“So am I.” His eyes are serious as he stares down at me. “I’d never hurt you like that, Rowan.”
He kisses me gently, and with one savage thrust, he sheathes himself fully inside me. I cry out, the sudden stretch burning deliciously. He's thicker than I remember, filling me to the brim. He doesn't pause, and he pulls back and slams in again, setting a relentless pace.
The bed frame rattles against the wall, each impact jarring through my body. His free hand grips my hip, fingers digging in, bruising as he holds me in place for his onslaught. I've had rough sex before, but nothing like this. It’s intense, overwhelming, like he's pouring every ounce of pent-up need into me. Sweat beads on his skin, dripping onto mine. Our bodies slap together, the sound obscene and erotic.
"Take it," he commands, voice strained. He releases my wrists to grab both thighs, pushing them back toward my chest, folding me in half. The angle lets him drive deeper, his cock grinding against my G-spot with every thrust. Pressure builds fast, coiling tight in my belly.
I claw at his back, nails raking down, leaving red trails. "Harder," I beg, meeting his thrusts with my hips.
He obliges, pounding into me with abandon. One hand slips to my breast, pinching the nipple roughly. The sharp sensation pushes me closer. His mouth finds the other breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing.
"You feel so good," he grunts, hips snapping faster. "Tight. Perfect."
The coil snaps. My orgasm rips through me, walls clenching around him in waves. I scream, as my body convulses. My toes curl. He fucks me through it, not slowing, extending the bliss until tears prick my eyes.
But he's not done. He pulls out abruptly, flipping me onto my stomach. "Ass up," he orders, voice thick.
I rise to my knees, face down in the pillow. He spreads my cheeks, entering from behind in one brutal push. I moan, the new depth hitting differently, more primal. His hands grip my ass, squeezing, spreading. He thrusts hard, balls slapping my clit with each motion.
"Fuck, look at you," he says, one hand sliding up my spine to fist my hair. He pulls, arching my back, controlling me completely. The tug on my scalp sends tingles everywhere. He spanks me—sharp, stinging slaps that make my skin heat. Each one jolts through me, heightening the pleasure.
No one's ever dominated me like this, turned me into a writhing mess of need. Past lovers were gentle, predictable. Sin is fire, consuming everything.
His other hand reaches around, fingers finding my clit, rubbing furiously. "Come again," he demands.
I do, shattering harder than before. My pussy pulses around him, milking his dick. He groans, thrusts erratic now, chasing his own release. With a final deep push, he comes, hot spurts filling me. His body shudders over mine, weight pressing me down.
We collapse in a heap, breaths ragged. He rolls to the side, pulling me against him. His hand strokes my back gently now, a stark contrast to moments ago.
"Jesus," I whisper, body still trembling.
He chuckles, kissing my forehead. "Good morning to you too."
We lie there, tangled, as the afterglow settles. Happiness surges again, mingled with that profound safety. In his arms, the world outside fades.
Now, post-sex haze, doubts whisper. What if this jeopardizes the protection? His job? But as he nuzzles my neck, those fade. This feels right.
We rise eventually, bodies sore in the best way. In the bathroom, I catch my reflection—hair mussed, neck marked with hickeys, lips swollen. I look alive. I’m glowing.
He joins me under the shower spray, water cascading over us. Hands soap each other, touches lingering. He washes my hair, fingers massaging my scalp. I return the favor, tracing his tattoos—a cross for fallen comrades, dates inked in memory. We kiss under the stream, slow and deep as steam fogs the glass.
Dressed in fresh clothes from our go-bags, we head to the kitchen. He scrambles eggs while I brew coffee, the domesticity strangely comforting. We eat at the table, feet tangled under it.
A girl could get used to this.
ELEVEN
SIN
Three days in a safe house turns into its own kind of world. Time stops behaving like it does everywhere else. Mornings are coffee, protein, and drills. Afternoons are more drills, then quiet stretches where Rowan tries to act like she isn’t counting the minutes between updates from Cal. Nights are the hardest. Not because the house is unsafe. Because she’s in it with me.
We crossed a line the first time we kissed. We crossed another the first night I didn’t leave her bed. I tell myself it was inevitable. Two people under pressure. Fear and adrenaline. Proximity. Heat. That’s what I tell myself because it’s cleaner than the truth.
The truth is I wanted her long before I touched her. Now I know exactly what she tastes like. I know the sound she makes when she forgets to be brave for a second. I know how she fits against me like she was built for my arms.
And I know I should want to run.
Instead, I’m sitting with her on the couch in the dim glow of a lamp, a quiet evening wrapped around us like a blanket. Thehouse smells like the simple dinner we ate an hour ago and the faint citrus of the cleaner I used on the counters afterward. Outside, the trees stand black against a darkening sky. Crickets sing. The world keeps moving even when we don’t.
