Chapter 22
Jo-Leigh
The water is still running, steam curling through the bathroom like smoke, clinging to my skin and making it hard to breathe. But maybe that’s not the steam. Maybe it’s him.
Swag doesn’t move right away. He’s still braced against the shower wall, his forehead resting against mine, the heat of his breath mingling with mine. The raw intensity in his gaze is stripped bare now. There’s no teasing, no smirk, just something deep I don’t want to name.
His thumb brushes along my cheek, rough but strangely careful. “You okay, little bee?”
I nod, but it’s a lie, and we both know it.
I’m not okay at all. Not with how deep I’ve fallen into him.
Not with how easy it’s becoming to need him.
He studies me for a moment, then presses a soft kiss to my damp temple, an unexpected tenderness that nearly undoes me.
Without a word, he turns off the water, grabs a towel, and starts drying me off.
Slowly. Thoroughly. Like I’m something fragile when we both know I’m not.
When his hands linger at my hips, I catch his wrist. “You don’t have to?—”
“Yeah, I do,” he says quietly, his voice low but edged in steel. “You’re mine to take care of, Jo-Leigh. That doesn’t end when we step out of the bed or the shower.”
The words shouldn’t warm me the way they do. Shouldn’t curl around the edges of my ribs and settle deep in my chest like a promise.
He wraps the towel around me, tucks it snugly, and then grabs another to dry himself off, moving with efficient, clipped motions. But there’s tension in his shoulders, like he’s holding something back.
“You’ve been running on empty for weeks,” he finally says. “You think I don’t notice, but I do. You don’t eat enough. You don’t sleep enough. And you sure as fuck don’t know when to ask for help.”
I glance up at him, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.
“I’m trying,” I murmur.
“I know you are, little bee.” His hand comes up, cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. His eyes darken, but there’s something protective beneath the hunger simmering there. “But you don’t have to try so hard anymore. Not with me.”
The air feels thick between us, charged, alive. My heart hammers, but instead of stepping away, I lean into his palm.
That’s when he lowers his forehead to mine again and says, with quiet conviction, “I don’t lose what’s mine. Not to Ricky. Not to anyone. And I’ll burn this whole fucking city down before I let anyone touch you.”
The vow coils around me, hot and unyielding, leaving no room for doubt or escape.
Swag doesn’t say anything when he scoops me up and carries me back into the bedroom. The motion is effortless, but his grip is tight, like if he lets go for even a second, I might disappear.
He sets me down on the bed and kneels between my knees, his palms braced on either side of me, trapping me there. But his weight isn’t oppressive. It’s grounding. His forehead dips to mine, his breath steady against my lips, and for a moment, it’s just silence between us.
“Take off the towel,” he says softly. It’s not a request.
My pulse skips, but I do as he asks, letting the damp fabric fall to the floor. His gaze doesn’t immediately drop to my body; it stays on my face, steady and unreadable, like he’s giving me a chance to change my mind.
When I don’t, his hands slide along my thighs, calloused palms dragging fire across damp skin.
“You’re mine, Jo-Leigh,” he murmurs, his voice husky, roughened by something deeper than desire. “I need you to hear me when I say it. Not just when I’m pissed. Not just when I’m tearing the world apart for you. Always.”
My throat tightens, and I can only nod.
“Say it,” he orders, quiet but commanding.
“I hear you,” I whisper, and it feels like surrender — not the weak kind, but the terrifying, inevitable kind.
Something softens in his expression. One hand comes up to cup the side of my face, and then his lips are on mine, slow but relentless, like he’s imprinting himself on me. There’s heat, yes, but there’s something else that leaves me dizzy.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushes my bottom lip. “Good girl,” he says, so low it’s almost a growl.
I don’t know why those two words unravel me, but they do.
I melt beneath him, and when he leans in again, there’s no hesitation on either side.
It’s slower this time, deeper. Less about possession, more about claiming.
And the moment he pushes me back into the pillows, I know exactly what’s happening.
