And then she's surging up, claiming my mouth in a desperate kiss that tastes like gratitude and need and something deeper neither of us is ready to name. I haul her into my lap, her legs straddling my thighs, her core pressing against my rapidly hardening cock.
"Need you," she breathes against my mouth. "Now. Please."
We don't make it to the bedroom. Don't even make it out of the bathroom. I stand, lifting her with me, and lower her to the tile floor. Her hands pull frantically at my clothes, and I help, shucking my jacket, my shirt, revealing more bruises and cuts from the fight.
She gasps at the sight but doesn't stop, her hands moving to my belt, working it open with newfound urgency. I push her dress up around her waist, yank her panties down her legs. No time for slow. Not now. Not with adrenaline still pumping through my veins, with the primal need to claim what I just defended.
"Gray," she moans as I position myself between her thighs, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance. She's already wet, ready for me. Always ready.
"Daddy," I correct, pushing inside in one smooth thrust that makes her cry out. "Say it."
"Daddy!" She arches beneath me, taking me deeper. "Please, Daddy, fuck me."
I lose my mind at her filthy plea, setting a punishing pace that has her sliding against the tile with each thrust. One hand braces beside her head, the other grips her hip hard enough to bruise.
"Now let Daddy breed you hard," I growl against her neck, biting down on the tender skin where her pulse races. "Fill you with my seed until you forget the world."
She whimpers, legs wrapping around my waist to pull me deeper. "Yes, yes, please?—"
"This is why I hunt for you," I tell her, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "Why I bleed for you. To keep this pussy safe. To keep it mine."
Her nails rake down my back, adding fresh stings to my collection of injuries. I don't care. The pain only heightens the pleasure, reminds me I'm alive. We're both alive.
"Gonna fill you up," I promise, feeling my release building. "Put my baby in you so everyone knows who you belong to."
"Yours," she gasps, her inner walls beginning to flutter around me. "Only yours, Daddy. Always?—"
Her words cut off as orgasm claims her, her body arching beneath mine, pussy clenching rhythmically around my cock. The sight of her coming undone—because of me,forme—pushes me over the edge. I bury myself deep inside her and let go, pumping her full of my seed with a roar that echoes off the bathroom walls.
We lie tangled on the cold tile, catching our breath, sweat cooling on our skin. I'm still inside her, unwilling to break the connection. Her fingers trace patterns on my shoulder, careful to avoid the fresh bruises.
"Thank you," she whispers, turning to press a kiss to my bicep. "For protecting me."
I nuzzle into her neck, breathing in her scent mixed with mine. "Always will."
And I mean it. Will hunt down every threat. Will kill if necessary. Will burn the fucking world if it means keeping her safe. The intensity of this feeling should scare me. Instead, it feels like purpose. Like the reason I survived all those years of violence and darkness.
To find her. To claim her. To keep her.
Forever.
nine
. . .
Beck
Two weeks living with Gray,and I've stopped counting the days like a prisoner. Stopped watching the roads for escape routes. Stopped pretending I don't crave his hands on me, his voice in my ear calling me "baby girl," his massive body covering mine as he claims me again and again. I should be terrified of him still—the man who hunted me, who hurts others to protect me, who watches me with an intensity that borders on obsession. Instead, I find myself watching him back, memorizing the way his shoulders flex when he chops wood, the rare softness in his eyes when he catches me looking, the gentleness of his scarred hands when he tucks my hair behind my ear.
The blood on his knuckles from three days ago has scabbed over. I cleaned those wounds myself, kneeling between his legs like a supplicant before an altar. Should have been horrified by what he'd done to the bounty hunter. Instead, something primal inside me had responded to his violence—not the act itself, but the knowledge that he would fight for me. Kill for me. No one has ever thought I was worth protecting before.
Night has fallen over the cabin, rain pattering softly against the windows. Gray sits at the kitchen table, cleaning his gun again—a ritual I've grown accustomed to. His fingers move with practiced efficiency, his focus absolute. I watch from the doorway, a mug of tea warming my hands.
"You're staring again," he says without looking up, those hunter's instincts always aware of my presence.
"Just thinking," I reply, echoing our conversation from a few nights ago.
"About?"
