"You shot him," Thayer whispers, his voice a dark, ragged purr, entirely laced with a deep, twisted reverence. "You stood in the fire for me."
"I told you," I gasp, my breath hot against his lips. "I am not leaving you."
"You are completely insane," he murmurs, his thumb brushing fiercely across my lower lip, his eyes completely consuming my face.
"I am a Thorne," I throw his own words back at him, entirely claiming the darkness he infected me with.
A low, feral growl vibrates deep in his throat. He doesn't care that he is bleeding. He doesn't care that the federal government is hunting us. The only thing that exists in his universe is the absolute, undeniable proof of my devotion.
He stands up, his massive right arm sweeping behind my knees, lifting me entirely off the floor. I wrap my arms around his thick neck, completely burying my face in his shoulder as he carries me away from the slaughter on the landing.
He kicks the heavy double doors of the master suite open, carrying me back into the cavernous, freezing bedroom.
He doesn't set me down gently. He tosses me onto the center of the massive, musty velvet mattress. I bounce slightly, the dust rising in the gray light, my hair fanning out wildly over the heavy pillows.
Thayer stands at the edge of the bed, a terrifying, beautiful god of war. His chest is a canvas of blood and dark ink. His eyes are entirely black.
"Take them off," he commands, his voice dropping into a demonic, guttural register that commands absolute obedience.
I don't hesitate. My hands are frantic, my fingers completely numb with cold and adrenaline, but I desperately strip the heavy tactical pants down my hips, kicking them off the edge of the bed. I grab the hem of the dark turtleneck and pull it over my head, discarding it onto the floor.
I am completely naked. The ruined lace of my bra and underwear are gone, entirely stripped away by the violence of the morning. The freezing air of the mansion hits my bare skin, but the intense, burning heat radiating from Thayer’s gaze completely eradicates the cold.
He climbs onto the bed, his heavy knees sinking deeply into the old mattress. He crawls over me, caging my small body completely beneath his massive frame. He supports his weight on his right forearm, his bleeding left arm tucked tightly against his chest.
"This house," Thayer whispers, his face hovering inches from mine, his hot breath ghosting over my skin. "This is where Lorenzo broke me. This is where he taught me that love is a weakness. That the only way to survive is to be a monster."
"He was wrong," I breathe, reaching up, my hands entirely cupping his rough, bruised face. "You aren't a monster, Thayer. You're my husband."
The absolute purity of the claim completely shatters his control.
He crashes his mouth down onto mine, his tongue invading, entirely dominating the kiss. His right hand slides down my side, his rough palm heavily tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, before completely slipping between my thighs.
I gasp into his mouth, my spine violently arching off the mattress. I am completely soaked for him, my body entirely flush with the desperate, agonizing need to feel him inside me, tocompletely overwrite the trauma of this house with the physical proof of our survival.
He doesn't offer any preliminary preparation. We are far beyond the need for gentleness.
He unzips his trousers with frantic, one-handed desperation, pushing the heavy fabric down. The thick, hard ridge of his arousal springs free, pressing hot and branding against my inner thigh.
He positions himself at my entrance. He stares down at me, his eyes burning with a possessive fire that completely incinerates my soul.
"I am erasing him, Sybil," Thayer growls, his hips driving forward with absolute, terrifying power. "I am making this house ours."
He buries himself entirely inside me with one ruthless, devastating thrust.
A high, breathless scream completely tears from my throat. The pain is a sharp, brief tearing sensation that is instantly swallowed by a heavy, scalding wave of absolute fullness. He is massive, completely stretching me, filling the empty, hollow core of my existence until there is absolutely nothing left but him.
Thayer goes entirely rigid above me, a harsh, ragged groan vibrating out of his chest as my internal muscles clamp down violently around his thick length. The sweat from his chest drips onto my skin.
"Look at me," he demands, his voice completely raw.
I force my heavy, tear-soaked lashes open.
"You are mine," he snarls, slowly pulling back until he is almost entirely withdrawn, before driving his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt again with a heavy, wetslapof flesh that echoes loudly in the cavernous room.
"Yours," I sob, my fingernails digging brutally into his uninjured shoulder.
He begins to move. The rhythm is entirely punishing. It is a desperate, aggressive, primal claiming. He doesn't make love to me; he completely brands my nerve endings, his heavy hips slamming against mine, driving me deeper into the musty mattress with every devastating thrust.
