"You have no idea," he grinds out, his voice raw, "how long I have wanted to have you in this kitchen."
"Blake," I breathe.
Restraint snaps.
He crashes his mouth onto mine. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a collision. He devours me, his tongue marking the inside of my mouth as if he’s tasting every inch of his territory. He tastes like smoke, dark coffee, and pure, masculine hunger. He snatches my hips, hauling me upward until my pussy is crushed against the thick, throbbing ridge of his cock straining against hisdenim. He doesn't just grind; he claims, the friction so intense I can feel the heat of his pre-cum through the fabric. I’m soaked, my pussy weeping against the rough barrier of his jeans, begging for the release of his weight. When he hauls me flush against him, it sends a jolt of pure fire straight to my clit, making my inner walls twitch and weep for him. The hesitation doesn't just vanish; it’s incinerated by a raw, primal need to be occupied by the monster in front of me.
Acrid smoke fills my nose. Blake tears his mouth from mine, chest heaving. He stares at me, eyes blown wide and black, lips slick with my saliva.
"The bacon," he mutters. He curses, spinning around to snatch the pan off the burner. Smoke billows up from the charred strips.
I stand there, breathing hard. My lips throb. My blood runs hot and fast, singing with a new, dangerous energy.
"It’s ruined," he mutters, tossing the pan into the sink with a hiss of steam.
"I don't care," I say, my voice barely a whisper.
He turns back to me. The hunger is still there, dialed back but simmering just beneath the surface. He looks at my swollen lips, then at my eyes.
"Eat the eggs," he orders, voice rough. "Then we’re going down to the armory. If you’re going to stay here, you need to know how to use a weapon."
"I hate guns," I say quietly.
"I know," he says, eyes locking with mine. "But Ramon doesn't. And until I put him in the ground, you don't get the luxury of hating the things that keep you alive."
He grabs a plate, serving the eggs with aggressive movements. He slides it across the island toward me.
"Eat, Tiffany."
I pick up the fork. I eat. Because he’s right. And because the monster standing next to me is the only thing standing between me and the dark. I glance at Blake’s arm, the thick muscles flexing as he leans against the counter, watching the perimeter monitors.
"Blake?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let him take me."
Blake turns his head slowly. The expression on his face is a vow written in blood and iron. "He would have to kill every Gunnar on this mountain to touch you," he says. "And even then... my ghost would haunt him until he died screaming."
He means it. For the first time in months, the knot of fear in my chest loosens. I take another bite of eggs, watching the man who stalked me, who kidnapped me, and who just branded me with his mouth.
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."
4
BLAKE
The wind howls off the jagged face of Grizzly Peak, a mournful sound that usually settles my blood. Tonight, it sounds like a warning.
I stand on the reinforced steel deck of the Forge, the cold mountain air biting at my bare forearms. The thermal sensors on the perimeter fence glow green—all quiet in the pines. The black sedan remains absent. The two men who tried to breach Tiffany’s bakery yesterday are gone. Quiet is just the breath the devil takes before he screams.
My phone vibrates against my thigh. A text from Logan.
LOGAN
Scouts posted at the tree line. You’re clear for now. Keep her close.
I snort, mist pluming from my nose. Keep her close. As if I could do anything else. I turn back toward the heavy steel door, boots thudding against the metal grating. The need to be inside, to put my eyes on her, itches under my skin.Twenty-four hours since Ibrought her here. Twenty-four hours of torture.Every time she moves, I track her. Every time she sighs, my muscles lock.
