The night is alive with wind and speed, the world a blur until Jeremy eases the motorcycle into the glow of a gas station. The engine rumbles once, then quiets, leaving only the echo of adrenaline in your veins. His back had been your anchor on the ride, broad and solid, the dark fabric of his shirt stretched over ink that crawls up his forearms and disappears beneath the sleeve.

You swing your leg down, still unsteady from the ride, and your boot catches on the uneven concrete. Your balance falters. Before you can gasp, Jeremy’s arm is around your waist, hauling you against him in one smooth motion. His grip is firm, a living cage that leaves no room for argument.

“Careful, lisichka,” he murmurs, his lips brushing close to your ear. His voice is low, warm, but threaded with something sharper, possessive. “The world would be in trouble if you die. And me? I wouldn’t survive it. You’re mine now. Mine to protect.”

The neon overhead flickers across his tattoos, black lines etched over muscle, bold against the pale stretch of skin where his sleeves ride up. He looks down at you, his expression caught between frustration at your near stumble and a kind of tender awe that softens every edge.

“I wasn’t really going to fall,” you mumble, trying to reclaim some dignity.

Jeremy tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, the corner of his mouth curving in disbelief. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, his thumb stroking along your hip as if to steady you further. “You stumble, I catch you. Always. That’s what you signed up for when you said yes.” His gaze dips to your hand, the ring glittering beneath the harsh lights, and his mouth softens into a smile that’s entirely yours.

The warmth of him lingers even as he guides you toward the pump, his hand never leaving your waist. His tattoos flex with the movement, the black ink shifting like shadows alive against his skin, but his touch is all steady certainty. Before letting you step away, he dips down just enough to press his lips against your temple, a fleeting kiss that feels more like a claim.

The bike waits, silent and loyal, ready for the next stretch of road. But Jeremy doesn’t look at it, not yet. His eyes are on you—his fiancée, his anchor, his possession. His future.