20. Chapter Twenty Hassan
Chapter Twenty: Hassan
I was so tired. I was still running on adrenaline and I had woken up in the middle of the night, alone, unable to sleep.
The safehouse was quiet. For the first time in what felt like weeks, the tension had thinned just enough to let exhaustion seep in.
I stretched my back as I made my way to the kitchen, the soft creak of the wooden floorboards the only sound in the darkened hallway. My throat was dry, and the faint hum of the fridge called to me like a lifeline. Bash had gone to bed, and the last time I saw Justice, she’d been curled against him on the couch, finally resting.
But when I stepped into the living room, I saw her.
Justice was lying on the couch, a thin blanket draped over her, Bash’s small gesture of care evident in the way it had been tucked around her shoulders. Her dark hair spilled across the cushion, a few strands clinging to the sheen of sweat on her temple. The faint glow from the baby monitor lit her face in soft, uneven pulses. She looked so fragile like this, her breathing shallow and steady, her hand resting lightly against her stomach.
But I knew better than anyone: Justice was far from fragile.
I hesitated, one hand gripping the edge of the doorway. I wasn’t sure if she was asleep or simply lost in thought, but something pulled me closer. Maybe it was the way her lips were slightly parted, like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the strength. Or maybe it was the memory of that moment when I thought I’d lost her for good.
Her eyes fluttered open as she turned on her side, wincing slightly when her gaze finally landed on me.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked, my voice low enough not to startle her.
For a second, there was no recognition, just the haze of exhaustion. Then she gave me a small, tired smile. “Just thinking.”
I stepped closer, my shadow stretching across the room. “Thinking about what?”
She shrugged, shifting slightly under the blanket. “Everything. SJ. Vito. You.”
The last word hit me harder than I expected. “Me?”
Justice nodded, her gaze flicking down to her hands. “I was so scared, Hassan. When I didn’t know if you made it out…” Her voice broke, and she shook her head, letting out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t stop imagining the worst.”
I sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to disturb her. “I know the feeling,” I said softly. “When they took you…and then when Zane told me you’d been shot…” I trailed off, swallowing hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life.”
She reached for my hand, her fingers curling around mine. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “And you’re okay. That’s what matters.”
“Barely,” I murmured, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Justice, what if—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice trembling but resolute. “Don’t say it. We’re here. We’re alive. That’s enough.”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken fears, but her grip on my hand didn’t waver.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, nodding toward her injury after a moment.
“It’s fine,” she said, though the wince that followed betrayed her.
Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers grazing her wrist. “Let me check.”
She sighed but didn’t protest as I gently pulled the blanket back. The loose shirt she wore hung low on her shoulder, exposing the edge of the bandage beneath. My hands worked carefully, unwrapping the dressing with practiced precision. The wound was clean, Zane’s work evident in the neatness of the stitches. Still, the sight of it twisted something deep in my chest.
“You’re healing,” I murmured, my thumb brushing her skin just below the edge of the wound. “But you need to rest. Properly.”
Justice’s eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the air between us felt heavier. Her lips parted as if to speak, but instead, she reached up, her fingers brushing the side of my face.
“You’ve barely rested,” she said softly, her voice tinged with accusation. “You need to get some sleep.”
I let out a low laugh. “It’s okay, doll. You know I’ve had more sleep for a lifetime than I know what to do with,” I said.
“I really don’t think it works that way.”
“Well, let’s find out,” I said, flashing her a toothy smile.
“That’s not the point,” she shot back, her brows knitting together. “You can’t just push through everything, Hassan. You’re not invincible.”
“Neither are you,” I countered, my voice sharper than I intended. Her eyes widened slightly, and I immediately softened. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if Zane hadn’t been there. If Bash hadn’t—”
“Stop,” she said, her hand sliding up to cup my jaw. “Hassan. Stop.”
The way she said my name made something inside me still, the storm of fear and anger subsiding for a moment. I didn’t let go of her wrist, my thumb brushing the faint line of her pulse. It was steady but fast, matching my own.
“Hassan,” she said again, quieter this time, her breath warm against my cheek.
I didn’t respond, not with words. Instead, I leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. When she didn’t, my lips brushed hers, soft and tentative. Her breath caught, and then she kissed me back, her hands curling into the fabric of my shirt.
It wasn’t rushed or desperate—at least not at first. But the moment her fingers slid into my hair, pulling me closer, something inside me snapped.
I shifted, pulling her into my lap as carefully as I could, mindful of her injury. Her legs straddled me, her warmth pressing against me through the thin layers of fabric that separated us. Her touch was both grounding and electrifying, as if she needed to feel every inch of me to reassure herself that I was real.
