His growl vibrates through me, hungry, possessive, final. And then he claims me again—this time slower, deeper, dragging my soul into his teeth.
The kiss doesn’t end. It detonates.
One second I’m breaking, the next I’m slammed into the counter so hard the dishes rattle in the cupboards. His hands are everywhere—my throat, my waist, dragging my shirt up, tearing at me like he’s starved and I’m the only meal he’ll ever take.
I gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his tongue ruthless, his teeth scraping. My fingers claw at his shoulders, at the back of his neck, pulling him closer even though I already can’t breathe.
“You think you don’t belong to me?” he growls, words broken against my lips, his hand fisting my hair until I arch. “Then I’ll fuck the doubt out of you right here until you never forget whose you are.”
The counter bites into my hips as he yanks me against him. Hard. Unapologetic. My thighs part instinctively, and he’s there, already pushing, already claiming. His mouth bruises my jaw, my throat, his teeth catching the skin like he wants to brand me everywhere at once.
I choke on a moan, tears still wet on my face, and he catches them with his tongue, savage. “Cry for me, baby girl. Cry and let me fill you.”
The sound that rips out of me is half sob, half scream. He drives into me with a violence that feels like worship, like punishment, like every ounce of fury he has at the world being buried inside me until there’s nothing left but his claim.
The kitchen fills with the obscene slap of skin, the sharp rattle of cabinet doors, my desperate cries echoing off the walls. His hand clamps my throat, tilting my head back so he can watch me unravel. His eyes burn down into mine, feral, endless.
“You think Rafe gets to touch what’s mine?” he snarls between thrusts, every word punctuated with brutal, perfect rhythm. “You think anyone does? No. You’re fucking mine, Brooklyn. Say it.”
I sob, broken, breathless, clawing at him. “Yours?—”
“Louder.” His hand squeezes.
“Yours!” I scream, the sound cracking into a cry as pleasure shreds through me.
His mouth crashes over mine, swallowing the confession like blood. And when I break apart, shaking, screaming his name, he doesn’t stop. He pounds it deeper, fucking me through the storm until there’s nothing left but the ruin of me—and his possession stamped over every trembling piece.
The kitchen reeks of sweat, tears, salt, sex. My body collapses, trembling, but he doesn’t let me fall. His arm wraps around me, his chest heaving against mine, lips dragging over my hair, my ear, my mouth, still whispering the only thing that matters.
“Mine. Mine. Mine.”
When he finally slows, the world still shakes, the frenzy subsides, leaving only the sound of ragged breaths and the sting of his grip on my skin. My legs give, but he catches me, hauling me against his chest before lowering us both to the kitchen floor.
Tile cold against my spine, his warmth heavy over me, he doesn’t move for a long time. Just breathes. Just keeps his forehead pressed to mine like he’s holding me here, grounding himself in the proof of me.
When he speaks, it’s not the commanding growl I expect. It’s low. Uneven.
“Brooklyn…” My name on his lips is rough, torn. His hand lifts, brushing damp hair from my temple, fingertips tracing like he’s memorising me for the last time. “You do not know how far gone I am.”
My throat tightens. My chest aches. I search his face, expecting steel, control—but all I find is a man stripped raw, cracks running through him like lightning.
“You think this is about sex? About games?” His voice breaks, just once, before he steadies it. “I wake up wanting you. I go to bed fighting the urge to drag you into my room and never let you leave. Every minute you’re in this house, I’m holding myself back from ruining you completely.”
Tears sting my eyes again, softer this time, aching. “Dean?—”
“No.” His thumb presses to my lips, silencing me, his eyes fierce even as they shine with something dangerously close to vulnerability. “Listen to me. I tried to keep this simple. I told myself I didn’t want a relationship. That I couldn’t. But you—” His jaw tightens, his chest heaves against mine. “You got under my skin. You’re in my fucking blood. I’d burn everything down before I let anyone take you from me.”
My heart feels too big for my chest. I can’t stop the tears spilling over, hot against his hand as he cups my face. “Dean… I?—”
He kisses me. Soft this time. Gentle. The complete opposite of the feral ruin that came before, but it wrecks me even more. His lips tremble against mine, like he’s not just kissing me, he’s giving me something he’s given no one else.
When he pulls back, his voice is raw silk. “You belong with me. Not because I say so. Not because I take you. But because I can’t breathe without you anymore, Brooklyn. I don’t even want to try.”
I choke on a sob, clinging to him, burying my face in his chest as his arms wrap around me, holding me like he’s terrified I’ll disappear. He rocks me gently against the cool kitchen floor, whispers pressing into my hair like promises.
“I’m yours,” he murmurs, as if admitting it costs him everything. “Even if I never deserved you. Even if it kills me.”
And for the first time since this began, I don’t feel like prey in his hands.
