Chapter 19
DANE
I watch her come undone, her body arching, those perfect pink lips parted in pleasure. Something primal stirs in me, the urge to flip her over, grab her hips, and drive into her until she screams. To whisper filthy things in her ear that would make her blush and beg.
But I rein it in. Hard.
This isn't some random hookup. This is Lila. And the haunted look I saw in her eyes when I pushed too far tells me everything I need to know. Whatever happened with that teacher scared her, and I won't be another man who takes instead of gives. Not unless she asks.
So I crawl up her body slowly, letting her catch her breath, watching the flush spread across her chest and cheeks. Her eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide.
"You good?" I ask, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead.
She nods, still breathless. "Very... very good."
I position myself between her legs, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. The heat of her nearly undoes me. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to thrust forward in one brutal stroke.
Instead, I ease in slowly, inch by excruciating inch. Her body stretches around me, adjusting to my size. The moan that escapes her is half pleasure, half pain.
"Too much?" I ask, freezing in place.
"No," she whispers, her fingers digging into my shoulders. "Just... go slow."
I nod, focusing on her face, watching for any sign of discomfort. When I'm finally buried to the hilt, I hold still, giving her time to adjust. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort of restraint. She feels like heaven around my cock.
"Jesus, Wolfe," she gasps. "You weren't exaggerating."
I can't help the smirk. "Told you."
Her hips shift experimentally beneath me, and the sensation nearly makes my eyes roll back. I start to move in long, measured strokes, fighting against every instinct to pound into her mercilessly.
"Fuck," I groan. "You feel incredible."
In my head, I'm saying much filthier things. How tight she is. How I want to make her scream my name. How I could fuck her for hours, in every position, until she can't remember her own name.
But I keep it simple. Vanilla. Safe.
Her legs wrap around my waist, changing the angle, and I slide even deeper. The sound she makes as a touch her deep—half gasp, half moan—tests my restraint to its limits.
I've had rougher sex. Kinkier sex. But something about the way Lila's green eyes lock onto mine, completely present and unguarded, makes this feel more intense than anything I've experienced before.
"You're so beautiful," I tell her, and immediately want to punch myself for such a generic line. But the words keep coming. "Can't believe you're here. With me."
Her expression softens, and she reaches up to touch my face. The tenderness of the gesture catches me off guard.
Strange, isn't it? I've killed men. I've tailed criminals through the darkest parts of this city. But this woman's gentle touch is what terrifies me most.
She starts moving with me, finding our rhythm, and soon we're both breathing harder, moving faster. Still, I keep a tight leash on the beast inside me. The one that wants to mark her, claim her, show her exactly how wild I can be.
"Dane," she moans, and my name on her lips is better than any dirty talk I've ever heard.
Maybe this is enough. Maybe it has to be. And maybe—just maybe—vanilla isn't so bad after all. Not with the right woman.
Her legs tighten around my waist, nails digging into my shoulders as I maintain the measured rhythm. Something shifts in her expression—eyes narrowing slightly, studying my face with that journalist's perception that sees too much.
"You're holding back," she says, not a question but an observation.
I don't respond, just focus on the controlled motion of my hips, the calculated depth of each thrust. My jaw clenches involuntarily.
"You are." She pushes up onto her elbows, forcing me to slow down.
Fuck. I've been made. I know how to maintain a poker face during interrogations, but Lila sees through my defenses like they're made of cellophane.
"I'm enjoying myself just fine," I deflect, leaning down to kiss her neck, trying to distract her.
She pulls away slightly. "Are you really?"
I exhale heavily, remaining buried inside her but stilling my movements. The truth is complicated—a tangle of primal instinct, protective restraint, and the echoing memory of her fear when I got too aggressive before.
"I don't want to scare you again," I finally admit.
Something flashes across her face—disappointment? Christ, does she think she's not enough? That's the last thing I want her thinking.
"Hey," I cup her cheek, forcing her to look at me. "This isn't about you not being enough. Trust me, you're fucking perfect."
"But you're not..." She searches for the word. "Present. Not fully. You're… too busy restraining yourself."
I laugh darkly. "Trust me, I'm very present."
"Then what is it?"
I grind my teeth, weighing how honest to be. In my experience, honesty rarely ends well. But something about those green eyes demands truth.
"I want to fuck you harder," I admit bluntly. "But I'm not sure that's what you want. After what happened last time..."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "You think I'll freak out again."
