Then he slams into me in one deep, brutal thrust—hard and without warning.
The scream that rips from my throat isn’t even human. It’s instinct. Raw. Wild.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust, doesn’t pause to soothe. He justtakesme—exactly how he said he would. Hard. Relentless.
One hand digs into my hip, anchoring me in place, while the other wraps around my hair, yanking my head back just enough to bare my throat to him. I feel like I’m unraveling beneathhim, every thrust driving me closer to something that feels like surrender and combustion all at once.
He pounds into me without mercy, and I lose track of everything but the way he fills me, claims me—ownsme.
And then it hits.
Another orgasm tears through me, violent and consuming. I’ve lost count of how many he’s pulled from me tonight, each one sharper, deeper, more unbearable in the best way.
But this one—this one breaks something open.
I feel myself slipping, body shaking, vision swimming. A cry tears from my lips as I come so hard the world tips sideways, and then,Darkness.
I’m barely conscious when I feel him still moving, his thrusts erratic now. Desperate. A low groan. His release. The hot rush of him spilling inside me. Just like he promised. And then everything goes quiet. The world disappears, and I let it.
Chapter fourteen
Ava
Everythingfeelshazy—likeI’mdrifting in warm water, suspended somewhere between sleep and something deeper. The room is quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that hums. My body isn’t mine yet. It’s weightless and heavy all at once. Every nerve feels soft and slow, like I’ve been unraveled and left open. My limbs don’t want to move. My mouth won’t form words. But I can hear him.
“Ava.”
It’s gentle. Grounding. Like a rope tossed into the dark, asking me to come back.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. You with me, baby?”
I try to speak, but it comes out like a breath caught between worlds. A hum. A sigh. Something small and half-formed.
He doesn’t ask again. He just stays—close, warm, patient.
Warmth surrounds me—soft fabric, his arms, the solid weight of the blanket he must’ve wrapped around me. His fingers trace lazy, comforting circles along my back. No demands. No expectations. Just presence.
I breathe in slowly. I smell him—clean sweat, leather, and something deeper that I always associate with home now.
I blink. Once. Twice. It feels like dragging myself through molasses. Then again.
The ceiling comes into view, blurred at the edges. My thoughts are still scattered, but they’re trying to stitch themselves back together. I swallow, my throat dry, my chest tightens with the first flicker of self-awareness.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I think.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath. I feel it in the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. His lips press softly to my hairline.
Then, softly: “Here's my good girl.”
The words hit something deep and unspoken in me. Not because they’re praise—but because they mean I’m still his. Even now. Even like this.
I don’t move, not yet. I just melt a little further into his chest and listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat. My fingers twitch, a small sign of life returning. My body is aching in all the right ways, but it’s my heart that’s the most full.
He doesn’t rush me. He never does.
I close my eyes again—not because I’m falling, but because I’m safe. Because I know I can come back in pieces, and he’ll hold every one until I remember how to be whole. He kisses the top of my head like he knows.
I press my cheek into his chest, grounding myself in the steady beat of his heart. I’m not all the way back yet, but I’m getting there. One breath at a time
