Chapter Sixteen #2
His smile turns feral, eyes burning into mine.
“Then, I’m going to take you every way I’ve ever imagined.
” His confession unravels me. I arch instinctively, my body answering before my mind can catch up, pressing my chest into his waiting hands.
His palms mold me perfectly, his thumbs tracing circles against my nipples that make me shiver.
“And Berk,” he whispers against my ear, the heat of his breath sparking down my spine, “I’ve imagined thousands of ways over the years. ”
The sound that leaves me is somewhere between a moan and a prayer.
My fingers dig into his shoulders as he slides lower, lining himself against me.
The first brush of his cock against my core is fire—scorching, grounding, inevitable.
For a heartbeat, the world holds still. Every ghost, every scar, every breath we’ve ever taken apart folds into this moment as we find each other again, skin to skin, heart to heart.
His voice is gravelly, a command softened by reverence. “Eyes on me,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss across my mouth so light it feels like a promise. His fingertips touch my chin, guiding my gaze back to his. “I want to see those beautiful eyes when I sink back into you again.”
The words hit something deep inside me. A spark of memory flickers—two kids fumbling through an experience bigger than either of us could name, a connection that had never really broken, only gone dormant for a while.
That night had been clumsy and honest, full of laughter and love, and even now, years later, the echo of it pulls tight in my chest.
His gaze locks onto mine, bright and steady, like sunlight breaking after a storm.
He holds himself still for a breath, just long enough for me to feel the tension humming through him, every muscle taut with control.
My breath stutters as he settles himself between my thighs, notching his cock at my entrance, slow and sure, the warmth of him fitting into me gradually until the line between where I end and he begins blurs into nothing at all.
The world fades to nothing but the sound of our breathing, the creak of the mattress, the wet slide of skin against skin.
His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth as if he’s trying to memorize the way I feel.
I reach up, tracing the lines of his jaw, the scar near his temple, the strong pulse at his throat.
Every inch of him feels familiar and new all at once, like coming home to a place I’d only dreamed about.
He starts slow—deep, measured—his hips moving with careful control. Every roll draws a sound from me I didn’t know I had, and his name slips from my lips again and again, equal parts breath, plea, and gratitude.
“Right here,” he whispers, forehead pressed to mine, breath mingling. “Just us, baby. Nothing else matters.”
He’s right. The past, the blood, the chaos—they all fall away until there’s only this moment. Only him. His body, his breath, his heart pounding in time with mine. I hold his gaze, refusing to look away as pleasure coils low in my belly, winding tighter with every movement.
His hands move over me like he’s committing me to memory, tracing every curve and hollow as if I might disappear again if he doesn’t learn me by heart.
Each touch lingers—warm, possessive—guiding me with quiet certainty until I’m exactly where he wants me.
His thrusts deepen, every slow roll stealing the breath from my lungs and filling the space with his name.
Our breathing takes over the room, uneven and urgent, the cadence of our love long restrained finally breaking free.
He shifts suddenly, one firm hand gripping the back of my thigh, lifting until my leg hooks over his shoulder.
The new angel steals a gasp from me, sharp and breathless.
He slides deeper, impossibly so, and the world tilts on its axis.
My fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails biting into skin, needing something to hold on to as the pleasure spirals higher.
A low groan tears from his chest, rough and unrestrained.
The sound vibrates through me, and I can’t tell whose voice breaks next—his or mine—as we find that perfect rhythm.
Every movement is a conversation; every breath is an unspoken word.
He leans closer, his forehead pressed to mine, sweat and warmth and love tangled together.
“Come with me, Berk,” he breathes, the plea rough and fractured as his control splinters.
His eyes lock onto mine—molten gold, aching with a tenderness so intense it unravels me.
I don’t look away. I let the heat between us swell and take over, let the rest of the world dissolve until there’s nothing left but him—and the storm he’s pulled from my depths.
When I finally tumble over the edge, it isn’t just release—it’s surrender.
It’s a connection fierce enough to scorch and gentle enough to mend in the same heartbeat.
I fall with him, holding on as if letting go would break us, his name spilling from my lips.
In that fractured, perfect instant, nothing exists but the truth we’re sharing.
We’re alive.
And for the first time in forever, we’re whole again.
He slips from me slowly, breathing ragged, but instead of leaving the warmth between us, he stays pressed close, his skin hot against mine.
His arm slides around my waist, pulling me into his chest until I can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against my back.
The room smells like us—heat and sweat and raw passion that feels too real to question.
His lips brush the side of my neck, his words a husky breath against my skin.
“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion and satisfaction. “Give me a minute, and we’ll get the party started.”
I laugh softly, still catching my breath, ready to tease him when a sudden burst of manic laughter cuts through the quiet.
Both our heads snap toward the doorway. Ronan leans against the frame, a wicked grin curving his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief and hunger.
Emerson stands just behind him, more composed but no less intense, his gaze sliding over the scene in front of him.
“Damn, brother,” Ronan drawls, his voice dripping with amusement and challenge.
“I thought you’d have better stamina than that.
” He pushes off the doorframe, taking a few slow, deliberate steps forward, his gaze locked on me.
“Should I show you how it’s done?” His head tilts slightly, one brow lifting in invitation, the smirk never fading.
Warmth blooms across my cheeks and down my chest, but it isn’t embarrassment that sparks it.
It’s the way they’re all watching me—three men, each different, each carrying the same unmistakable hunger in their eyes.
My gaze flicks between them, pulse hammering.
Rowan stiffens at my side, but the look he gives his brother holds no jealousy—only shared fire.
Emerson’s mouth curves, just barely, but it’s enough to make my stomach tighten. His voice stays low and steady, carrying across the room with the weight of a vow. “Careful, Ro,” he says. “If you start something, you’d better be prepared to see it through.”
Ronan’s grin widens, slow and sinful, and the air between us shifts, heavy with tension and familiarity, with love and danger and want. I look at each of them, my heart racing, knowing what this means, knowing what it has always meant.
Whatever’s about to happen next, none of us are walking away unchanged.