This isn’t just chemistry anymore.
This is us crossing a line we can’t come back from.
Swag’s weight settles over me, braced on his forearms, the heat of his body sinking into mine. His eyes are dark, wild, like he’s one heartbeat away from completely losing control and somehow, that doesn’t scare me.
It should.
But instead, my breath hitches, and I arch slightly beneath him.
“Bee,” he murmurs, low and rough, his voice scraping over my skin like sandpaper and silk all at once. “You got any idea what you’re doing to me?”
“I think I do…”
His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. More like frustration and hunger tangled together. “Then you should know I’m holding on by a fucking thread.”
I swallow hard, my voice barely audible. “Then stop holding on.”
That’s all it takes. His mouth crashes onto mine in a claiming kiss, deep and unyielding, swallowing my sharp inhale.
One hand fists in my damp hair while the other grips my thigh, dragging it up around his hip until I’m caged beneath him.
I gasp against his lips, my body going molten under his rough touch.
Every push and pull between us collapses into this storm of want, heat, and desperation.
His fingers trail slowly up the inside of my thigh, deliberate and commanding, and when they finally slip between my legs, I whimper into his mouth.
“Look at me,” he orders, pulling back just enough to see my face.
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze, and it’s like being locked in place by something I can’t name. Power. Possession. Want. All of it simmering, unspoken but unmistakable.
“You wanna play bad girl, tease me, push my buttons?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “Then you’re gonna take what I give you, Jo-Leigh. No running. No hiding.”
I nod, my breath shaky. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Yes, Swag.”
He rewards me instantly. Two fingers press against me, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make my back arch off the bed. His gaze stays on mine the whole time, like he’s memorizing the way I unravel for him.
“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead pressing to mine. “You’re wet for me, little bee. You been this sweet for anyone else?”
My breath stutters. “No.”
“Good,” he growls, dragging his fingers along me again, teasing, never giving enough. “’Cause I’ll ruin you for anyone else before I’m done.”
I shiver, my nails digging into his shoulders, and when I grind up against his hand in a desperate plea for more, he grips my hip hard, pinning me.
“Patience,” he warns softly, his voice all control and command. “I said I’d take my time with you. And I meant it.”
Swag’s mouth claims mine again, harder this time, stealing the air from my lungs as his weight pins me to the bed.
There’s no hesitation now. Only want, sharp and undeniable, spiraling tighter and tighter until my body feels like it’s going to combust. His hand leaves my thigh to cup my jaw, tilting my face just enough for him to deepen the kiss.
His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and deliberate, coaxing me into giving him everything, and God, I do.
When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, and dangerous. “That’s me holding back. That’s me fighting every instinct I’ve got not to fuck you into this mattress until you can’t remember your own name.”
My nails dig into his shoulders. “Then stop fighting.”
His growl vibrates against my lips. “Careful what you ask for, little bee. Once I start, I don’t stop until you’re ruined for anyone else.”
“I want you,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the words. “I want you, Swag.”
Something shifts in him and then he’s on me, claiming my mouth, my throat, every inch of skin he can reach. His hand slides between my thighs, parting me with slow, deliberate strokes that make my hips jerk against his palm.
“Fuck,” he rasps, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re soaked for me.”
“Please,” I breathe, my body arching up, chasing more without shame.
He leans back just enough to look at me, his gaze molten and hungry.
“I want to watch you, Jo-Leigh. I want to see exactly how sweet you look when I make you come on my hand.”
The words steal the air from my lungs. “Swag?—”
“Eyes on me,” he orders, and I can’t disobey.
I watch him, watch the raw intensity in his face, as he pushes two fingers inside me, deep and sure, curling them just right. My moan spills out uncontained, my body jerking under the relentless rhythm he sets.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and sinful. “Taking me so fucking well.”
Every drag of his fingers pushes me closer to the edge, my body trembling, my breaths breaking into little gasps. He keeps his other hand braced by my head, holding me exactly where he wants me — pinned, claimed, undone beneath him.
