I kiss her again, swallowing the cry as she starts to come, shaking against my chest, body trembling, her climax ripping through her in waves.
Her pussy milks my cock, tight and wet and perfect, and I can’t hold back anymore. I thrust up into her, hard, fast, rough.
She sobs my name—over and over—and I feel it snap inside me.
I come with a roar, my seed flooding deep, my vision blacking at the edges as the aftershock nearly buckles me.
She slumps against my chest, sweaty and panting.
We’re still in a warzone.
Still bleeding.
But for a few perfect seconds—this vault is heaven.
CHAPTER 22
SABLE
The floor still smells faintly like scorched polymer and adrenaline, cold against my back, gritty where debris didn’t quite get swept aside during the chaos. My calf is hooked over his thigh, my shoulder pressed into his chest. Everything hurts in that loose, honest way that means I’m still alive.
Voltar breathes beneath me—slow now. Heavy. Each inhale lifts his ribs, each exhale rumbles like distant thunder. His skin is warm where it presses against mine, almost too warm, the residual heat of someone who was just very recently made of violence.
I trace my fingers along his side without really thinking about it. It’s instinct. I do it the same way I check a client’s scalp for burns or irritation—slow, careful, reverent. My fingertips skim muscle, scar tissue, old damage mapped into him like a history lesson written in flesh.
I stop before I reach the injury.
I don’t say anything at first. I just… hover. Like if I don’t touch it, it won’t be real.
He notices anyway. Of course he does.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
I glance up. His eyes are half-lidded, golden and soft in a way that still knocks the wind out of me. No bravado. No grin. Just him.
“You’re hovering,” he adds, gently amused.
“I’m being cautious,” I say. My voice comes out quieter than I intend. “There’s a difference.”
“Mm.” His mouth quirks. “Is that what you call it?”
I finally let my fingers rest against his ribs again, deliberately skirting the bandage, the place where the med-gel hasn’t fully set. My touch is light, exploratory, like I’m reassuring myself he’s solid. That he didn’t vanish the second the danger stopped.
“I don’t want to lose this,” I say.
The words slip out before I can overthink them. No polish. No defensive humor. Just truth, raw and unfiltered.
The second they leave my mouth, I tense.
I wait for the joke. The deflection. The cocky line.
Instead, Voltar shifts just enough to turn toward me. He catches my hand before I can pull it back, his fingers curling around mine—huge, warm, steady. He brings my knuckles to his mouth and kisses them, slow and deliberate, like it’s a vow instead of a gesture.
“You won’t,” he says.
I huff a laugh that’s more breath than sound. “You say that like you can control the universe.”
His eyes flick up to mine, dead serious now. “I’ll burn galaxies first.”
