“Yes,” I gasp, my pussy clenching around him. “I’m yours.”
His free hand slides down between us, fingers finding my clit. He circles it in time with his thrusts, the double assault sending my body spiraling, every nerve ablaze, every muscle straining. I am unraveling fast, the coil in my belly tightening with each stroke, each touch, until I am right on the edge.
“Emilio—” His name breaks from me, ragged, strangled, as my second orgasm tears me apart. It hits like lightning, violent and consuming, my body arching off the bed as I clamp down on him, screaming into the night as I shatter for him again.
He doesn’t stop. He pounds into me, relentless, driving deeper with every thrust. His rhythm falters into something raw, ragged, desperate, until his control snaps. With a guttural roar, he buries himself to the hilt and comes undone inside me. His entire body shudders against mine, muscles tight as steel as he empties himself, his breath breaking in harsh, uneven bursts.
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. He stays pressed against me, heavy and unyielding, our chests rising and fallingtogether in a chaotic rhythm. I can feel his heart hammering, wild and uneven, until gradually it begins to slow, syncing with the beat of mine.
His lips brush my temple, the faintest ghost of a kiss, and I close my eyes, breathing him in—cedar, citrus, sweat, and something entirely his. I want to memorize it, brand it into me.
After a while, he eases out of me, careful, almost reluctant, and I whimper at the loss. He murmurs something soft against my skin, a curse, a prayer, maybe both, before pulling back just enough to look at me. His golden eyes are still dark, but the hunger has faded, leaving behind something quieter, deeper.
“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse, roughened from growls and groans.
I nod, throat too tight for anything more. My thighs still quake, my body humming from the aftershocks, but it’s a sweetness I never want to end.
He brushes the damp strands from my forehead, his thumb lingering against my cheek. “Didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” My voice comes out soft, but firm. “You could never.”
The tension in his shoulders loosens. He dips down to kiss me again, slow this time, tender, lips lingering over mine in an unhurried promise. Nothing frantic, nothing urgent. Just him, giving and gentle.
When he finally rolls to the side, he doesn’t let me go. His arm hooks around me and pulls me with him until I’m tucked against his chest. The sheets are tangled, the air thick with heat and sex, but his body wraps around mine like a cocoon. My cheek rests over the steady thud of his heart, and for the first time in forever, the world feels still.
Max’s claws click faintly on the floor outside the bedroom door, a reminder of the world still spinning, but inside these four walls, there’s only us. Emilio’s fingers trace slow patterns across my spine, lazy circles that send tingles down to my toes. Eachstroke calms me, lulling me into softness, my body slackening against him.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. “You’re mine. Every part of you. Not just your body.”
His words settle deep, wrapping around something fragile inside me. My eyes sting, but the tears that rise aren’t jagged this time—they soothe.
I press my lips against his chest, tasting salt, heat, him. “Then don’t ever let me go.”
“I won’t.” His reply is steady, resolute, carved into the air like a vow.
The silence that follows hums with warmth, threaded with the echo of everything we just shared. His hand keeps moving over my back, protective, constant, until my body slackens completely, exhaustion pulling me under.
For the first time since Khloe’s death, I let myself drift. Not into the emptiness that waits in the shadows, but into him. Into us.
TWENTY-ONE
They never look up.
That’s what always astounds me. People drift through the world like prey animals who’ve forgotten they’re prey. Heads down, eyes glued to glowing screens, laughter spilling out into the night without the faintest thought of what could be lurking just beyond the streetlights.
The couple in front of me is no exception.
The boy—tall, broad-shouldered in a dark gray t-shirt and jeans—walks with that arrogant ease of someone who thinks his strength alone makes him untouchable. His arm brushes the girl beside him, her crimson braid swaying with each step they take, his laugh cutting too loud through the air, careless, like nothing could ever go wrong.
The girl clings to him, her petite frame dressed in a yellow sundress, pressing against his side like he’s her shield. She trusts him. She trusts the light. She trusts the illusion of safety.
But shields splinter. And safety is a lie.
I trail three paces behind, slipping between shadow and light as the streetlamps buzz overhead. The hum of traffic dronesfrom Fourth Ave, neon spills from bars, students stumble out of doorways in clusters. But all of that is background noise.
None of it matters.
Only them.
