Page 47 of Freedom’s Inferno

The tension between us wasn’t just about need. It was about gravity.

Something in her pulled at everything I’d buried, every ruined piece I’d tried to hide under cynicism and sarcasm.

For the first time, I wanted someone to see what was left of me and not turn away. I knew she felt it too. That same desperate need to do something, feel something, anything other than the slow crawl of dread that had become our constant companion. When I caught her staring, when her eyes softened for a heartbeat, no amount of denial could save me.

Her eyes narrowed with something like defiance. Dark, and full of heat. She gripped my shoulders, and pushed me backward, until my spine bumped against the built-in bookcase.

I grunted with the shock of pain that pulled at my ribs, and my heart jolted.

Lana sank to her knees before I could stop her, blue eyes flicking up to mine, fiery hair framing her face in a mess of curls. Her hands were already sliding beneath the waistband of my sweat pants, like she was going to teach me a lesson. Like she was going to prove she was the one in control.

My head hit back against the shelf behind me, and a curse ripped from my throat as she took me into her mouth.

She was merciless about it, eyes daring me to pretend this wasn’t the best kind of punishment I’d ever been dealt. She looked like a creature straight from Hell, those garnet nails clutching my cock, her painted lips wrapped around me. The blaze in her hair.

The flat of her tongue dragged up my length, and my eyes closed without my permission.

I gripped a fistful of her curls in one hand, the other clutching the shelf behind me for purchase.

She held my thighs, using me as leverage as she sucked me deep into the back of her throat.

I groaned, something close to a growl, and the vibration of her chuckle sent a shiver through me. Part of me needed distance, but another wanted to let her prove her point.

She sucked me harder, her tongue sliding over the head of my cock, teeth scraping as she slid back down.

My breaths came sharp and shallow. I bucked my hips, fist tightening around her hair, muscles coiling low in my stomach at the small sound she made—almost a whimper.

It shouldn’t have been happening. Not like this, not with her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could still see Richard’s grin. His hand clapping my shoulder, his voice calling me brother. The ghost of it pressed against what I was feeling now, trying to poison it with guilt, but guilt didn’t stand a chance against the rush in my veins.

Every nerve in me burned, alive. Not just pleasure. Surrender. The loss of control I’d spent my entire life guarding. My breath faltered. My hips moved against her face. None of what I felt was clean or right, but it was real.

“Fuck,” I rasped.

Her mouth was so fucking hot.

My dick throbbed. I fought to stifle my groan as I erupted, my cock emptying into her.

She took it all, lips tightening, tongue working, and I couldn’t control the shudder that ran through me.

The tension broke.

Her eyes found mine and held, her throat moving as she swallowed. “Remind me, again, who needs handling?” The spark in those eyes challenged me to deny she’d wrung everything out of me.

I pulled her up by a fistful of hair and leaned in close, my breath hot against her ear. “Nice try. But you don’t get to win this one, Lana. Only one of us got what they wanted.”

The way she froze told me I’d struck the nerve I was aiming for, and Christ, it made me hard all over again.

Her eyes flicked up, defiant and knowing, a smirk ghosting over her lips as she straightened. “Put your dick back in your pants, Sterling,” she said, voice razor-sharp. “I got what I wanted.”

Before I could answer, she turned on her heel and walked out, hips swaying, chin high. Her bedroom door closed with a soft click, and something in me knotted.

Sterling.

She said it like a curse and a shield all at once—too formal, too distant. The kind of name that belonged on a brass plaque or a legal document, not on her tongue. It didn’t sound right coming from her. It sounded… cold.

I’d told her not to call me Charlie more times than I could count. I’d snapped at her for it, tried to make her understand that Charlie was someone I buried a long time ago. The name belonged to a man who I refused to become, but now, hearing her call me Sterling, I hated it. It sounded wrong in her mouth. I didn’t want to be Sterling with her. I missed it, hearing my name the way only she said it.

Charlie.