“Mine,” he growled, biting gently at her throat. “You’re mine. Say it.”
Her orgasm surged, unstoppable. “Yours. Oh, God. Yours, Jonas!”
She convulsed around him, tight and pulsing, her climax ripping through her. With a broken curse, he thrust hard, burying himself deep as he spilled inside her, holding her close as though she were the only thing anchoring him to earth.
They collapsed together, slick with sweat, hearts hammering in sync. He kissed her temple, soft now, reverent, and whispered one word, rough with emotion.
“Mine.”
And Clara knew, with absolute certainty, she was.
Her body was still trembling, pulsing from the inside out, when his weight settled carefully over her. Not crushing but holding. Anchoring.
She clung to him, boneless, her face buried against his neck. His scent, clean sweat, soap, something dark and male, wrapped around her as much as his arms did.
Slowly, achingly, he eased out of her. She whimpered at the loss, but then his hand slipped between her thighs. Two fingers pushed gently back into her, sliding through the slick mess he’d left behind, pressing it deeper.
“Jonas,” she gasped, shivering at the sensation.
His voice was low, almost embarrassed. “Don’t want to waste a drop.”
Her cheeks flamed. “You’re…. Oh my God.”
“I’m clean,” he said quickly, as though needing to explain. “Always careful. Always.”
“I am too,” she whispered.
“I know.”
That stopped her. She tilted her head back, catching his gaze. His ears went scarlet.
“Of course you do,” she laughed softly, a little breathless still. “Eidetic memory, genius IQ, hacker extraordinaire. You’d know before I even said it.”
The blush deepened, staining his cheekbones. And damn it if her heart didn’t twist. Because this man, the one who’d made her body sing, who had just blown her entire world apart, was blushing like a boy.
God help her, she was falling.
He gathered her close, tucking her against his chest as though she belonged there, and she let herself melt into him. The rhythm of his heartbeat slowed beneath her ear, steady and strong.
For a while, silence reigned. Just breathing, skin against skin, the aftershocks settling. She traced lazy circles over the muscle of his chest, feeling the tension ebb away in layers.
Then his voice broke the quiet. Low. Rough. Weighted.
“The night I was taken…”
He stopped.
Clara stilled, her heart lurching. She lifted her head, but his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, as though staring down ghosts only he could see.
Her fingers curled against him, instinctively holding tighter, steadying him even as her own breath caught.
But he said nothing more.
And in that suspended moment, Clara knew, he was finally on the edge of giving her the truth.
Chapter 30
The night I was kidnapped.
