“I’m yours.”
I ripped my belt off. Undid my pants. Freed my cock. And thrust into her in one brutal, breath-stealing movement. Her scream wasn’t pain. It was coming home.
I fucked her like I didn’t care if the world burned down around us. Because I didn’t. Because I would burn it myself.
Her hands clawed at my shoulders. My back. My hair. Her legs wrapped around me.
She took every thrust like it was survival. And I gave her every inch like it was salvation.
I didn’t stop. Not when she started to tremble. Not when she begged. Not when she came.
I chased it.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Until the word didn’t feel like a claim. It felt like a vow. And when I came inside her, I buried my face in her neck and breathed her name like a confession.
30
CLOE
It started with a memory.
Not loud. Not clear. Just a flicker. A scent.
Warm dust. Cedarwood. Velvet.
Camille’s voice didn’t come back all at once.
It slipped in like fog. Like the moment between sleep and waking where nothing is sharp yet, and everything hurts just a little too much.
I was still in Wolfe’s bed. Barron’s fingerprints carved into my thighs. The sheets smelled like everything I couldn’t name. Sex. Shame. Worship.
Wolfe stood near the window, shirtless, jaw tight, his pen scratching something across the surface of a notepad. The war plan. The next blow.
But I wasn’t looking at him.
I was looking at the shadows. At the space beside the bed where a sliver of moonlight caught the edge of the floorboard, and something in me began to shake.
I closed my eyes.
And Camille whispered.
Keep it. Just in case.She’d said it like a joke. But Camille never meant anything lightly.If they come for me, you’ll know.
I sat up too fast. My breath hitched. My ribs ached.
Wolfe turned immediately.
“What is it?”
I shook my head.
He was halfway across the room before I could form the words.
