"I don't need a savior anymore, Blake," I whisper against his skin, tasting the iron. "I need the man who burns the world down for me."
He stares at me, his expression fracturing. The stoic mask he wears—the soldier, the enforcer, the stalker—crumbles, revealing the man beneath. A man terrified that he is too broken to be loved.
"Let's go inside," I say softly. He nods once and opens the door.
Inside The Forge, the air feels cool and smells of cold iron and polished wood. Blake moves through the space with restless energy, shedding his tactical gear piece by piece. The ballistic vest lands with a heavy thud on the floor. The belt follows. He stands in the center of the living room in his blood-spattered t-shirt and jeans, looking out the massive windows at the dark valley below.
I watch him from the doorway. I need to wash the day off me, but I can't leave him. He is vibrating with adrenaline, the crash coming down hard and fast.
"He had a detonator," Blake says, his voice low and mechanical. He is replaying the tactical data, the what-ifs. "He rigged the gas line. If I had been two seconds slower... if I hadn't seen the wire..."
I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against the center of his back. He feels solid,warm, unshakeable. "But you weren't slow. You saw it. You're always watching."
He turns in my arms, his movements sudden and desperate. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me into his hard frame so fast my feet almost leave the floor.
"I almost lost you," he groans, his voice cracking. "I've spent months watching you, Tiff. Every morning. Every night. Learning how you take your coffee, the way you smile when you pull fresh bread from the oven. I told myself I was just doing a job."
He pulls back, his dark eyes burning into mine. "But the job turned into a fucking obsession. I was drowning in you. And today... when I saw him near you... I realized I would burn the entire world to ash just to keep you safe. I would become the villain in everyone else's story if it meant you were the heroine in mine."
My heart hammers against my ribs. This was the truth, raw and bleeding.
"I don't want a hero, Blake," I say, reaching up to tangle my fingers in his dark, messy hair. "Ramon was a 'nice guy' to the world, and a monster behind closed doors. You? You're a monster to the world. You snarl and you break bones. But with me? You built me a steel rose. You handle me like I'm made of glass even though you could crush me with one hand. I choose the monster, Blake. I choose you."
A low sound rumbles in his chest, a primal, possessive note of pure dominance. "You don't know what you're asking for. I'm never letting you go. Not ever. I’m going to watch you everysecond of every day because I can't breathe when you're not in my sights."
"Good," I breathe, rising up on my toes. "Watch me."
He doesn't give me a chance to say another word. His mouth crushes mine, a searing brand of ownership. He kisses me like he is starving, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, demanding and hot, tasting of copper and desperation.
"Bedroom," he orders against my lips. "Now."
He doesn't wait for me to walk. He bends down, driving his shoulder into my stomach and lifting me into a fireman's carry. He carries me through the house like a prize of war, kicking his bedroom door open with a force that shakes the walls. He slams the door and throws the deadbolt. He lets me slide down his body, but before my feet hit the floor, he is ripping his shirt over his head.
"I'm going to mark you so deep you'll never remember his name," he snarls. He grabs the front of my shirt and tears it open, buttons flying as he exposes my breasts. He doesn't tease; he lunges, his mouth devouring one nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin until I scream.
His hands are everywhere, stripping my jeans and panties away in a frantic, rough blur until I am bared to his black, hungry gaze. He drops to his knees, shoving my legs wide and burying his face in my pussy.
His tongue is a thick, hot muscle, lashing against my swollen clit with a punishing rhythm. I claw at his shoulders as he drinks my juices, the sound of his wet, rhythmic licking filling the room.
He stands up, his breathing a harsh, jagged growl. He doesn't bother with finesse; he shoves his jeans and boxers down in one violent motion, kicking them away. His cock springs free—a thick, vein-corded pillar of angry, engorged muscle that throbs with his heavy heartbeat, glistening with pre-cum.
"Look at it, Tiffany," he commands, his voice a low vibration that rattles my bones. "Look at what you do to me."
Before I can even gasp, he grabs my hips with hands like iron manacles and flips me, shoving me face-down onto the mattress. He looms over me, the scent of leather, sweat, and pure, unadulterated male musk filling my senses.
"Mine," he snarls, his hand reaching around to grip my throat as he guides his head to my entrance.
He thrusts home, his entire length burying itself inside me in one lung-emptying drive that makes the head of his cock bottom out against my womb. I scream, my body bowing as I am stretched to the point of breaking, the wet, slapping sound of his hips driving against my thighs and ass echoing through the room. I am completely occupied, filled to the absolute brim by his thick, pulsing weight.
I shatter, my soaked pussy convulsing as my juices spill over his thick shaft, and seconds later he roars, his body tensing as he buries himself hilt-deep to flood my womb with his hot, thick seed, marking the deepest part of me as his territory forever. He holds me there, pinned and occupied, until every drop of his claim is inside me.
Slowly, Blake withdraws. The sound of his cock sliding out of my over-stretched pussy is a wet, heavy pop that leaves me feeling staggeringly hollow. I let out a broken whimper at the loss of hisweight, my inner walls still twitching, trying to milk a phantom presence.
He doesn’t let me collapse.
"Stay still," he commands, his voice a jagged edge.
He leaves the bed for only a moment, his massive, naked form a silhouette of scarred bronze in the moonlight. I watch through heavy lids, my body humming with a bone-deep ache. He returns with a basin of warm water and a soft cloth. This is the monster's aftercare—methodical, silent, and intensely possessive.
