Not restless.

Just waiting.

It startled her in the softest way.

He wasn’t pacing.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t demanding anything.

He was just… there.

“Seriously?” she asked, leaning against the frame.

He looked up at her, one brow lifting. “Didn’t want to push.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re too big to be lurking in a hallway like some sad cowboy.”

“I’m patient.”

“That’s new.”

He smirked, slow and low. “I’m learning.”

She watched him for a beat, then stepped back.

Left the door open.

Didn’t say a word.

Colt didn’t hesitate.

He stood, walked inside, and shut the door behind him.

He didn’t touch her at first.

He just sat on the edge of the bed while she moved around the room—putting away her book, taking off her earrings, slipping out of her sweater and into something soft.

Every move was hers.

She didn’t perform for him.

She didn’t try to be anything but herself.

And maybe that’s why Colt’s breath caught when she finally walked toward him.

“Come to bed,” she said softly.

He rose, slow and sure.

“Just sleep?” he asked, not teasing—genuinely willing.

She smiled at that, slipping her fingers into the front of his shirt. “No, Colt. Not just sleep.”

It wasn’t like before.

There was no rush.

No desperation.

It was slow.

Unfiltered.

Every touch said: I see you.

Every kiss said: This time, we choose each other.

When Colt laid her down and pressed his body against hers, it wasn’t to claim—it was to connect.

And when Avery pulled him closer, it wasn’t to keep him—it was to remind herself that she could let him in without losing herself.

He whispered her name like a vow.

She moaned his like a promise.

And when it was over, tangled in sheets that still smelled like lavender and city nights, Avery curled into his chest with one thought resting behind her fluttering lashes:

“This feels like home.”

The sun barely touched the edges of Avery’s curtains when she felt the first brush of heat along her thigh.

She stirred, slow and hazy, but didn’t open her eyes.

Colt’s hand was already on her skin—sure, warm, and deliberate.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask.

Because he didn’t need to.

And she didn’t stop him.

Because this was their new language.

She let out a soft sound as he moved lower, kissing down her stomach with a kind of reverence that contradicted the man who ran a ruthless club. But that was Colt now—fire and control, wrapped in quiet worship of the woman who’d finally let him back in.

Avery arched into his mouth as his tongue replaced his hand.

She bit her lip, eyes fluttering open only when he gripped her thigh to hold her in place, growling low against her skin.

“Let go,” he said, voice rough and filled with purpose. “I want you loud.”

“Colt—”

“You’re mine,” he interrupted, dragging his mouth back up just enough to look at her. His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for her. “Let the whole damn house know who you belong to.”

Her breath hitched.

And she did.

She let him wreck her slowly—his hands, his mouth, his name rolling off her tongue in stammered, broken syllables that echoed off the walls.

Not out of submission.

Not out of weakness.

But because she trusted him.

Because this time, Colt didn’t need to claim her by force.

She gave herself to him—fully, and in every way that mattered.

Later, when she lay breathless and bare, tangled in his arms, Colt pressed a kiss behind her ear and murmured, “You’re still not moving back into my bed, are you?”

She smiled against his chest. “Nope.”

He chuckled.

And pulled her tighter.

Because now?

He didn’t need her in his bed to prove she was his.

Everyone knew.

Colt sat at the edge of the bed, pulling on his jeans without rushing.

Avery, still stretched out across the warm sheets, watched him through heavy lashes—quiet, content, and just a little flushed from the morning he’d given her.

He’d barely said a word after.

Just kissed her once more—slow, deep, and without apology.

Now, as he stood and tugged a black T-shirt down over his inked chest, he glanced back.

“I’ve gotta handle some things downstairs.”

Avery nodded, trying not to smile as she smoothed the sheet across her bare legs.

“Club business?”

“Club business,” he confirmed. His voice was steady again, back in control—but his eyes? Still soft when they landed on her.

He came back for one more kiss—brief this time, a whisper against her lips.

“I’ll come find you later.”

“You’d better,” she murmured.

After he left, Avery stayed in bed a while longer.

Not because she was tired.

But because her body still hummed with the memory of him.

Not just what he did—but how he did it.

He hadn’t rushed.

Hadn’t claimed.

He worshipped.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel like a distraction to the man who led the club. She felt like something sacred—something real.

Eventually, she slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in her robe, and padded into her bathroom. The mirror caught her reflection—hair wild, skin kissed in places only he’d touched.

And the faintest flush still across her cheeks.

She took a breath and smiled at herself.

Just once.

Later, dressed in soft jeans and a blouse that still clung to her perfume, she stepped into the common room. Frankie waved her over for coffee, and Cal nodded from the bar. There was no tension in the room.