“You should be resting,” I murmured against her lips, my voice low and uneven.
“I’ll rest after you fuck me,” she said. “Not before. I need you.”
I groaned softly, my hands sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, mapping the curves of her waist. Her skin was warm, soft, and so painfully familiar. It felt like years since I’d touched her like this, though I knew it hadn’t been that long.
Her hips shifted against mine, and I bit back a curse, my hands gripping her tighter. “Justice…”
“I need you,” she whispered, her lips brushing against my ear. “Right now.”
I paused, every muscle in my body taut with the conflicting desires to take her as she wanted and to protect her from herself. From us.
"Justice," I started, but she cut me off with another kiss, this one more urgent, more insistent. Her hands were everywhere—my chest, my neck, my hair—each touch a plea.
Her hands roamed my chest, then down to my waistband, and I sucked in a breath as she tugged at the fabric. My body responded instinctively, a surge of heat rushing through me, but my mind remained conflicted.
She pulled back, just far enough for me to see the sheer intensity in her eyes. "Please," she said, and there was a vulnerability in her voice that broke me. "I need you inside of me.”
Her words shattered the last bit of resistance I had. I captured her lips again, harder this time, my hands slipping under her shirt and lifting it over her head. She helped, eager, tossing the fabric aside with a flick of her wrist. The sight of her, topless and unashamed, made my heart race faster than a hail of bullets.
I kissed down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the thrum of life in her veins. Her hands went back to my waistband, fumbling with the drawstring of my sweatpants. When she finally loosened it, she slid her hand inside, and I gasped against her collarbone.
"Fuck," I muttered, my hips bucking involuntarily into her touch. Every nerve in my body was screaming for more, for all of her.
But then she winced, just slightly, as she shifted in my lap. It was enough to pull me back to reality.
"You're hurt," I said, trying to catch my breath. "We can't—"
"We can," she insisted, cutting me off. "I'll be careful. You’ll be careful.”
Her grip around my cock tightened and her kisses got more insistent, her breath hot and erratic. My mind was a battlefield, with duty and desire clashing in a brutal, unyielding war. I wanted to protect her, to hold her back from what could hurt her—but damn it, I wanted her just as fiercely.
"Justice," I breathed, trying one last time to reason, to slow us down, but the sound of her name on my lips only made her more determined. She kissed me deeper, her tongue dancing with mine, and any words I had were lost.
“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, pulling away from me for a second. “Because if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I studied her face, searching for some sign that she was pushing herself too hard, that this was more about soothing her fear than genuine desire. But all I saw was need—raw and unfiltered—mirroring my own.
"Do you?" I asked, turning the question back on her.
Her eyes flickered with something—hesitation, perhaps—but she shook her head slowly. "No. But I need to know that you want this too."
That struck me. Of course I wanted this; I always wanted her.
"I want you," I said finally, honestly. "But I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," she said, though we both knew it was a promise she couldn't keep.
I leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time, letting the tension ease into something more manageable. Her hands traced the contours of my shoulders and chest, gentle and knowing. I slipped my fingers through her hair, savoring the softness of it.
She broke the kiss and looked at me, her eyes searching mine for something. Reassurance, maybe. Or perhaps she was trying to memorize this moment, to sear it into her memory like a brand. I stroked her cheek, thumbing the corner of her mouth with a tenderness that surprised even me.
"We take it slow," I said, not as a suggestion but as a condition. "If it becomes too much, we stop."
I lifted her gently, setting her beside me on the sofa, and stood up to remove my sweatpants. She watched me with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, her arms crossing over her chest more from tension than modesty. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then trailed my lips down to her nose, her cheek, her mouth—each touch deliberate and unhurried.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pants and paused. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she breathed.
“God, you’re so hot. I can smell how we you are,” I said.
I slid her pants down slowly, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs. She lifted her hips to help, and I was acutely aware of every movement, every small sound she made. The fabric pooled at her ankles, and she kicked it aside.
I knelt on the sofa, positioning myself between her legs. Her hands went to my shoulders, then down my arms, tracing the lines of muscle as if she were memorizing them. I kissed her again, deeply, letting my hands explore her body with a reverence I didn't know I was capable of.
Her fingers found their way back to my hair, tugging lightly as she arched into me. I could feel the heat radiating from her core, could almost taste the need in her. My hand slid down her stomach, lingering for a moment before dipping between her legs. She gasped and bit her lip, grinding against my fingers.
