He rips it upward, completely exposing my bare chest to the cool air of the study. He doesn't bother with foreplay. He doesn't bother with worship. This is a violent, primal claiming. It is the absolute, terrified need to completely imprint himself onto my soul before the bullets start flying.
He tears the button of my tactical pants open, shoving the heavy fabric and my lace underwear down my thighs. I kick them away, completely freeing my legs.
He unzips his trousers with frantic, one-handed desperation.
He positions himself at my entrance. He stares down at me, his face a terrifying mask of bruised exhaustion and obsessive hunger.
"If this is the end of the world," Thayer whispers, his voice a dark, lethal hum, "I am going out exactly where I belong."
He drives his hips forward, burying his thick, heavy length completely inside me with one ruthless, devastating thrust.
A sharp, high cry entirely tears from my throat. My internal muscles clamp down violently, completely accepting the massive intrusion. The pain of the unyielding entry is instantly swallowed by a heavy, scalding wave of absolute fullness.
Thayer goes completely rigid against me, his head falling forward to rest heavily on my shoulder. A harsh, ragged groan vibrates from his chest, his uninjured hand gripping my hip with bone-crushing force.
"Sybil," he breathes, his skin slick with a cold, feverish sweat.
He begins to move. The rhythm is not the slow, punishing pace of the motel room. It is a frantic, desperate, incredibly violent tempo. He pulls back almost completely before slamming his hips down, driving himself to the hilt over and over again. The heavy, wetslapof our bodies colliding echoes loudly over the distant sound of the ocean.
I completely surrender to the violence of his possession. The desk digs into my back, the heavy iron of the assault rifles pressing against my arms, completely surrounding us in thetools of our impending destruction. The sheer friction ignites a blinding, white-hot fire in the center of my core.
My head tosses from side to side, short, fractured cries completely escaping my lips.
"Take it," he growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my neck, entirely marking me with his bite. "Take all of it."
I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, completely locking him inside me. I want to pull him entirely into my own skin, to shield him from the FBI, from my brother, from the absolute hell that is about to rain down on this island.
The climax hits me with the catastrophic force of a bomb.
My vision completely whites out. A loud, melodic scream rips from my throat as my inner walls spasm violently, repeatedly milking his heavy length in tight, scalding waves. I completely lose control of my body, my fingernails digging brutally into his back, my chest heaving against his.
Thayer roars my name, a dark, primal sound of absolute victory that entirely drowns out the hum of the air conditioning. He drives into me one final, devastating time, entirely burying himself to the root. His massive body locks rigidly against mine as he pours his heavy, hot release deeply into my core.
He collapses heavily on top of me, entirely trapping me between his chest and the desk. We lie in the absolute, ringing silence of the study, completely fighting to drag oxygen back into our burning lungs.
He presses a desperate, lingering kiss to my damp forehead, his chest heaving violently against my breasts.
Then, the absolute silence is completely shattered.
The high-pitched, deafening wail of the perimeter proximity alarms violently erupts through the villa's speaker system. The red emergency lights built into the ceiling begin to strobe wildly, painting the white stone in flashes of violent crimson.
The cage has been breached.
Thayer instantly pulls out of me. The feral lover vanishes entirely, instantly replaced by the lethal, untouchable Don. He zips his trousers, his face turning into an impenetrable mask of cold, calculating murder.
He grabs an assault rifle from the desk, slamming a heavy magazine into the receiver with a sharp, mechanicalclack.
He turns to me. He throws the heavy dark shirt at my chest.
"Dress," Thayer commands, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
He grabs the suppressed Glock and presses it into my hand.
"The ghosts are here, Sybil," he murmurs, his pale eyes completely dead, looking toward the glass doors of the study. "Let's go feed them."
CHAPTER 29 THE AQUARIUM OF ASHES POV: THAYER
The red emergency strobes violently paint the pristine white stone of the villa, flashing with a rhythmic, blinding intensity that perfectly syncs with the catastrophic thudding of my heart.
