“Yes,” he replies. “The bastard bled out every last goddamn drop for you.”
Brutal. Final. And somehow, hot as hell.
I step closer still, reaching out, my fingers fumbling, clutching the torn fabric of his shirt. “Did you think about me while you did it?”
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for a fraction of a second, hot and possessive. “Every single moment. Every shot. It was for you.”
Damn… I should be scared. Instead, I’m soaking wet.
“I wanted to hate you for leaving,” I tell him. “For walking out without looking back. For making me wait here by myself, wondering if you’d be the next headline.”
His hand rises, his touch surprisingly gentle as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, then trails down my jaw. The unexpected softness of it undoes me. I don’t want soft. Not right now. But I lean into it anyway, needing the contact.
“I wanted to hate how much I needed to come back,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. “But I did.”
“Then don’t you dare fucking leave me again.”
He lifts me then, like I weigh nothing, like he’s starving for this, for me. My legs wrap around his hips instinctively, my head resting on his shoulder as he carries me to the bedroom without another word. From the moment his arms lock around me, I know this isn’t going to be gentle.
My arms tighten around his neck, my hips grinding into him with every step he takes. The evidence of what he’s done tonight, the faint metallic tang of blood, the scent of sweat and gunpowder, it’s still on his skin, and it turns me on more than I want to admit.
He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, the thud echoing, and presses me to it like a man on the very edge of his control. Our mouths meet, hot, wild, completely unhinged.
His hands yank my shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. His mouth drags down my throat, over my collarbone, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks. “Mine,” he growls into my skin. “You understand that now?”
“Yes,” I gasp, my fingers clawing at his belt, fumbling with the buckle. “God, yes.”
He pulls away, just slightly, his eyes burning into mine. “You’re wearing my shirt. Why?” He tears the shirt the rest of the way off, his hands already on my breasts, cupping them like he owns them, like they were always his.
“I wanted to smell your scent,” I answer honestly.
He drops to his knees, his movements quick, desperate. He drags my panties down, not wasting a second. His mouth is on me instantly, hungry, possessive, perfect. His tongue works me open with ruthless precision, slow, deliberate licks that build into fast, desperate flicks. His hands grip my hips, pinning me to the door, holding me in place. I cry out, loud and unrestrained, one hand tangled in his hair, the other braced against the wood behind me, my nails digging into the solid surface.
When I come, it’s not soft or sweet. It’s feral. My knees buckle beneath me. My whole body convulses, every muscle seizing. He growls into me, not stopping, not slowing, coaxing every last tremor from my body before finally standing, licking his lips like he just won a war.
“I’m not done.” He lifts me again, throwing me onto the bed.
Damn right, he’s not done.
He strips quickly, and I swear I almost come again just looking at him. All muscle and rage and those eyes…fuck, those eyes. They’re still haunted, but now they burn with an intensity that promises oblivion.
“Turn over,” he commands. “Hands on the headboard.”
I obey, my body trembling with anticipation.
He slides into me from behind in one long, brutal thrust that knocks the breath out of me. I cry out, gripping the headboard, unable to think, to breathe, to do anything but feel. He fucks me like he’s staking a claim, like he needs to leave something behind inside me as proof of his ownership.
His hand slips around my throat, not tight, just enough to make me feel owned, possessed. “They tried to take you from me,” he grits out, his hips slamming into mine, the force of his thrusts driving me deeper onto the bed. “Tried to touch what’s mine.”
He pulls me upright, still thrusting, still holding my throat, his other hand sliding down to rub furious circles against my clit. “No one even looks at you unless I allow it. You belong to me, Nikki. Say it.”
“I belong to you,” I choke out, the words ripped from my throat.
When the second orgasm hits, it’s explosive. I clamp down around him, and with a low, guttural groan, he comes, pulsing inside me, burying himself to the hilt as we collapse together in a tangle of limbs and sweat.
When it’s over, he doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t even move. Just stays pressed against my back, breathing hard, his arms locked around me like he’s not sure I’m real, like I might vanish if he lets go.
And I don’t move either.