No whispers.

No looks.

Just peace.

But her skin still burned beneath her clothes—not from shame, but from memory.

Because she knew every single person in this place heard her that morning.

And for once?

She didn’t give a damn.

Avery was halfway through her second cup of coffee when Frankie dropped into the chair across from her like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

She didn’t even try to hide her smirk.

“So,” Frankie said, stirring her mug slowly. “You look rested.”

Avery arched a brow over her rim. “Do I?”

“Mm-hmm. And flushed. And maybe like someone screamed a man’s name so loud this morning it made the coffee machine hesitate.”

Avery choked on her sip. “Frankie—”

“Don’t ‘Frankie’ me. I’ve been waiting weeks for this.”

Avery tried to keep a straight face. She really did.

But the grin pulled at her lips anyway.

Frankie leaned in, eyes gleaming. “So? You gonna spill, or am I going to have to corner Colt and get it from him?”

Avery laughed, shaking her head. “You would not.”

“Sweetheart, I absolutely would. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Avery hesitated, then glanced around. No one was hovering. Cal was nearby, but he kept his distance—like always. Colt was still busy with club business.

So she set her mug down and lowered her voice.

“We didn’t just talk.”

Frankie raised both brows. “No kidding.”

Avery rolled her eyes. “It was different this time. Slower. Real.”

“And?”

Avery gave a soft shrug, her smile growing despite herself. “And… it was really, really good.”

Frankie grinned like a woman who’d just won a bet.

“I knew it. I knew once that man got over his own damn ego and actually treated you like you deserved, the rest would fall into place.”

“It’s not perfect,” Avery added, more grounded now. “We’re still figuring things out.”

Frankie nodded, serious again. “That’s how you know it’s real. You’re not trying to make it look perfect—you’re building something solid.”

Avery sipped her coffee, staring down into the dark swirl of it.

“It’s still strange. To feel safe and seen. Especially with him.”

“You always saw him,” Frankie said. “Now he finally sees you too.”

That hit.

And Avery didn’t deny it.

The two women sat in that quiet moment of shared understanding—friends not just by proximity, but by the kind of bond forged between women who’ve had to be tough, tender, and smart in the middle of a world built for men.

And for the first time in a long time…

Avery let herself laugh.

Let herself blush.

Let herself be.

They came over just as Avery was about to grab a refill.

Three of them—lined in tight denim, cropped tops, and curiosity sharp as their eyeliner. The same women who’d once eyed her like she was just a passing phase. Now?

They approached like sharks circling blood.

Frankie clocked the shift in energy before Avery even turned.

Avery stayed still.

She set her mug down carefully and faced them.

The one in front—Cass, if Avery remembered right—crossed her arms with a practiced tilt of her head.

“So,” Cass started, voice syrupy and tight, “are you still handing out the green light, or did we all imagine what went down this morning?”

Avery didn’t flinch.

She smiled.

Not wide. Not fake. Just enough to say: You don’t scare me anymore.

“I remember exactly what I said,” Avery replied calmly. “And at the time, I meant it.”

Cass raised a brow. “So what changed?”

Frankie didn’t say a word. But she leaned back in her chair with the kind of lazy confidence that said she had her girl’s back if anything popped off.

Avery kept her eyes on Cass. “What changed is none of your business.”

A small ripple of tension passed between them.

“You’re in his bed again,” Cass said, like it was a weapon.

“I am,” Avery confirmed.

Another pause.

Cass looked like she wanted to push further. Wanted to stir something up. But Avery was done being cornered by anyone in this place—especially not over him.

“You want to know if Colt’s fair game?” Avery said, stepping closer now, her voice low but razor sharp. “Ask him.”

The other two shifted awkwardly.

“And if you’re asking me,” Avery added with a tilt of her head, “it probably means you already know the answer.”

Cass’s lips parted like she had something smart to say, but Frankie spoke first.

“Unless you came over here to ask for moisturizer or borrow a coffee filter, maybe take the hint and walk away.”

It hit.

Hard enough that Cass stiffened. Her glare flicked from Avery to Frankie, then back.

“Whatever,” she muttered, before turning on her heel.

The other two followed, quieter now. Less confident.

Avery didn’t watch them go. She just picked up her mug again, hands steady.

Frankie gave her a proud little smirk. “Look at you. All grown and untouchable.”

Avery exhaled slowly. “It’s not about being untouchable.”

“No?”

“It’s about knowing what I’m not willing to explain anymore.”

Frankie clinked her coffee mug against hers. “Now that’s some queen shit.”