Chapter 20
LILA
I collapse against Dane's chest, every muscle in my body turned to liquid. Holy. Shit.
His arms wrap around me, solid and secure, like being enveloped in a warm fortress. I should probably move, clean up, do something responsible—but my body has other ideas, melting deeper into his embrace.
"You okay?" His voice rumbles through his chest and into mine.
"I think you broke me," I murmur, too blissed out to filter my thoughts. "In the good way."
His chuckle vibrates against my cheek as he strokes my hair, his touch unexpectedly gentle after what we just did. The contrast is doing things to my heart I'm not ready to examine.
"That was… only a taste," he says.
Damn! I'm afraid to ask, but more than willing to find out.
I ache between my legs in the most delicious way.
Like a badge of honor, a reminder that I just had possibly the most intense sex of my life.
And with a man who could have snapped me in half but instead watched my face the entire time, making sure I was right there with him.
Something released inside me when he finally let go—when we both did. That coiled knot of fear that's been living in my chest since New Orleans. Since Mr. Colton. Not gone completely, but looser somehow. Lighter.
"What are you thinking about?" Dane asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
"That I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow," I deadpan, deflecting with humor like I always do.
He sees right through it. "Lila."
I sigh, my breath warming the skin of his chest. "I'm thinking that I expected to feel... I don't know, scared? When you got rough. But I didn't."
"What did you feel?"
"Free." The word escapes before I can catch it, hanging naked in the air between us.
His arms tighten around me, and I swear I feel his lips press against the top of my head. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
"Want some water?" he finally asks, practical as ever.
"God, yes. My throat's raw from..." I feel my face heat up.
"From screaming my name?" His smirk is audible.
"Don't get cocky, Wolfe," I mutter, even as I smile against his skin. "It wasn't that impressive."
His laugh is the most genuine sound I've heard from him yet.
Dane slides out of bed, and I can't help but stare as he walks toward the door. That ass should be registered as a lethal weapon. Seriously, it's like two perfect muscled hemispheres that?—
Jesus, Lila, get a grip.
I flop back against his pillows, feeling pleasantly sore all over.
What just happened between us was... something else.
Not just the physical part, which was mind-blowing, but the way he watched me.
Like he was memorizing every reaction, cataloging what made me gasp, what made me moan.
No one's ever paid that much attention to me before.
And I let him see me—really see me. Not the careful, guarded version I've been showing the world since New Orleans.
The renewed thought of my former life crashes into my post-orgasm haze like a bucket of ice water.
I've spent years building walls, keeping people at arm's length, especially men.
Especially powerful men. And here I am, letting those walls crumble for a guy I barely know—an ex-military private detective with violence in his hands and secrets behind his eyes.
What am I doing?
I hear water running in the kitchen, the clink of glasses. My mind drifts to tomorrow's shift at The Old Haunt, to my upcoming Veritas interview results, to Mr. Miller's project that's due next?—
"Here you go."
Dane's voice yanks me back to the present as he returns, gloriously naked, glasses of water in hand.
And... wow. His cock swings as he walks, impressive and perfectly straight even in its relaxed state.
A flash of heat zips through my core, memories of how he felt inside me making me squeeze my thighs together involuntarily.
He hands me a glass, then sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes searching my face. Too damn perceptive.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks. "You look… I don't know… preoccupied."
I take a long sip of water, buying time. "Just... processing."
His brow furrows. "Did I hurt you? I tried to be careful, but?—"
"No! God, no." I reach for his hand. "It was amazing. You were... perfect."
He doesn't look convinced. "Then what's bothering you?"
Something about his genuine concern breaks something loose in me. Maybe it's the intimacy we just shared, or maybe I'm just tired of carrying this alone.
"Remember how I panicked the other night? When you got rough?" I stare into my water glass. "There's a reason for that."
Dane goes still beside me, his full attention laser-focused on my face.
"In high school, my senior year, there was this teacher. Mr. Colton." My voice drops to almost a whisper. "He taught drama, and I thought... I thought he saw something special in me. You know, stupid teenage girl crap."
Dane's hand finds mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles. He doesn't speak, just waits.
"It started with extra attention, private lessons. Then texts that got increasingly inappropriate. I was flattered at first—this cool, older guy singling me out." I laugh bitterly. "God, I was so stupid."
I shake my head, unable to believe I'm opening up to Dane.
"You weren't stupid," Dane says, his voice low and controlled. "You were young, and he took advantage of that."
I take a deep breath. I've started this; might as well finish it.
"He prepped me for months. Looking back, I can see the playbook.
Single the girl out. Make her feel special.
Blur the boundaries." I twist the sheet between my fingers.
"Then one night, we were working late on a scene.
Just the two of us. He offered me a drink to 'loosen up' for the emotional part. "
Dane's jaw tightens, but he stays silent.
"I woke up with him..." My throat closes. I take another sip of water. "He had my face pressed into the carpet. Kept saying not to scream."
I can feel Dane's body tensing beside me, but I can't look at him. If I do, I'll stop talking.
"When I fought back, he got rough." I swallow hard. "Not the kind of rough that leaves obvious marks. He knew exactly what he was doing. Pressure points, hair pulling, twisting my arm just enough to hurt like hell without leaving bruises."
Dane's fingers tighten around mine, then consciously relax.
"Smart fucker," I mutter. "When it was over, he switched to this terrifyingly calm voice. Told me nobody would believe me if I talked. Said he'd make sure everyone knew I was a slutty attention-seeker who came onto him."