I teased her slowly, circling and stroking her clit with deliberate tenderness.
Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, each one a testament to the control she was exerting to keep from crying out. I watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her mouth formed a silent O. She was so fucking beautiful. I could have just done this for hours, looked at her for hours.
"Please," she whispered again, her voice breaking. "I can't wait."
I removed my hand, and she let out a small whimper of protest. I shifted, positioning myself at her entrance, feeling the slick heat of her. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and I braced myself on the back of the sofa.
"Slow," I reminded her, reminded myself. But it was torture, every second an eternity as I pushed just the tip of me inside her. She was so tight, so warm, and my body screamed at me to thrust deep and hard, to take what she was offering.
She dug her nails into my shoulders, her breath hissing through clenched teeth. "Don't stop," she commanded, though I could hear the strain in her voice.
I kissed her neck, her ear, trying to distract her from the pain as I eased in a little further. She was wet enough that I slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a new level of exquisite pressure. My muscles were taut as steel cables, my mind a maelstrom of lust and concern. I wanted to make this good for her, needed it to be something she could take comfort in, not another source of hurt.
Her body adjusted around me, and she moved her hips experimentally, testing the waters. A small, breathy moan escaped her lips, and it sent a jolt through me.
"Justice," I said again, but this time it was a plea, a prayer.
She looked up at me with half-lidded eyes, her pupils wide and dark. "I've got you," she said, as if she were the one reassuring me. "Just... don't hold back."
With that, she pulled me deeper, and I couldn't resist her. The slow burn turned into a consuming fire as I began to move, each stroke deliberate but gaining in intensity. Her hands roamed my back, sometimes caressing, sometimes clawing. The pain from her nails was a sweet counterpoint to the pleasure building inside me.
I watched her face closely, looking for any sign that it was too much. But instead of pain, I saw her surrendering to the waves of sensation. Her lips parted and she let out soft, unrestrained sounds of pleasure.
Each one was a spark, igniting me further. I thrust with increasing fervor, battling to maintain the slow pace I’d promised, but losing ground with every stroke.
Her body rose to meet mine, her movements more fluid, more urgent. She was pulling me into her rhythm, a dance we both knew too well. My hands gripped her hips, then slid up to cup her breasts, tracing circles around her nipples with my thumbs. She arched her back, pressing into me, and a deep groan rumbled from my chest.
"Harder," she demanded, and I hesitated, teetering on the edge of control. "Please," she added, almost desperately.
I gave in, driving into her with the force she craved. Her head tipped back, and she cried out, the sound echoing in the small living room. It was raw and primal, a release of all the tension she'd been holding. I couldn't believe how hot it made me to hear her like that, to know I was the one making her feel this.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I pounded her with abandon. The sofa creaked beneath us, its worn springs protesting our violence. Sweat slicked our bodies, mingling where we touched. Every thrust brought me closer to the precipice, but I held back, not wanting this to end too soon, not wanting to leave her behind.
Justice's fingers dug deeper into my flesh, her body moving with a desperate grace. "I'm close," she breathed, her voice trembling with the strain of withheld release. I shifted my angle slightly, driving her higher with each stroke, feeling her beginning to tense and coil around me like a spring about to snap.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I whispered in her ear. “I love your pussy.”
Justice shuddered beneath me, her body locking up as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her. She cried out my name, her voice breaking with the intensity of it. “Come inside me,” she pleaded between moans.
Her words were the last tether of my restraint, snapping under the weight of our shared need. I thrust harder, deeper, riding the pulsing waves of her climax. Every contraction around me pulled me further into the abyss, and my vision narrowed to just the sight of her—flushed skin, parted lips, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.
"Oh God, Justice," I groaned through clenched teeth. The pressure built at the base of my spine, threatening to topple me into oblivion. My fingers dug into her hips as I sought to anchor myself, but it was no use.
She whimpered in response, a sound so needy and raw that it obliterated any last remnant of self-control I had. With one final thrust, I buried myself inside her, feeling her muscles clench and milk me as I poured everything into her.
We lay tangled together, lost in the fading echoes of our shared release. Our breaths mingled in the small space between us—hot, ragged gasps as we tried to reclaim some semblance of normalcy. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, its rhythm erratic and wild.
Justice stirred beneath me, her muscles trembling with aftershocks. I kissed her forehead gently and then rolled off to the side, pulling her with me.
“You good?” I asked. “Did I hurt you?”
She nestled into my chest, her breath starting to slow. "No," she said softly. "You didn’t hurt me. You never hurt me."
For a second, I believed her. And right then, that seemed to be all that mattered.