“Say my name,” he commands, his pace quickening just slightly, enough to make my head spin.
“Swag,” I whimper, my voice cracking.
“Louder.”
“Swag!”
He groans, deep and guttural, his mouth crashing against mine again as my release finally tears through me — hot, hard, and overwhelming.
I cry out into the kiss, my body shuddering as he works me through it, unrelenting until I’m shaking beneath him.
When he finally slows, his fingers slide free, and he leans over me, bracing himself on both hands as his forehead presses to mine.
“You’re mine, little bee,” he rasps, his voice rough from restraint and possession tangled together. “I don’t share. I don’t negotiate. Mine.”
I swallow hard, my chest still heaving.
“Yours,” I whisper, because there’s no denying it anymore.
My body is still trembling when Swag leans back on his heels, his dark, heated gaze dragging over me like a physical touch. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, but his restraint is a razor-thin thread, and I can feel it snapping with every passing second.
I swallow, my voice a rasp. “Swag…”
His jaw flexes, and in the next heartbeat, he’s over me again, braced on one hand, the other gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his stare.
“You have no fucking idea,” he growls, low and rough, “how long I’ve been holding back with you. But not anymore, little bee. Not after tonight.”
Heat floods my face, my chest, lower — everywhere. I should be scared. I should push him away. But instead, I arch up beneath him, silently begging him to close the last inch of space between us.
He notices. God, of course he notices.
“Say it,” he demands, voice sharp and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”
“I—” My breath hitches, my heart pounding so loud I can barely think. “I’m yours.”
Swag moves with a sudden, overwhelming force, his mouth crashing down on mine, deep and bruising, swallowing my gasp as his hand fists in my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me. There’s no hesitation, no gentleness left; he’s taking, claiming, making me feel it in every deliberate touch.
His hips press hard against mine, and the friction draws a strangled moan from my throat. I clutch his arms, pulling him closer, desperate for more, for everything, and he groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me like lightning.
“Fuck, bee,” he rasps, dragging his lips down my neck, his teeth grazing sensitive skin before he bites, just hard enough to make me gasp. “Every time you make that sound, it’s mine. Every fucking piece of you is mine.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging, clinging, grounding myself against the storm he’s pulling me into. “Swag, please…”
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his gaze wild and dark. “Please, what?”
“Please don’t stop.”
Something primal sparks in his expression like I just handed him permission he didn’t really need.
“You’re gonna scream for me,” he mutters, leaning down until his forehead presses to mine. “And when you do, you’ll know who you fucking belong to.”
Then he pushes into me. The stretch steals my breath, my nails digging into his shoulders as my head tips back, a helpless moan spilling from my lips. He hisses, his grip tightening at my hips like he’s holding himself back by sheer will.
“Jesus… fuck, bee,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, wrecked. “You feel like heaven.”
He doesn’t move at first, just lets me adjust, his forehead pressed to my temple, our breaths mixing in ragged bursts.
And then, when I finally shift beneath him, silently begging for more, he gives it to me.
Every thrust is deliberate. Every movement claiming.
I’m drowning in him. In his scent, his weight, his heat, his control.
He keeps one hand braced beside my head while the other slides down, gripping my thigh, pushing it higher so he can drive deeper.
My back arches, a broken sound tearing from me as the intensity builds sharp and fast.
“Look at me,” he orders, his voice a low growl against my ear. “Don’t you dare look away when I ruin you.”
I do. God help me, I do.
And when my release hits, it’s like an electric shock tearing through me.
My body arching, trembling, clinging to him as wave after wave crashes over me.
He doesn’t let up, riding me through it, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer until finally, with a rough, guttural groan, he finds his own release, collapsing against me, breathless and shaking.
For a long moment, neither of us moves, tangled together in heat and sweat and chaos. And then, when he finally lifts his head, he presses a soft, unexpected kiss to my temple.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, voice rough but quiet. “That wasn’t just sex, bee. That was me staking my claim.”
And the terrifying part? I want to be claimed.