“You love me,” she breathes into me. “I’m your everything.” She gasps as I lift her, guiding her down onto me with a slow, aching stretch that feels like salvation.
Her hips roll slowly, dragging a shiver through both of us. She’s flush against me, tight and warm, her nails digging into my shoulders like she’s trying to anchor herself to this moment. To us.
I watch her, panting, stunned by how beautiful she looks like this—so unguarded, so sure of what she wants. Me.
“What will I do to anyone who hurts you?” I ask, my voice a low rasp against her lips.
She doesn’t answer. Just moves again, slower this time, like she wants to tease the cum out of me. “What?” she breathes.
I grip her hips, holding her steady as I thrust up into her, deep and deliberate. “I’ll burn this whole world down for you, Angel.” Her eyes meet mine. “Why?” I ask, breathless. “Why would I do that?” I thrust again, harder this time, and she lets out a choked moan that nearly unravels me. I press my forehead to hers, our breath tangling in the small space between us. “Tell me, Lo.”
“Because you love me,” she whispers.
I nod once, fierce and broken. “That’s it, Angel. I fucking love you.”
Her hips rise and fall, meeting my thrusts and dragging every inch of me through her heat. My hands grip her waist, steadying her, guiding her, even though I’m the one unraveling. Her hands splay across my chest, and I can feel her heart pounding through her fingertips. I swear it beats in time with mine.
She rides me with fire and fury and something deeper—something that feels like surrender. Like trust. Every time she sinks down, I thrust up to meet her, a rhythm building between us, one that pushes the rest of the world out.
“God, you feel so good inside me,” she groans.
“That’s it, Lo. Keep pumping that pussy on my cock. That’s it, slide all the way up and down on it, good girl.” The friction. The heat. The wet sounds of our bodies moving together. Her gasps. My name on her lips like a prayer and a curse.
“Fuck, Damian. The way you talk when you’re inside me,” she pants.
“You love it, don’t you?” I growl out. I can feel how close she is, feel the wet heat of her pulsing around me. “Come on my cock, Angel. Let me feel it.”
Her hips pump faster, her breathing more ragged.
“I love you,” I growl again, right against her throat, right before I kiss it.
She clenches around me in response, a cry tearing from her throat as she begins to come. I hold her tight, chasing the edge, feeling it snap through me like lightning. My release is hard and all-consuming, pulling a groan from the base of my spine as I bury myself deep one last time.
We stay like that, trembling, tangled, breathless. Her fingers trace lazy circles over my shoulder. My lips find her jaw, her temple, and her cheek.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, the silence between us doesn’t ache. It settles. Warm and full.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MARLOWE
Bridger’s apartment still smells like last night’s takeout and yesterday’s panicky adrenaline, but for the first time in what feels like days, my heart isn’t clawing at my ribs. My skin hums in the aftershock of what just happened in Bridger’s spare room with Damian—the ache between my legs, the raw sting of his teeth on my neck, the way he touched me like he needed me to breathe. And, God, the way he told me he loved me. He left marks. I kind of hope they never fade. But I’m not the only one who noticed.
“Jesus,” Bridger mutters, lowering himself onto a recliner. “Was the headboard fighting back?”
Cody snorts and tosses a handful of dry cereal into his mouth straight from the box. “Fuck, I thought it was an earthquake until I heard the dirty talk. Damn, Lo, I didn’t know you were such a porn star.”
Neve lifts a brow and grins from where she’s perched on the arm of the couch with her coffee. My cheeks burn hot and I lean into Damian’s side, where he sits next to me on the couch, one arm thrown around my shoulders like he’s fucking proud. He hasn’t let go of me since we got out of that bedroom.
They’re all teasing, but we’re all a little sleep-deprived and anxious. Although, I think for a brief, strange moment, there's something like hope floating in the room. A folder sits on the table, the fake IDs they bought spread out like a fan of escape routes. New names, new birthdays, shitty new headshots. I have no idea how Damian got that awful picture of me, it could pass for a mug shot.
“We can go anywhere,” Neve says, setting down her coffee. “Hell, the Caribbean sounds good to me. Beach, rum, great food. I could start a resort romance with a lifeguard named Mateo. No strings. No fires. None of your psycho family drama.”
I glance at Bridger. He’s not smiling.Oh, that’s interesting.
“Neve,” Cody grumbles, leaning forward. “We’re not going on vacation. This isn’t a fucking honeymoon package.”
She shrugs. “Didn’t say it was. Just said that wherever we go I’m getting laid.”
