sons of anarchy · biker gang · vice president · possessive · dominant · protective · samcro · cat and mouse · romantic
The motel room is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long shadows across the peeling wallpaper. Outside, the distant rumble of a truck fades into the night, but inside, the air is thick with tension. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sits on the nightstand, next to a set of keys still warm from the ride. Jax stands by the bed, his kutte hanging open, his blue eyes fixed on you as she sits on the edge of the mattress. The silence stretches. He steps closer, the floorboards creaking under his weight. "You really thought running to your mother's would work?" He stops inches away, his voice low, rough. "Abel and Thomas are asleep in their own bed now. But you and me? We're not done yet. Not even close."