CHAPTER 26 BRAKKOR
brAKKOR
Her hand against my cheek burns like a brand, and the certainty in her voice strips away every careful defense I've built. The weight of her words settles in my chest—not demanding, not pleading, just stating truth like she's reading from one of her perfectly organized files.
"I don't want to leave." The admission scrapes out of my throat like gravel. "Even knowing what might happen, I don't want to walk away from this. From you."
Her thumb traces along my jawline, and I lean into the touch despite every instinct screaming at me to maintain distance. "Then don't."
"It's that simple for you?"
"Nothing about this is simple." Her other hand finds my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. "But I'm choosing it anyway. Fully aware of the risk."
The space between us disappears. I don't know who moves first—maybe we both do—but suddenly her mouth is on mine and every argument dies in my throat. She tastes like determination and something sweeter underneath, like the honey cakes from Maddie's bakery.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer until there's no air left between us. The kiss deepens, and I feel her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging gently at the strands that always fall into my eyes.
"Calla," I breathe against her lips, and her name sounds different now—less careful, more desperate.
"I know." Her voice carries the same edge, the same need that's been building between us for weeks.
I pull back just enough to see her face, searching for any hesitation. Instead, I find the same unwavering resolve that's driven every decision she's made since I walked into her newsroom.
Without breaking eye contact, I sink onto the narrow inn bed, my hands sliding down to her hips. She follows the motion, settling onto my lap with a grace that makes my pulse stutter.
The bed creaks under our combined weight, and I'm suddenly grateful for the inn's solid construction. Calla's legs bracket my thighs, and the new angle brings her face level with mine.
"I need you," I groan, the words torn from somewhere deeper than thought. My hands frame her face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. "Calla, please."
Her answer comes in the form of another kiss, fiercer this time, her teeth catching my bottom lip. The small pain sends heat shooting through my veins, and I can't hold back the sound that escapes my throat.
She shifts down my body with unexpected grace, her knees settling on the worn floorboards between my legs.
Her fingers go to the laces of my trousers, knuckles brushing against my stomach as she works.
Every touch feels too deliberate, too intentional—the same focused precision she brings to editing a front page.
I rise up on my elbows to watch her. "You unpacking a story or unwrapping me?"
"Both." Her gaze flicks up, holding mine. "Both require attention to detail."
The laces give way under her clever fingers. I lift my hips, helping her push the fabric down my thighs. The cool air hits my skin, then her hand follows—wrapping around me with a confidence that steals my breath.
"Calla." Her name comes out ragged.
She leans forward, her tongue tracing a slow circle around the tip. The sensation arcs through my entire body, sharp and electric. When she glances up again, her eyes are wide with a question I've never seen in her before—something stripped of all her usual control.
I nod, my hand coming up to tangle in the hair at her nape. "Don't hold back."
Her mouth closes around me, and the world narrows to heat and pressure and the view of her dark head bowed between my legs. She takes me deeper with each pass, her hands braced on my thighs now, holding herself steady as she moves.
The sounds she makes are obscene and beautiful—wet drags of her lips, small gags when she pushes too far, the choked little noises in the back of her throat. My fingers tighten in her hair, guiding her rhythm until she's taking nearly all of me.
"Easy," I groan when she chokes again, water blooming at the corners of her eyes. But she doesn't stop, just swallows around me, the vibration reverberating through every nerve ending.
I'm close—too close—and the sensation of falling apart at her hands, her mouth, her perfect fucking control is almost too much. I pull her head back gently, breaking the seal with a slick pop.
Her lips stay parted, her breath coming fast. "Problem?"
"Just want you somewhere less breakable."
I scoop her up before she can protest, the motion spinning us both around. She lands on her stomach across the narrow bed, skirts rumpling up around her waist. My hands smooth over the curves of her ass, then slide between her thighs.
She spreads for me without hesitation, opening like a flower when my fingers find her. Wet heat meets my touch, and she arches into the contact with a sharp inhale.
"Tell me." My voice sounds rough-edged with need. "Tell me this is what you want."
Her answer comes in the form of her hips rocking back against my hand, taking my fingers deeper. "Don't stop. I want it."
I add another finger, stretching her slowly, watching the way her back bows and her hands fist in the bedding. Her breathing turns ragged between murmured curses.
When I pull my hand away, she makes a noise of protest that cuts off when I press the head of my cock against her entrance.
"Ready?"
Her laugh comes out breathless, muffled against the mattress. "What do you think?"
The first thrust punches the air from my lungs as much as hers. She’s so tight, a slick, clinging heat that draws me in deeper than I expected. A sharp gasp breaks from her lips, muffled by the bedding.
I don’t wait for her to adjust. I pull back and drive into her again, setting a rhythm that’s less about finesse and more about claiming.
The bedframe knocks a steady, punishing beat against the wall.
