But his mouth was on mine again, hot water pounding over us, washing away the night until nothing was left but heat and him. I clung to him, the cold tile at my back, his body pressing me into the steam. When his hands finally lifted me, I wrapped around him without hesitation.
The world blurred, water hissing, lips colliding, bruises forgotten under the firestorm of his touch. When he carried me dripping back to the bed, it felt less like surrender and more like inevitability.
He shoved me back onto the mattress, the frame rattling hard against the wall. His body pinned mine, heat and danger surrounding me, but beneath the fury there was restraint, his weight holding me there, not crushing, his touch fierce yet careful around the places I hurt.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice like gravel dragged over steel. His teeth bit into my throat hard enough to leave marks. “You hear me, Lucy? Not theirs. Not the club’s. Not anyone’s. Fucking mine.”
“Yes.” I gasped, nails carving lines down his back, desperate to keep him close.
He tore open the condom with his teeth, sheathing himself in seconds, then slammed into me in one hard thrust that made me cry out. He didn’t give me time to breathe, his hips driving forward again, deeper, harder, like he wanted to split me open and stake a claim inside my body.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed against my jaw, rutting into me. “Wet and ready for me, like you’ve been waiting years. Like you knew I’d come back for you.”
I arched, whimpering as he pounded into me. “Jay?—”
His hand wrapped around my throat, with enough pressure to remind me who held me down. His ice-blue stare burned into mine. “Reaper,” he corrected, thrusting hard enough to make the bed crash against the wall again. “Say it when you scream for me. Let them all hear whose cock is inside you.”
“Reaper,” I moaned. The name tore from my lips as he ground against me, relentless.
His grip tightened on my hips, bruising, dragging me into every savage thrust. “You belong to me. This pussy. This body. Every fucking sound you make is mine. No one else gets this. Not the bastards who grabbed you, not the ghosts of your past. I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries.”
I bucked under him, trembling, already teetering on the edge as he drove me mercilessly higher. “Don’t stop?—”
“Not stopping ‘til you’re ruined for anyone else,” he snarled, teeth scraping my ear. “‘Til you can’t even think of another man without feeling me splitting you open. You get that, Princess? I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll forget your own goddamn name before you forget mine.”
“Yes! God, yes!”
His thrusts turned brutal, each one harder than the last, until my cries filled the room. “Thought I lost you,” he rasped, raw and ragged. “When they laid hands on you, I saw red. I’ll burn this whole fucking town to the ground before I let them take you again.”
My orgasm tore through me like fire, blinding, shattering, my scream muffled by his mouth crushing mine in a savage kiss. My body convulsed around him, clenching tight, dragging him under with me.
“Fuck, Lucy—” His groan was deep, guttural, his rhythm breaking as he slammed into me one last time and spilled hot inside the condom, every muscle in his body shaking as he held me down, locked against me like he’d never let go.
We collapsed together, slick with sweat, bruised, tangled. His chest heaved against mine, his hand cupping my jaw rough but trembling.
“They can have my blood, my patch, my life,” he rasped. “But not you. Never you. I’ll put every bastard in the ground before they lay a finger on what’s mine.”
And when I looked into his eyes, I believed every filthy, dangerous word.
Chapter 40
Reaper
Ishouldn’t have wanted her like that, when she was marked up, and Caleb’s ghost was still between us. But Christ, I couldn’t stop, not when she’d asked me to stay, not when she said she wanted me.
I’d claimed her, not in front of the club, she wasn’t ready for that, but she was more. More than a one-night distraction, more than the fire I tried to smother. She was mine in a way that scared the hell out of me. Not because I doubted her, but because wanting her that much meant there were a thousand ways to lose her—to Bishop and the Fangs. To the blood still owed for Caleb. To the club, if they ever turned on me. She wasn’t only the light in my darkness, she was the one thing I couldn’t afford to break, and I was built to break things.
I’d been sure she’d run. The second she saw me lose control, saw the Reaper instead of the man, part of me was convinced she’d turn on her heel and never look back. Most people did. That’s what violence did—it showed you the truth under the skin, stripped away the lies of loyalty and charm until all that was left was bone and blood, but Lucy didn’t flinch.
She’d stood in the storm, staring me down with those fire-grey eyes like she’d been waiting for me to snap. Like she wanted to see the monster and measure it for herself.
After the first time with her, I thought I’d be satisfied, but the connection with Lucy still burned beneath my skin, coiling tight and relentless. I wanted more of her, more of the way she made the dark parts of me feel alive.
Riot, Keno, and Link were already gathering brothers in the main room, their voices low but sharp with focus. The weight of what we’d lost, what I could’ve lost, and what was still on the line pressed down like a vice.
I locked eyes with Riot. “We move fast. We hit hard. No mistakes.”
Link nodded, fingers tapping impatiently on the table. “Intel says the Fangs won’t expect us this soon.”
