Chapter 6 The Present #2
I press my thighs together, annoyed by how much that line does to me. “You’re supposed to be on watch,” I whisper, a last-ditch effort at reason.
“I am watching,” he says, voice roughening. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. But now... now you’re real. Now I can touch you.”
His hand lingers at my ribs, thumb brushing just beneath the swell of my breast.
Then he shifts, reaching toward the table. I hear the soft pull of leather, the click of a buckle. He lifts one of the dark straps from his belt.
“Seriously?” I whisper.
He nods once. “Fuck yeah.” His grin is wicked. “Let’s live a little, Skye.”
I should walk away. Should tell him that recklessness isn’t the only way to feel alive. But I’ve spent a lifetime resisting temptation. And where did that get me? Buried. I’d be a fool to make the same mistakes twice.
He tugs gently, binding my wrists and guiding them above my head.
“What about the wraith?” I still ask, because I can’t pretend she’s not out there, waiting to tear everything apart.
“We’ve set up wards,” he mutters. “I’m only on watch as a precaution. We should be safe.”
I want to lose myself in the fire.
“Little Grim,” Talon purrs, voice like smoke, “I can feel you thinking too damn much.”
He releases the strap from my wrists only to flip me over in one smooth, practiced motion. The world tilts. My breath snags. My cheek hits the cold wood of the table, hair falling in tangled waves across my face.
Before I can even process it, he hikes my scrubs up to my hips, exposing me to the air.
To him. To everything. Should be safe. Mhm.
Should is the key word. But somehow, it’s enough.
Because gods… I need this. I need to be touched and actually feel it.
Kissing Cassian, feeling Talon’s fingers inside me, it all felt good.
But it also lit a fire in me I can’t put out anymore.
I want to know what it feels like to finally give in.
And Talon’s right. I did come to him for a reason.
“You’re awfully full of yourself,” I say, parting my lips when he does, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
“How so?” he asks.
“You think out of everyone who can now see and touch me, I’ll pick you to lose control with.”
“Well, why shouldn’t you?” he says. “I’m here.
I was good to you from the start. I didn’t dig up your bones.
I didn’t treat you like you were nothing.
And every time you needed someone, I was there.
So if anyone gets the honor of keeping you warm in your fragile, freshly resurrected state, it should be me. ”
“As I said. Full of yourself.”
He grins, cocky and unrepentant. “Seems like you like that about me.”
I don’t answer. But I don’t pull away either.
My wrists are still bound, held loosely above my head. Just enough pressure to remind me where I am. Who has me. The leather bites a little when I shift, and that sensation alone sends a jolt straight to my core.
“I can make you see stars, Little Grim,” he murmurs. “What do you say?”
Oh, fuck.
I glance at Cassian and Nathaniel’s sleeping forms. Neither of them stirs. Their presence only adds to the wicked thrill coursing through me.
This is it. I’m done holding back.
“I say…” I whisper, brushing my mouth along his jaw, “show me.”
A growl rumbles low in his throat, something raw breaking loose inside him. He shifts, pushing my wrists harder against the edge of the table, making my arms ache in the best way.
“Oh, I’ll show you,” he mutters. “I’ve imagined fucking you a hundred times.”
“I’m counting on it.”
He moves like something unchained.
With effortless strength, he lifts me and sets me on the table. Books clatter to the floor, followed by a quiet curse. He glances back at the others, but whatever blessing Death’s granted us, they sleep like corpses.
He steps between my knees, spreading them. His belt—still binding my wrists—is now wrapped around his fist, anchoring me to him.
And then he kisses me.
This time, it’s ten times better. Because I let myself feel it. All of it.
His teeth scrape my lip. His tongue slips into my mouth like it’s claiming me. And my whole body buzzes from the inside out.
I arch into him, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. His hips slam into mine. Hard. I feel the press of weapons, of gear beneath the thin fabric of my scrubs. All edge and heat and the sharp, undeniable truth of who he is.
A killer.
And somehow, the friction of that—of him—ignites something deep and primal. Sparks flare behind my eyes. My back bows instinctively, chasing more.
And in that moment, it hits me: I have no idea what I’ve just agreed to.
I’ve had sex before. I was married, for fuck’s sake. But that? That was ritual. Obligation. Something hollow I endured while trying to enjoy it but never knowing how to.
This?
This is being seen. This is being wanted.
No. Devoured.
Mark was suffocation.
Not just literally—though yes, the bastard did kill me in the most poetic fucking way—but in all the creeping, quiet ways.
He filled every space like fog, curling into every corner until nothing was left untouched.
He was control, obsession, ego disguised as care.
A slow choke that looked like love from the outside.
He stole the air from the room. From my lungs. From my soul.
Talon?
Talon is oxygen set on fire.
He’s motion. Heat. Life. The kind that pulses through the dark and dares you to chase it. He burns at the edges, dances just out of reach, then pulls you straight into the flames.
He’s not asking for permission. He’s asking how much I can take.
And me?
I want to find out.
“Relax,” he murmurs behind me, voice low, intimate. Almost gentle. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”
When I don’t answer, he leans in. His chest presses to my back, his breath warm at my neck.
“Is it Cassian?” he whispers, teeth grazing my ear. “Or Nathaniel?”
