Chapter 101 Morgan
Morgan
For the first time in what felt like forever, the night was ours.
Damian stretched out on the bed, his body warm and solid beneath mine, his breath steady against my throat.
The bruises and bandages didn’t stop him—not when his hands slid slow over my skin, careful and reverent.
He touched me like I was fragile, yet kissed me like I was the only thing anchoring him to life.
I cupped his face, brushing my thumb over the rough stubble along his jaw. “You don’t have to be careful,” I whispered.
His eyes burned into mine, fierce and tender. “I almost lost you. I’ll never be anything but careful.”
My heart clenched, but the ache turned molten when his mouth captured mine. The kiss deepened, urgent and consuming, and I melted against him. The world narrowed to the slide of his hands, the heat of his body, the way he groaned my name like it was a vow.
Clothes fell away, barriers stripped as easily as fear. He eased me down beneath him, every movement measured, every touch deliberate. My back arched when he pressed into me, the feeling dissolving into a rush of heat that stole my breath.
“Damian,” I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, careful of the bandage.
He moved slow at first, like he was memorizing me, every roll of his hips a promise.
Then his control cracked, need surging, and he thrust deeper, harder, until I was clinging to him, biting back cries against his throat.
His hand slid down, finding me, pushing me higher, and I shattered beneath him with a sob of his name.
He followed with a guttural groan, his body locking tight, every muscle trembling as he buried himself deep. His forehead dropped to mine, breath ragged, our hearts pounding in rhythm.
We stayed tangled together, the world finally still. He kissed me again, softer this time, like he’d put his whole soul into that single press of his lips.
“I’m not letting go,” he whispered against my mouth.
“Good,” I breathed back. “Because neither am I.”
And for the first time, it wasn’t survival. It was love.
Damian
Morning came fast. Too fast.
I eased out of bed, Morgan still curled in the sheets, her hand resting where my chest had been. I pressed a kiss to her hair before slipping on a fresh shirt, shouldering the weight of the day.
By the time I hit command, the others were already there. Oliver leaned against the table, arms crossed. Gage sat sharpening a knife like he’d been born with it. Cyclone’s laptop glowed, maps and data scrolling fast.
“You look like hell,” Gage said without looking up.
“Feel worse,” I admitted, dropping into a chair. “But I’m here. What’s next?”
Cyclone spun the laptop toward me, his grin tired but sharp. “What’s next? We’ve got Luthor in custody, his network bleeding out, and half the city scrambling to cover their asses. But this—” he tapped the screen, highlighting a cluster of new coordinates “—this is bigger. He wasn’t working alone.”
Oliver’s smirk was thin. “They never are.”
I sat back, the weight of the next storm already pressing down. But in the back of my mind, I held onto the memory of Morgan’s hands on me, her voice whispering I’ll always be waiting.
I could fight another war. As long as I had her to come back to.