His hands reached under my arms and pulled me up until my back was pressed against his hot chest. His mouth was right next to my ear as he panted. “You’re goddamn right it’s me. They will not take you from me. Not now.Not ever.” His hand reached down and rubbed my clit as he pistoned into me from below. His body was incredible as my release was getting closer. “Come for me, Red.”
I broke apart, moaning his name as he let go and pressed my head back down to the pillow.
He bent over me, the heat of his chest burning my back, his mouth covering my mate mark, teeth dragging over skin and scar. “You’re not a prize, you’re not a token. You’re mine.”
He fucked me harder, hips snapping against my ass, his cock filling me so deep I saw white. I clawed at the sheets, felt them tear under my fingers. He kept the pressure at my neck, never breaking contact, as if afraid I would vanish the moment he let go.
“Red,” he rasped, and the sound was almost a plea. “Don’t give up on me.”
“I won’t,” I said, breathless. “Never.”
His hand reached around, long fingers finding my clit again, and he timed every thrust to the pulse of his fingers. I was nothing but sensation, raw and desperate, the edges of my mind flickering black with each roll of his hips. His knot started to form, the thickening at the base of his cock swelled inside me, a feral pleasure that left me shaking.
He bit down on my mark, hard, and I came so violently it felt like dying. The orgasm snapped through me, a pulse of light and noise, and I sobbed his name into the bedding.
He rode me through it, hips steady, never relenting, never slowing. The knot locked us together, and I felt every twitch, every shudder. His cum filled me, hot and endless, and it was the only thing in the world that felt right.
When the tremors faded, he curled over me, arms bracing my body to his. “Don’t let them win,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, don’t let them erase this.”
Another voice invaded our moment. It wasn’t right. Menace faded from my arms. I reached for him, clawed at his shoulders, desperate to hold on.
A new hand crashed down on my upper arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I jerked awake with a gasp, breath caught in my throat, heart pounding so loud it hurt.
The room was ice cold; the bedding twisted around my naked legs. I couldn’t remember when I’d shed the robe, but it lay on the floor, the tie stretched out like a noose. Above me loomed Dominic, his face ashen with fury, mouth twisted in a smile that was all teeth.
“Quite the show,” he sneered, gaze dropping to the mess between my thighs. “Even in your sleep, you’re a whore for him.”
The words hit like slaps, but they didn’t cut as deep as I expected. I was still in the dream, still locked inside the feeling of Menace’s arms. I rolled to my side, covering myself with the sheet, refusing to let Dominic see the tears that burned my eyes.
He grabbed my ankle, yanking me to the edge of the bed. “You’re going to be presentable for the Council,” he spat. “Get up.”
I twisted free, digging my heel into his thigh. He grunted but held on, refusing to let me slip away.
I sat up, chin high, every muscle screaming in protest. “He. Is. My. True. Mate.” I said, voice flat.
He laughed, a sound without warmth. “Not after this week. I’ll have you branded, then I’ll have you fucked. Properly. The way your father wanted.”
I met his eyes. “You’ll have a corpse before you have me.”
He shrugged. “Not my problem.” He let go of my leg, stepping back to appraise the damage. “Clean yourself up,” he said, voice like acid. “The Council wants a good look at their little scandal.”
He turned and left; the door slamming behind him. The lock clicked home.
I lay back on the mattress, body trembling, but I was not alone. I pressed my palm to the bite on my neck, feeling the echo of Menace’s teeth in the wound. The mate mark was alive, hotter than the bruises, brighter than the rage.
I let myself feel it for a few seconds; the memory of the dream, the weight of his promise. Then I stood, wrapped the robe around my shoulders, and began to prepare. They would see me. They would see all of me.
But they would never erase what was real.
Chapter 17
Menace
Morning in Chicago. I came awake with a mouthful of her name and a splitting, animal hunger that curled my body around itself like a shell. The room’s cold air was a relief and a torment—sheets sodden, skin tacky, the sick-sweet ache of arousal already making an enemy of me before I’d even opened my eyes. The dream was fresh, as sharp as the night she first took my cock inside her, as merciless as the memory of her mouth on my throat. The kind of dream you couldn’t shake, not with a century of cold showers. Not with a bullet to the skull.
I lay there a minute, chest heaving, the mate mark on my shoulder burning against the pillow like a live ember. Her scent was nowhere, but my brain made it up: honey and rosewater and blood, an intoxicant more potent than anything the King of the South could offer from his best-stocked bar. The wolf inside me howled and battered at the doors of my ribs, already hungry for the next kill. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, willing the urge to leave me, to give me half a breath before I had to be human again.
I could still taste her on my tongue, the ghost of salt and sweat, the sharp tang of her fear turning sweet under my hands. I licked my lips and let the memory play out. No sense in fighting the inevitability of it.