His words curl through me.
There’s jealousy in them—sharp, dark edges wrapped in teasing.
But it’s not them. I wish it was.
Silence stretches between us. Just our mingled breathing, the soft creak of the table under us, and the distant, steady heartbeat of the night.
Finally, I let it out.
“It’s my ex-husband.”
Talon stills for a beat. Then he laughs—quiet and breathless, almost relieved.
“Of course it is.”
He doesn’t press the subject. Doesn’t ask for more. Doesn’t offer pity. Instead, he lets the silence hold for a heartbeat longer. And then I feel his mouth on the nape of my neck.
Not teasing.
Possessive. So unlike the Talon I’ve known thus far.
“You’re not his anymore,” he growls. “Not in body, not in blood, not in fucking soul.”
He punctuates each word with a press of his hips against mine, his hands roaming down my sides, over the curve of my thighs. When his palm slides between them, he groans low.
“Gods, you’re soaked.”
I gasp, knuckles white against the wood. My heart hammers. The reality of my body hits harder than anything else. This isn’t numbness anymore. This is hunger.
“Bet he never made you beg,” Talon murmurs, fingers barely ghosting the plump flesh of my pussy. “Bet he didn’t have a fucking clue what this body wants. You want me to prove it to you, Little Grim?”
“Y-yes,” I choke out, breath hitching.
The belt tightens around one wrist again, re-looped and secured to something on his gear.
Not painfully, but firmly. It holds me still while he kneels behind me, dragging his tongue slowly up the inside of my thigh like a man starved.
I jerk at the sensation, but he only laughs quietly, mouth now pressed to my opening.
When his tongue slides between my folds, I nearly sob. There’s nothing careful about him. He’s dipping his tongue right in, like he doesn’t care about the sounds I might make. Like he doesn’t care if the others wake up.
Maybe, unlike me, he wants them to.
“T-Talon—” I hiss, my voice breaking as my hips buck.
“Gods,” he groans into me. “Didn’t think you’d be this sweet. This messy. You’re such a fucking treat, Little Grim.”
The long, slow drags of his tongue, followed by short, flicking bursts make my legs shake. He works me over, like it’s his soul on the line if he doesn’t wring every last drop of pleasure from mine.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe.
And when he slides two fingers inside me, curling just right, I scream. It's not loud, but it's definitely loud enough. My eyes flick toward Cassian’s bed, terrified. Thrilled. But he doesn’t stir. Neither does Nathaniel.
Talon chuckles darkly behind me. “Told you. Dead sleep. Now let me feel you come.”
Something about those words hits a switch I didn’t know I had.
My whole body clenches around his fingers as my orgasm crashes through me like lightning.
Sudden, electric, and burning hot. I tremble beneath him, forehead pressed to the table, mouth open and silent as the aftershocks ripple through me.
He doesn’t stop right away. He rides it out, licking and stroking me through it. And when I finally collapse against the table, gasping, limp and boneless, he rises behind me.
“You good?” he murmurs, and there’s something in his tone. Something rare. Not smug. Not cocky. Just… sincere.
I nod weakly, still catching my breath.
But Talon? He’s not finished.
“Good. Because I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, utterly calm, like he’s telling me the weather.
Oh, god.
“And you’re going to take it, Skye. Every inch.”
He reaches around to unbuckle his pants. There's no rush in his movements, no fumbling. Just deliberate, dangerous confidence. I hear the telltale sound of a zipper, the rustle of fabric, the low groan he gives when he wraps a hand around himself.
“Still wet?” he murmurs, sliding the head of his cock against me, teasing the entrance. My entire body tenses in anticipation.
Then—
“Oh fuck—” I cry out as he thrusts inside in one smooth, brutal push. He’s thick. And deep. My walls clench involuntarily around him, the sudden fullness making my vision flash white.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He drives into me again, hard, fast, one hand gripping my hip, the other still wrapped in the strap tethering me to him.
“That’s it,” he snarls, pace already ruthless. “Take me. Take every fucking inch.”
The table creaks beneath us, rocking with each thrust. My moans become ragged gasps, torn from my throat without restraint. I can’t hold back. I don’t even want to.
“You like this?” he growls. “Because I like it a whole fucking lot. Your pussy’s exquisite, Little Grim.”
“Yes. Fuck, yes,” I pant. The heat is unbearable. Glorious. Real.
The pain, the stretch, the pleasure—
It’s mine.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You think Cassian could fuck you like this? Nathaniel? The first would worship you. The second would turn you into his broken little project. But me?” His voice drops lower. “I’ll ruin you, Little Grim.”
And he does.
He slams into me, each thrust stealing the breath from my lungs, each sound cracking through the quiet. I’m close again. Too fast. But he knows. He feels it.
“Come on my cock,” he hisses. “Do it. Let them hear you.”
That’s what breaks me.
I shatter with a strangled cry, my whole body locking around him. He follows with a guttural groan, thrusting one last time and spilling into me without any brakes.
We collapse against the table. Me trembling, him breathless above me, forehead resting against my shoulder.
For a moment, there’s only silence.
Then, softly:
“Welcome back to the world of the living, Little Grim,” he whispers.
And gods help me…
What a living it is.