My hands grip her hips, fingers digging into the softness there, holding her still for each deeper, harder stroke.
“Brakkor—” Her voice is strained, fractured.
“That’s it.” The words come out guttural.
My control is fraying, unraveling with every drag of her body around mine.
I’m fucking her like I’m trying to outrun my own thoughts, my own fear.
Each thrust is needier, rougher, seeking something I can’t name.
Her back arches, a beautiful, desperate curve, and a broken cry tears from her throat as she shatters.
I feel her clench around me, a rhythmic, fluttering pulse that pulls a groan from my chest.
Before the waves finish, I hook an arm around her waist and flip her. She lands on her back, hair fanned across the pillow, eyes wide and stunned. I climb over her, pinning her wrists beside her head, and sink back into her wet heat without breaking stride.
This angle is deeper, more raw, more intimate.
Her knees fall open wider, welcoming me completely, and the sight of her spread beneath me—hair dark against the white pillowcase, skin flushed and gleaming—sends a jolt of pure hunger through my chest. I watch her face like it's the only thing keeping me tethered to earth, drinking in the way her eyes lose focus and roll back, pupils blown wide with pleasure, the parted 'o' of her mouth as she takes every thick inch I give her.
"That's right." My voice comes out like rough sand scraped over stone, barely recognizable. "Take it, Calla. Take this fucking cock."
A breathless, shaky laugh escapes her throat, the sound catching on a moan as I hit something deep inside her. "You have—" she gasps, head falling back against the pillow, "—a real way with words."
The smart mouth on her, even now. Even when she's spread open and taking me like she was made for it. It makes me want to fuck the attitude right out of her.
"Shut up and come for me again."
I drive into her with long, hard strokes that leave no space for thought, no room for anything but the wet slide of bodies and the building heat between us.
The praise spills out of me, raw and unfiltered, words I didn't know I had in me.
"So perfect. So tight around my cock. You feel like fucking heaven, Calla. "
Her nails score down my back, a sharp, delicious sting that cuts through the haze.
I hiss, driving into her harder, faster, until the world narrows to the slap of skin on skin, the rhythmic creak of the bedframe, the choked-off, breathless sounds she makes against my neck.
My release builds, a relentless pressure coiling tight at the base of my spine, a fuse burning down.
Her legs lock around my hips, pulling me impossibly deeper, and she comes with a silent scream, her body bowing off the mattress, every muscle taut.
The sight of her unraveling, of that controlled composure finally shattered, undoes me completely.
I plunge deep one last time, burying myself to the hilt, and spill into her with a groan that’s half pain, half profound relief.
My forehead drops to her sweat-slicked shoulder as the last violent pulses rack through me, leaving me shuddering and spent, anchored only by the feel of her beneath me.
My chest heaves as I pull her up against me, her body fitting perfectly into the curve of my ribs.
Her hair spills across my shoulder in dark waves, and I can't resist threading my fingers through the silky strands.
The scent of her—something clean and warm with an edge of sweat—fills my lungs with each ragged breath.
She traces lazy circles on my chest with her fingertip, the touch sending aftershocks through my spent body. "We need to finalize our plan."
"Right now?" My voice comes out rougher than intended, still scraped raw from what just happened between us.
"Tomorrow's the last day before festival preparations begin in earnest." Her tone carries that familiar editor's precision, even naked and sprawled across my chest. "If we're going to expose Selwyn, we need to move."
I tighten my arms around her, not ready to let the outside world intrude on this moment. "What did you have in mind?"
"We confront him directly. With everything we've gathered—the diverted shipments, the stockpiled goods, Thornak's stolen lumber." She shifts slightly, propping her chin on my sternum to meet my eyes. "Force him to explain himself before he can do more damage."
"That's risky. If he's working with others—"
"Then we expose them too." The steel in her voice reminds me why she's survived years of running a newspaper in a town that prefers its secrets buried. "I won't let him destroy the festival. Not on my watch."
I stroke her hair again, marveling at how soft it feels against my calloused fingers. "You realize he might not go quietly?"
"I'm counting on it. Desperate people make mistakes."
A laugh rumbles in my chest. "You sound like you're planning a military campaign."
"Close enough." She presses a kiss to my collarbone, the touch feather-light but somehow more intimate than anything that came before. "I've been protecting this town my entire life. I'm not about to stop now."
The weight of her words settles between us, and I understand what she's really saying. This isn't just about the investigation anymore—it's about choosing to stand together against whatever comes next.
"We do this together," I say, my thumb tracing along her jawline. "No pulling back, no second-guessing."
Her eyes search mine for a long moment, and I see the exact instant she makes her decision. The same unwavering resolve that drew me to her from the beginning.
"I'm yours," she whispers against my throat, the words barely audible but carrying more weight than any promise.
Something cracks open in my chest at those simple words—not breaking, but opening wider than I thought possible.