"I know it hurts," he snarled in my ear. "I can feel you tensing every time I bottom out. But you're taking it anyway. You need this as much as I do. Need to be used. Need to be claimed. Need to be reminded exactly who you belong to."
"Please," I begged, tears streaming from the overwhelming mix of sensations. "Harder. Make it hurt every time I breathe."
"Desperate slut," he snarled, angling his thrusts to nail my prostate while his chest pressed against my bruised back. "Come," he commanded, fist working my cock brutally. "Showme how much you love being used. How much you need the pain with the pleasure."
One more pump, and I came with a pathetic groan, vision narrowing to a single point, body convulsing around him. The orgasm ripped through me with violent intensity, my ribs protesting every spasm, adding sharp counterpoint to the pleasure. I was still shaking when he followed, slamming deep and holding there as he filled me.
"Mine," he growled, grinding deeper despite my whimper of pain. "Worth every scar. Every bullet. Every broken bone."
We collapsed together, him still buried inside me, both of us wrecked. My ribs throbbed in time with my heartbeat, each breath a reminder of what we'd survived. His cum started to leak out around his softening cock, and he made a disapproving noise.
"No," he said, reaching for something on the nightstand. "You're keeping it all."
I gasped as he withdrew and immediately replaced his cock with a plug, sealing his release inside me. The fullness made me whimper.
"Perfect," he said, turning me to face him. "Now you'll remember who you belong to. Every time you move. Every time you breathe."
His hand cupped my face, thumb tracing my swollen lips. The gentleness after such intensity made my eyes water again, and I teared up for a second time.
"Was that what you needed?" he asked softly. "To be used? Claimed? Reminded exactly what you are to me?"
"Yes," I whispered. "That was everything I needed. Everything I ever wanted."
"Good." He kissed me, deep and possessive but somehow tender too. "Because we're not done. I've got years of fantasiesto work through. But first, sleep. You're going to need your strength."
I curled against him, our bodies fitting together. The plug inside me was his mark, his claim, one of many we'd left on each other over the years.
"When I thought you were dead," he said against my neck, voice low, "I realized there would be nothing left worth keeping."
I turned in his arms, ignoring the protest of my ribs, to face him. "I'm not sorry. Not for any of it." My hand found his face in the dark. "I'd burn it all again if necessary."
His fingers wrapped around my wrist. "That's why this works. We understand each other's damage."
The rain fell harder outside, drumming against the windows of the house that would now hold both of us. We'd built Spade Tower together, piece by brutal piece. We'd ended lives without hesitation when necessary. We'd crafted an empire on ruthlessness and calculated risk.
But this was what it came down to: his body against mine, his cum inside me, his claim renewed. Everything else was just infrastructure.
"I love you," I said, the words no longer foreign on my tongue after the night before Macau, after everything we'd finally admitted. They were still terrifying to speak and still necessary.
I pressed closer. The plug shifted inside me. Tomorrow, Xavier would take the empire we'd built. Tomorrow the world would watch Algerone Caisse-Etremont step back from Lucky Losers and let his son reshape what we'd created.
They wouldn't see this. They'd never know what we became in the dark.
We didn't speak of sons or empires or consequences. We didn't speak of the woman I'd driven to her death or the years I'd stolen or the violence we'd both chosen when it served us. None of that had changed. I was still the man who'd burned his worldto keep him. He was still the boy who'd caved in his stepfather's skull and felt nothing but calm.
We were the same creatures we'd always been. We'd just stopped lying about it.
His hand tightened on my hip. I let myself sink into the only truth that mattered: I would do all of it again. Every lie. Every cruelty. Every unforgivable thing that had brought me here, to his bed, with his mark inside me and his hand on my skin.
I'd told him I would burn it all again if necessary.
And I meant it.
The triplets had takenover Algerone's house.
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Xander arrange canapés on a platter I didn't recognize while Xavier directed caterers I hadn't hired. Xion was in the backyard with Boone, stringing lights. Leo had commandeered the sound system. Ash was doing something security-related that involved speaking quietly into his phone while scanning every entrance.
One month ago, I would have orchestrated all of this. I’d have been responsible for selecting the caterers, approving the menu, coordinating the timeline down to fifteen-minute increments. Instead, I was holding a glass of wine someone had pressed into my hand and trying not to reorganize the appetizer station.
