I clean myself up as best I can. The bathroom is small but functional—toilet, sink, shower. I use toilet paper to wipe away the evidence of what we just did, then wash my hands and splash cold water on my face.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror above the sink.
My hair is a mess. My cheeks are flushed. My lips are swollen from kissing. I look thoroughly fucked.
I look happy.
When's the last time I looked happy?
I can't remember.
I take a few more deep breaths. Try to steady my racing heart. Try to process what just happened.
I had sex with Marcus Cole. With Reckless. The man who saved me less than twenty-four hours ago. The man who's currently protecting me from armed men and a dangerous millionaire who thinks he owns me.
We barely know each other.
And it was the best sex of my entire life.
I should probably feel guilty about that. Should probably be overthinking this, spiraling into anxiety about what it means, whether I'm making another terrible decision, whether this is just adrenaline and fear making me do reckless things.
But I don't feel guilty.
I feel alive.
For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I feel like I'm actually living instead of just surviving.
I open the bathroom door.
Marcus is sitting on the edge of the bed. He's put his briefs back on but nothing else. His chest is still heaving slightly. Sweat rolls down his six-pack abs, traces the defined lines of his pecs, the ridges of muscle that make him look like he was carved from stone.
He looks up when I enter. Those dark eyes track my movement as I cross the small room.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah." I sit down next to him. Not touching but close enough to feel his body heat. "You?"
"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. It's damp with sweat. "That was—"
"Intense?" I offer.
"Fucking incredible." He looks at me. "You're incredible."
My cheeks flush. "I don't know about that."
"I do." He says it with such certainty. Like it's a fact, not an opinion. "Best sex I've ever had, Nora. And I'm not just saying that."
"Me too." The admission slips out. "I've never… No one's ever made me feel like that before."
"Good." There's possession in his voice. Something primal and territorial that should probably scare me.
It doesn't.
"So," I start. "What happens now?"
Marcus looks at the locked door. At the walls that separate us from the rest of the Iron Pit. From the Savage Riders handling Castellano's men. From the real world waiting outside.
"Now we figure out what comes next," he says. "With Castellano. With keeping you safe. With—"
