“Legend on the ice,” he growls. “Collared off it. That’s what you are, pup. Mine everywhere.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. My nails claw helplessly at his back, my body convulsing around him, tears streaking hot down my temples. I whisper it into his mouth again and again—yes, sir, yes, Captain, yours, yours, always yours—until the words blur with my sobs.
He keeps moving. Lazy, steady, his knuckles at my scalp like that’s his favorite place to rest them. His breath brushes my lips between every filthy promise, every cruel vow of what he’ll make me on the ice and what he’ll chain me to off it.
And I can’t stop clinging. Can’t stop trembling. Can’t stop breaking.
Because he’s right.
Iwantit.
I want all of it.
“Breathe, pup,” he murmurs against my lips, like it’s the only thing that matters. His eyes never leave mine, his thumb stroking once against my scalp where his fist still clutches curls. “Good boy.”
A whimper tears out of me, high and pathetic. I don’t care. I nod into his chest, into his scarred mouth, into the heat of him pressing deeper inside me with every lazy thrust. “Y-yes, sir… “
“Perfect.” His mouth curves, but his voice softens—dangerous and steady all at once. “Perfect pup. Stay here. Right here with me.”
The rhythm slows even more, his cock just dragging deep enough to keep me trembling while he kisses me quiet. Not frantic, not rough. Just slow. Unyielding. His lips pressing into mine until my sobs fade into little gasps. Until my nails stop clawing and just hold.
And Christ—I melt.
My body finally gives, boneless under his weight. My ribs heave, my chest aches, my throat’s raw, but I’m safe. Pressed between the heat of him inside me and the rumble of his chest above me, I drift.
He kisses me until my lashes flutter, until my whimpers soften into broken exhales, until my eyes slip half-closed. His hand stays tangled in my hair, his hips still moving slow, lazy, like he’s rocking me to sleep on his cock.
“Mine,” he whispers against my lips, softer now, dangerous even in gentleness. “Forever, pup. Sleep knowing that.”
My lips part on a wrecked little whisper. “Yes, Captain.”
And then I’m gone.
Sleep crashes through me, heavy and complete, while he holds me there—filled, clinging, ruined—and kisses me quiet through the dark.
Home.
The word feels foreign in my mouth even though the walls around me are familiar. My place isn’t cozy—it’s clean lines, leather, steel, wood that smells faint of smoke no matter how many times I sanded it down. It’s where I come back bloodied, where I tape my knuckles in the dark, where I sit with silence until it feels like a second skin.
Now? It’s where my pup sleeps tangled in my sheets, still knocked out from the flight, curls spread over my pillow like he owns the place. And maybe he does.
But I don’t have time to stand here and stare at him like some bastard out of a poem. Not today. Today, it’s the press.
I knot my tie slow in the mirror, jaw tight, eyes reflecting back steady. They want their Captain—controlled, terrifying, impossible to rattle. Not the man who kept a rookie folded over a hotel window two nights ago. Not the man who whispered baby against a throat he almost bit open.
The press wants Kade the Enforcer.
Fine. They’ll get him.
The suit fits tight across my shoulders, scar pulling at my mouth when I test a smile I’ll never give them. My knuckles are still scabbed from Wrath’s enforcer, tape burn around my wrists where the gloves rubbed raw. Doesn’t matter. Let them stare. Let them write their stories about blood on the ice and what kind of monster it takes to wear the C for six years running.
I’m that monster. And worse.
There’s a soft shuffle behind me. I glance in the mirror and catch it—Elias in the doorway, hair a wreck, hoodie swallowing his frame, eyes still fogged from sleep. He blinks once, slow, then grins crooked.
“You look like you’re going to war,” he rasps, voice wrecked from last night.
I smirk in the glass. “I am.”
