15. Fourteen
I pulled out slowly, every tremor in Xander's body registering like electricity against my skin. The intimacy of the moment hit me harder than the sex had. This wasn't just about physical release anymore. This was about trust. About letting someone see parts of me I'd kept locked away for forty-two years.
My hands shook slightly as I cleaned them up, overwhelmed by the need to take care of them properly. The way Xander melted into my touch, so trusting despite everything they'd been through, made something fierce and protective roar to life in my chest. Watching them come apart on my cock had been incredible, but this? This vulnerability as I tended to them? It threatened to break me completely.
I tugged his ruined panties back into place, sealing my claim with gentle hands. The sight of him wearing my marks, his own release trapped against his skin by delicate lace, stirred something possessive and primal in my gut. Mine. The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it felt right.
For forty-two years, I'd understood myself through carefully constructed certainties. I was straight, controlled, defined by clear categories. But Xander had shattered those certainties just by being himself. This wasn't about labels or sexual orientation. This was about wanting him, specifically and completely. About finally letting myself acknowledge an attraction I'd been fighting since that first day in the training room.
My hands traced patterns on his skin, memorizing every reaction, every shiver. He'd shown me such trust, letting me see past his carefully constructed defenses to the vulnerability beneath. The intimacy of that surrender awoke something fierce and protective in my chest. This beautiful, deadly creature had chosen to let me in, to trust me with not just his body but his truth. A truth that had nothing to do with gender and everything to do with the soul beneath all his carefully constructed layers.
Twenty years of behavioral analysis had taught me to read people's deepest fears, to understand what drove them. But nothing in my training had prepared me for how it would feel to hold someone who matched my darkness perfectly. Someone who needed my control as much as I needed to give it.
"Look at me, baby," I murmured, turning him onto his back. His eyes were glazed, pupils still blown wide from pleasure and lingering ketamine. Beautiful and broken and so fucking perfect it made my chest ache. "You with me?"
He nodded, but I caught the slight tremor in his bottom lip. The way his hands clenched in the sheets like he was fighting the urge to reach for me.
"Come here." I gathered him into my arms, letting him burrow against my chest. His skin was silk against mine, and Christ, how had I never known it could feel like this with someone?
"You're shaking," Xander whispered, his voice small and uncertain. "Did I... was it not good?"
The vulnerability in his voice made my heart clench. This beautiful, deadly creature actually thought he hadn't been perfect? That he hadn't just broken down every wall I’d ever built?
My training kicked in automatically, cataloging the micro-expressions that flashed across his face. Fear of abandonment warred with desperate hope in those impossible eyes. His borderline personality disorder made him expect rejection, made him test boundaries to see if I'd walk away like everyone else had.
But I wasn't everyone else. The protective instinct that roared to life in my chest had nothing to do with gender and everything to do with finally finding someone who fit my darkness perfectly. Someone who needed my control, my possession, my protection.
"Baby, no." I tilted his chin up, making him meet my eyes. "You were incredible. I'm just... processing. This is all new for me."
His eyes widened slightly. "You mean... I was your first? First time with someone like me?"
I nodded, throat tight. "Yeah. And I know that probably makes you nervous, makes you think I might freak out or change my mind. But I need you to understand something." I caught his face between my hands, making sure he couldn't look away. "Just because this is new doesn't mean it isn't real. Doesn't mean I don't want you with an intensity that fucking terrifies me."
Tears welled in those beautiful eyes, and fuck, I wasn't equipped for this. Wasn't prepared for how seeing him cry would make me want to burn the world down just to make him smile again.
"I've never..." He swallowed hard, voice cracking. "No one's ever taken care of me like this after. Usually I just... leave. Or they do."
The admission broke something open in my chest. I'd read their file, knew about the string of meaningless hookups and one-night stands. But hearing the raw pain in their voice, seeing how touch-starved they were for genuine affection? It made me want to hunt down every person who'd ever used him and explain exactly why that had been a mistake.
"Well, that stops now." I pressed a kiss to his forehead, his temple, the corner of his mouth. Gentle, claiming touches that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with possession. "You're mine now, remember? That means I take care of what belongs to me."
He shivered, pressing closer. "Promise?"
"I promise, baby." I stroked his hair, feeling him relax further into my touch. "But that means you follow my rules from now on. No more drugs. No more reckless behavior. Your body belongs to me, and I don't share what's mine."
A soft sound escaped him, somewhere between a whimper and a sob. I held him tighter as the tears finally came, letting him fall apart in my arms. Every shake of his shoulders, every choked breath against my skin, made that protective instinct flare hotter.
"I've got you," I murmured, running my hands over his trembling body. "Let it out, baby. I've got you."
We stayed like that for what felt like hours, my hands never stopping their gentle exploration of his skin. Learning every scar, every freckle, every place that made him shiver or press closer. But as his tears slowed, those shivers took on a different quality. Each touch drew softer sounds from his throat, needier sounds that made my cock stir despite how thoroughly I'd just claimed him.
"Please," he whispered against my chest, voice still rough from crying. "Need you again. Need to know this is real."
I shouldn't. We had a plane to catch, and he was still emotionally raw. But the way he pressed against me, seeking reassurance through touch... Something inside me finally snapped. Two decades of denial crumbling in the face of how perfectly he fit against me, how right this felt.
"Okay, baby," I murmured, rolling him beneath me. This time when I kissed him, it was gentle. Thorough. Nothing like the desperate clash of tongues from before. "Let me show you how real this is."