I shrug, the motion sending a ripple of sensation through both our bodies. "I don't know your triggers. Don't want to stumble into one."
She studies me for a long moment, then reaches up to trace my jawline with her fingertips. "That's... considerate."
"Don't sound so surprised," I growl.
She smiles, genuine and unguarded. "Show me."
I blink. "What?"
"Show me what you want." Her voice drops lower, turns into something brave and challenging. "I'll tell you if it's too much."
The beast inside me snarls, straining against its leash. "You sure about that?"
She nods, green eyes steady on mine. "I… trust you."
Fucking hell. Three simple words that hit harder than any bullet I've ever taken.
"I'll stop if you say so," I promise, my voice a dark rasp against her ear before I grip her hips with decisive force.
In one fluid motion, I haul her onto my lap, the mattress dipping beneath our redistributed weight.
The primal part of my brain roars in approval as she settles against me, her weight both burden and salvation.
Now she's straddling me, eyes wide with surprise at the sudden change. I grasp her hips, guiding her as she adjusts to the new position, the new depth. She moans as my cock hits a wall.
"This is better," I tell her, watching her pupils dilate as I thrust upward. "Now I can see everything."
And I can—every reaction, every small expression. If something triggers her, I'll know instantly.
She braces her hands on my shoulders, testing her control, finding a rhythm that makes her breath catch. The sight of her taking her pleasure from me might be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"There you are," she whispers, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
And fuck if she isn't right. Here I am—no restraints, no armor. Just a man transfixed by a woman who sees through every defense.
I grip her hips tighter, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, and begin to thrust upward with more force. Each movement pushes deeper, harder, testing boundaries without shattering them. The bed creaks beneath us, a rhythmic protest against what we're doing.
"Still good?" I rasp, watching her face for any sign of panic.
Her answer comes in the form of her head falling back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. An invitation I can't resist. I surge forward, keeping her balanced on my lap as I drag my teeth along her pulse point.
"God, yes," she breathes.
Something clicks into place inside me. The beast breaks free, but with purpose—controlled chaos rather than blind destruction. I increase the tempo, the force behind each thrust building gradually until she's bouncing against me, her breasts swaying hypnotically with each impact.
The sound that tears from her throat isn't pain—it's release. A scream that peels away layers of restraint and proper behavior, revealing something raw underneath.
I immediately slow down, protective instincts kicking in. "Too much?"
"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, tears tracking down her flushed cheeks. "Please, Dane."
My name in her mouth, wrapped in desperation, it's so fucking erotic.
I resume the punishing rhythm, watching in fascination as tears leak from the corners of her eyes while pure pleasure transforms her face. There's something profound happening here—something beyond the mechanics of sex. Those tears aren't sadness or pain. They're overload. Release. Truth.
"That's it," I encourage, voice thick with my own building pleasure. "Take what you need."
Her nails rake down my chest, leaving faint red trails that sting in the best possible way. I wonder what other marks we'll leave on each other—visible and invisible.
Isn't that the fucking irony of existence?
We spend our lives collecting scars, physical and emotional, mapped across our bodies and souls by everyone we encounter.
Most people leave scratches, shallow marks that fade with time.
But some—the rare ones—carve themselves into your bones, permanent alterations to your fundamental structure.
I can already feel Lila's imprint forming, reshaping me from the inside out.
She's close again, her inner walls fluttering around me, her movements becoming erratic. I reach between us, finding her clit with my thumb, circling with just enough pressure.
"Oh god," she chokes out, fresh tears spilling. "I can't—it's too?—"
"You can," I tell her, certain in this if nothing else. "Let go."
Her entire body goes rigid, suspended in that exquisite moment between tension and release. Then she shatters, clenching around me so tightly I have to grit my teeth against my own pleasure. I watch her—all of her—as she comes apart.
Her cry echoes through my sparsely furnished bedroom, bouncing off walls that have never witnessed anything like this before. More tears streak down her face as she convulses, gasping my name between broken moans.
It's beautiful. She's beautiful. Even in this abandoned state—especially in this abandoned state—with her guard completely down.
I've never seen anything more honest in my life.
And that's what tips me over the edge. Not the physical sensation, incredible as it is, but the raw vulnerability she's showing me. Trust I haven't earned and don't deserve.
My release hits like a thunderclap in pitch darkness, sudden and all-consuming. Utterly devastating.