I laugh without humor. "And you know what? He was right. When I finally worked up the courage to tell someone—my best friend at the time, then the school—it all went exactly like he said. They swept it under the rug. He resigned 'for personal reasons' and my life imploded."
I chance a glance at Dane. His face is a carefully controlled mask, but his eyes—they're burning with something that sends a chill down my spine.
"No police report?" he asks, voice eerily calm.
"I tried. But in New Orleans..." I shrug. "Let's just say the local cops weren't exactly eager to tangle with a respected teacher over some teenage girl's 'allegations.' One officer actually asked what I was wearing that night."
Dane's knuckles go white. "Give me his full name."
The intensity in his voice startles me. "Why?"
"Just curious," he says, too casually.
"Bullshit. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one you had right before you took down those three frat boys without breaking a sweat." I pull the sheet higher. "Look, I didn't tell you this so you could go all avenging angel. It's ancient history."
Dane's face shifts, eyes darkening into something dangerous and calculated. "I wouldn't kill him," he says, voice dropping to that quiet, controlled tone that somehow manages to be scarier than yelling. "Just... educate him."
"Educate him?" I repeat, eyebrows shooting up.
"Give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him understand what it feels like to be powerless."
Holy shit. The casual way he says it sends a chill through me—not entirely unpleasant. My brain tries to process the fact that this man I just slept with is casually offering to... what? Assault my former teacher? As if he's suggesting picking up takeout?
"Are you seriously offering to..." I can't even finish the sentence.
"I'm offering to make sure he never does to another girl what he did to you." Dane's thumb traces circles on my palm, the gentleness of his touch at complete odds with what he's suggesting. "Men like that don't stop, Lila. They just get better at hiding it."
A twisted knot forms in my stomach—part horror, part something else I don't want to name. Something that whispers: Wouldn't it be good if he finally felt afraid?
"That's..." I swallow hard. "That's illegal. And insane."
"Only if I get caught." He says it with such matter-of-factness that I almost laugh.
"Jesus, Dane. You can't just?—"
"I won't if you don't want me to." He meets my eyes directly. "Your call. But the offer stands."
The most fucked-up part? I'm actually considering it. For a split second, I imagine Mr. Colton experiencing even a fraction of the fear he put me through. The humiliation. The helplessness. My stomach twists with a savage satisfaction that scares me.
"I can see you thinking about it," Dane says softly. "It's okay to want him to suffer, Lila."
I pull my hand away. "No, it's not. That makes me just like him."
"Bullshit." Dane's voice is sharp now. "Wanting your abuser to face consequences doesn't make you anything like him. It only means you want justice."
"And what would it make you?" I challenge. "Some vigilante who beats up people for revenge?"
His jaw tightens. "I've done worse for less noble reasons."
That stops me cold. The casual admission of violence in his past shouldn't surprise me—he was a Marine, for God's sake—but hearing him say it so plainly makes something sink in my chest.
"Look, I don't need you to..." I trail off, unsure how to finish.
"Save you? I know." His expression softens. "You've already saved yourself, Lila. Getting away from there, building a new life, not letting that bastard destroy you—that took more strength than anything I've ever done."
Damn it. How does he do that? Just when I think he's this terrifying badass, he says something so unexpectedly perceptive that it knocks me sideways.
"I just..." He pauses, searching for words. "I want you to know you have options. That you're not alone in this anymore. Not if you let me."
I blink hard against the sudden burn in my eyes. No one's ever offered to fight my demons before—literally or figuratively.
I shake my head. "Um, let's talk about something else."
"Yeah, sure." Relief flashes across Dane's face, like he's grateful I'm not running for the door after his whole vigilante justice offer. Which, honestly? Still processing.
He sets our water glasses on the nightstand and slides back under the sheets. When he opens his arms, I hesitate only a second before tucking myself against him. His body radiates heat like a furnace, and I find myself melting into him despite my better judgment.
"For what it's worth," he murmurs into my hair, "I do know how to behave in civilized society. Most of the time."
I snort against his chest. "Could've fooled me, Mr. I'll-Break-His-Kneecaps."
His laugh rumbles through me. "I was thinking something more creative, actually."
"Oh my God, stop." I smack his chest lightly, but I'm fighting a smile.
We fall silent, his fingers drawing lazy circles on my shoulder. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear is hypnotic. When was the last time I felt this... safe? Not just physically, but like I could actually let my guard down?
It should terrify me that the person making me feel this way is a man who casually offered to assault someone for me. Instead, I find myself thinking that for the first time since Mr. Colton, I'm with someone who might actually understand the darkness I carry—and not run from it.
Just as I start drifting off, encased in warmth and post-sex and deep-confession exhaustion, Dane's voice vibrates through his chest beneath my ear.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For telling me about him. About what happened."
I mumble something incoherent against his skin, consciousness already slipping away.
"I know what it's like," he continues, fingers still tracing patterns on my shoulder. "To carry something like that. To have it shape everything you do, even when you think you've moved past it."
My eyes flutter open. The vulnerability in his tone pulls me back from the edge of sleep.
"There's a lot about me, about my past, that I want to share with you, too" he says. "Things I don't talk about. Ever." His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "I will. In time. If you want to hear it."
I should say something meaningful, something that matches the weight of his words. Instead, my sleep-drunk brain goes with: "As long as you're not secretly a terrifying alien under all this hotness."
His soft chuckle rumbles against my cheek. "No promises."
I smile despite myself and nestle closer, letting sleep reclaim me. Whatever demons Dane's wrestling with, they can wait until morning. Right now, I'm too damn comfortable to care, and too tired from being fucked so thoroughly.