His legs fell open for me, still wearing those ruined panties, and Christ, the sight of him like this—tear-stained and trembling and so fucking trusting—shattered every preconception I'd ever had about desire.
I took my time opening them up again, even though they were still loose and slick from before. Their body yielded beautifully to my exploring fingers, inner muscles clenching eagerly around each slow thrust. Every curl of my fingers drew desperate whimpers from their throat, their hips rolling unconsciously, seeking more. The sight of them spread out beneath me, still wearing those ruined lace panties pushed aside just enough, made my cock throb with renewed need. But this wasn't just about physical pleasure anymore. This was about finally accepting who I was, who I could want. About letting myself have this without shame or hesitation.
The contrast of them had my head spinning. Xander was all hard edges and soft vulnerability, strength wrapped in grace. They were everything I never knew I needed until this moment, perfect in ways I couldn't have imagined.
I reached for another condom from the nightstand, the crinkle of the wrapper loud in the quiet room. His eyes never left mine as I rolled it on, the trust in his gaze making my chest tight. When I finally pushed inside him again, the broken sound he made wasn't just pleasure. It was relief. Recognition. Home. And fuck, how had I denied myself this for so long? The heat of him surrounding me, the trust in his eyes as he took everything I gave him… It felt like waking up. Like finally understanding a part of myself I'd kept locked away for forty-two years.
"I've got you," I breathed, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had him gasping with each thrust. My hands mapped every inch of skin I could reach, memorizing the way he felt beneath me. No more denial. No more pretending I didn't want this. Want him. "Not going anywhere, baby. You're mine now."
"Yours," he echoed, voice cracking as I hit that spot inside him that made him gasp and moan. "Please, Daddy, don't stop..."
I didn't stop. I couldn't. Not when every thrust felt like coming home. Not when each pleasured groan confirmed what I'd been fighting for so long. This was exactly where I belonged. Inside him. Over him. Possessing every beautiful, contradictory inch of him.
The sight of them coming untouched in those pretty panties again nearly broke me. Their whole body seized up, back arching off the bed as pleasure wracked through them. Each pulse of their release dampened the delicate lace further, their inner muscles clenching rhythmically around my cock as they cried out my name like a prayer. Their thighs trembled against my hips, fingers leaving crescent marks on my shoulders as they held on through the intensity of it. I followed him over the edge, filling the condom as I ground deep inside him, making sure he'd feel the phantom pressure of me with every step onto that plane.
We lay tangled together afterward, his breath evening out into soft, sated sighs. My mind was quiet for the first time in years. No more wrestling with my sexuality, no more denying what I wanted. Just peace. Certainty. The bone-deep knowledge that this beautiful creature belonged to me now, and I'd burn the world down to keep him.
I pressed a kiss to his damp cheek, tasting salt and sex and something sweeter. Something like belonging. "Think you can stand? We should get cleaned up properly before our flight."
He nodded against my chest but made no move to pull away. "What time is it?"
"We've got about three hours." I glanced at the clock, doing mental calculations. "Plenty of time for a shower and some food."
That got his attention. He lifted his head, eyes still red but clearer now. "Together?"
The hesitant hope in his voice made my chest tight. "Yeah, baby. Together." I brushed his hair back from his forehead, marveling at how soft it was. "Think you can be good and actually let me get you clean? Or are you going to try to start something we don't have time to finish?"
A ghost of his usual smirk crossed his face. "No promises, Daddy."
Christ. Even fucked out and emotional, he could still push my buttons like no one else. I swatted his ass lightly, drawing a surprised yelp. "Brat. Come on, up you get."
I helped him to his feet, steadying him when his legs wobbled. The sight of him in my ruined shirt, covered in marks I'd left, made possessive satisfaction curl in my gut. But there was something else too—a softness I hadn't expected to feel. A need to protect that went beyond simple dominance.
Maybe that was the real difference between me and my father. He'd only ever wanted to possess, to control. But watching Xander lean against me, trusting me to keep him safe? I realized I wanted more than that. I wanted to possess him, yes. But I also wanted to cherish him. To show him that he deserved gentle touches as much as rough ones.
"What are you thinking about?" Xander asked as I guided him toward the bathroom. "You've got that profiler face on."
I smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Just thinking about how perfect you are. And how much I'm going to enjoy showing you exactly what that means."
His breath hitched, but before he could respond, I was already turning on the shower. We had a plane to catch and a killer to hunt. The rest—my sexual crisis, his emotional vulnerabilities, whatever this thing between us was becoming—would have to wait.
But as I stepped under the spray with them, watching water sluice down their perfect body, tracing paths over the marks I'd left, catching on their collarbones and highlighting every perfect curve and plane of muscle. Their skin was still flushed, marks of my possession standing out even more vividly under the warm water. Each droplet caressed them in ways that made my hands itch to follow.
The mission loomed ahead of us: a transatlantic flight, a killer to hunt, a cover to maintain. But as I carefully scrubbed his skin, I knew something fundamental had shifted. This wasn't just about the job anymore. This was about protecting them, about cherishing what was mine.
My father had taught me that love was weakness, that real power came from control. But holding Xander, feeling his complete trust in my strength, I understood something my father never had. True power wasn't about breaking someone to your will. It was about being trusted enough to protect their vulnerable pieces while cherishing their strength.
In a few hours, we'd be on a plane to Paris, headed straight into Roche's web of preserved dolls and deadly games. But for now, I had everything I needed right here—my beautiful, deadly baby, finally safe in my arms.
Let them come. Anyone who tried to hurt what was mine would learn exactly what forty-two years of restraint looked like when it finally broke.