God. Her voice sounds broken.
She reaches for the back of her dress, pulling down the zipper. Then it falls over her tits and down her body, pooling at her feet.
My pulse stutters. Not because I’m horny.
Because she trusts me with her softness even after tonight.
Bruised and hurting.
She still reaches for me first.
“Firefly…”
Tears slide down her cheeks while she steps closer, pressing my hands against her waist. “Please,” she whispers. “I need you more than I need revenge tonight,” she says, and her words nearly fucking ruin me.
I stare down at her bruised skin while my chest caves in completely, because she’s standing here, naked and trembling, asking me to stay… while another man put those marks on her just an hour ago.
My rage shifts instantly after that.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But redirected.
Possessive. Protective. Needy in the ugliest way.
I grip her hips hard enough to make her gasp softly before crushing my mouth against her.
The kiss turns desperate.
Not sweet. Not gentle.
We kiss like two people trying to forget the rest of the world exists.
Ophelia climbs into my arms while I carry her toward the bed unable to stop touching her. Her mouth tastes like tears, heartbreak, and home.
Always home.
“You’re mine,” I growl against her throat.
“I know.”
The answer almost breaks me because she says it so easily. Like she’s accepted it down to her bones.
I lay her on the bed, caging her in as I shove my face in the crook of her neck. Her hands reach between us and fumbles with my jeans.
“Let me just hold you. No sex. Just–” I trail off because I’m so afraid if I sink inside her with all the rage I’m desperately trying to hold in, I may hurt her and I don’t ever want to do that. Especially after what he did to her.
She whimpers but leaves my jeans and curls her fingers into my hair.
“You expect me to have you in my bed and not want you?” she asks, and I chuckle.
“Baby, trust me.” I snap my hips. “I know you feel it. But right now, I need to make sure MY girl is okay,” I whisper against her throat.
I roll us onto our sides as her hands snake under my hoodie, needing to touch my heated skin.
“He’s getting worse,” she whispers quietly.
