Chapter Twelve - What’s Yours & What’s Owed
1187 Words
It was late afternoon when Colt returned.
The door clicked softly behind him. Avery sat by the window, legs crossed, wrapped in one of his hoodies and her own silence. Her hair was up, her makeup minimal. Her expression unreadable.
But her eyes?
Sharp. Focused.
He glanced at her, then at the untouched plate of food Cal had brought earlier.
“You didn’t eat.”
She didn’t answer right away. “I wasn’t hungry.”
He shrugged off his cut, hung it on the chair, and walked to the dresser without a word. The silence stretched. Tension didn’t fill it—it was something else. Weight.
She finally spoke again, voice calm. Almost too calm.
“What does it mean?”
He paused, one hand on the drawer. “What?”
“When you say I’m yours,” she said, turning to face him fully. “What does that actually mean, Colt?”
He turned. Leaned against the dresser.
The expression on his face changed—just slightly. Enough to know he wasn’t expecting this today.
“I mean what I say.”
“That doesn’t tell me a damn thing.”
He crossed his arms. “It means no one touches you. No one talks to you like they forget who you belong to. You’re under my protection. You live under my roof. You wear my mark.”
She raised a brow. “So I’m a house pet. One you’ve branded.”
Colt’s jaw twitched. “You’re not a f**king pet, Avery.”
“Then what am I?” she asked, louder now. “Because you say I’m yours, but you haven’t asked me a single thing about what I want. Not once.”
“You want me,” he said plainly.
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s the only one that matters around here.”
She stood slowly, walking toward him with that same calm she used in court. Controlled. Precise. Deadly.
“I’m not asking for a white picket fence or declarations of love,” she said. “But you act like claiming me gives you ownership. Like I don’t get to define what this is.”
He looked at her, long and quiet.
And then, instead of arguing, he asked the one thing she didn’t expect.
“What do you want it to mean?”
That shut her up.
He stepped closer, voice low.
“You want out? Say it.”
She didn’t.
“You want this to be something more? Something less? Tell me.”
Still, she said nothing.
He tilted his head, watching her carefully.
“I don’t need a woman who walks on eggshells. If you’re staying here—staying with me—then you speak when you’ve got something to say.”
Her voice dropped. “I want to feel like a person, not a possession.”
He stepped even closer. So close she could feel the warmth off his skin.
“Then stop acting like you’re both,” he said. “You knew what this was the second you stepped back into the club.”
“I came back for protection.”
He nodded once. “And you got me.”
She looked up at him—really looked—and this time, she didn’t see the boy she once knew. She saw the man he became.
Brutal. Steady. Real.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Then you protect me, and I’ll decide who I become inside your world.”
He reached out, touched her face—just a thumb along her jaw.
“Fair enough.”
Later that night, the clubhouse settled into a hush—distant voices, the occasional rev of an engine, the low hum of the world outside. But inside Colt’s room, it was just them.
Avery sat on the edge of the bed, brushing out her hair, her back to him. She wore one of his tees again—oversized, loose, falling off one shoulder. Her legs were bare. Her guard, not quite so high anymore.
Colt leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes.
“You always this quiet?” he asked.
She looked at him in the mirror. “You want me to scream every time I walk into a room?”
He pushed off the frame and stepped forward.
“No,” he said, voice low. “But I don’t like how quiet you get when it’s just me and you. Like you’re afraid of being too loud. Like you’re ashamed of how bad you want it.”
She met his eyes in the glass.
“I’m not ashamed.”
“Then prove it.”
She turned, brushing laid aside, chin lifted. “How?”
He moved closer.
“You let everyone else in this place hear it when I make you come,” he said, voice dark and slow. “You say my name, Avery. You let them know exactly who’s in your bed. Who’s got you trembling. Who you belong to.”
Her heart jumped.
“That’s not fair.”
His mouth curled in a dark smile. “It’s not a game.”
His hand found her thigh and guided her gently back onto the mattress, spreading her beneath him like something he already owned—but tonight, he was going to make her claim it too.
The kiss was slow this time. Intentional. A building fire instead of a spark.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t tease.
Every move was calculated—designed to push her to the edge and keep her there.
And when he slid into her, his mouth pressed against her ear, his words were steel wrapped in velvet.
“Don’t hold back this time.”
Avery tried. She did.
But the way he moved, the way his hands gripped her thighs, the way he knew exactly where to kiss, where to bite, where to press—it unraveled every ounce of restraint she had left.
When the heat broke inside her, she gasped—loud, breathless, real.
Colt didn’t stop.
He chased it. Drove her over that edge again—until she wasn’t just gasping.
She was moaning his name.
“Colt—”
“That’s it,” he growled, teeth dragging against her shoulder. “Say it again.”
She did. Louder.
“Again.”
And when her voice cracked on the third cry of his name, he finally let go, burying himself deep, breath rough and broken as her name left his lips like a confession.
They collapsed together, tangled and burning, sweat-slicked and spent.
No shame. No silence. Just truth echoing through every heartbeat between them.
After a long stretch of quiet, Avery lay against his chest, breath steadying, skin flushed.
Colt’s hand traced slow lines up her spine.
“Don’t ever hide from me again,” he said. “Not your voice. Not your want.”
She didn’t answer right away.
But she didn’t pull away, either.
Because deep down, she knew—
She wasn’t afraid of being his.
She was just afraid of how much she liked it.
- Writer
