Page 164 of Reaper Daddy


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Her hands frame my face.

“Look at me,” she says.

I do.

Her eyes burn. Not with lust. With knowing.

“This ain’t desperation,” she says. “Ain’t the end of the world. We’re not fucking for survival. We’re doing this because I want you. All of you. The man and the weapon.”

I kiss her before she can finish, because anything I say would come out as worship.

She rocks harder, taking me deeper. Her breath shatters. Mine follows.

Her nails bite into my shoulders.

“You’re so deep,” she pants. “God—Tur—I can feel you everywhere.”

I slide my hands to her ass, guiding her pace, and lift into her on every stroke. Each time she sinks back down, the friction drives pleasure through me like a blade.

“I’m not gonna last,” I warn.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispers. “I want all of it.”

And gods help me—I give it.

I thrust into her with everything I’ve got. The pallet creaks. Our bodies slap. Sweat slicks our skin. She breaks apart in my arms, trembling, cursing, gasping my name like a spell.

Her pussy clamps down and that’s it.

I come with a guttural sound, burying myself deep as I spill inside her, her name burned into every corner of my mind.

We collapse together, breathless.

Kim drapes herself over my chest, kisses my jaw, my throat, the scar over my left shoulder.

“Still breathing?” she teases.

“Barely.”

“Good. Would’ve been awkward explaining a death by orgasm.”

I chuckle. She laughs with me. The war’s not over. The city’s still bleeding.

But for one night, I’m whole.

Not a weapon.

Not a warning.

Just hers.

CHAPTER 29

KIMBERLY

The safehouse lights hum overhead, too bright, too white, turning everyone’s faces into something brittle and sharp-edged. The city outside is quieter than it should be, the kind of quiet that isn’t peace so much as a held breath before a scream.

I stand at the head of the folding table with my palms flat on the scarred metal surface, staring down at a map of the Fierson District that’s been so marked up with grease pencil and digital overlays it barely looks like a neighborhood anymore. It looks like a wound diagram.