Chapter 27 East
East
I wake up to the unfamiliar feeling of another person’s warmth in my bed.
For a split second, a cold, practiced instinct kicks in—the muscle memory of a man used to waking up alone, on guard. Then the scent hits me. Her scent is a mix of my soap and something uniquely her, like wildflowers after a storm. It makes the tension bleed out of me in a single, quiet exhale.
Darla.
I turn my head on the pillow, my movements slow, careful not to wake her.
Early morning light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across her face and the tangled mess of her blonde hair spread across my pillow.
She looks peaceful. Young. The harsh lines of trauma have softened in sleep, and the bruise on her cheek is just a faint, violet shadow.
My house is my sanctuary, the one place that is quiet, ordered, and mine. The war found her, and I brought her into my fortress. Waking up to find her here, safe in my bed, feels less like an intrusion and more like the first real peace I’ve felt in seven years.
She stirs, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and her eyes flutter open. They’re hazy with sleep for a moment, then they find mine and clear with a jolt of awareness. I see the flash of memory—the alley, the anger, the raw, desperate sex—and a flicker of uncertainty crosses her face.
I lift a hand, my thumb gently tracing the edge of her jaw. “You okay?” I ask, my voice a low, rough thing in the morning quiet.
She leans into my touch, a small, almost imperceptible movement that makes my chest ache. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Are you?”
The easy banter from before feels wrong now. Too shallow for the depth of what’s passing between us. “No,” I admit, the truth scraping its way out. “I’m terrified.”
Her brow furrows. “Of my father?”
“Of failing you,” I confess, my voice barely audible.
Her eyes soften, and something in them breaks my heart and puts it back together all at once.
She closes the small space between us, her lips brushing mine in a kiss that is nothing like the frantic, angry collision in the alley.
This is slow. Tender. A question. A rediscovery in the quiet light of day.
When she pulls back, she whispers, “You won’t.”
And that’s it. That’s all it takes. The last thread of my control snaps.
I pull her to me, my mouth finding hers again, but this time it’s deeper.
It’s a promise. My hand slides from her jaw, down her neck, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone before finding the hem of the T-shirt she’s wearing—my T-shirt.
I slide my hand underneath, my palm flat against the soft, warm skin of her stomach.
She gasps against my mouth, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.
This isn’t the frantic, desperate claiming from the alley. This is worship. I take my time, peeling the shirt up and over her head, my eyes drinking in the sight of her, all pale skin and soft curves in the morning light. She’s beautiful in a way that makes the air leave my lungs.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I growl, my voice thick with lust and awe as I drink her in.
My lips trace a path along her jawline, gliding down her neck until I reach the hollow of her throat.
I flick my tongue there, savoring her salty sweetness, and she arches her back, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
I can’t help but smile against her skin, reveling in the knowledge that she’s mine in this moment.
Continuing my exploration, my mouth wanders over her collarbone, slipping down between her breasts.
Her nipples harden under my touch, and a low groan escapes me.
I take one pebbled peak into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then more forcefully as her moans fill the air.
Moving to her other breast, I give it the same attention, my hands roaming her body, memorizing every curve, every valley.
I make my way down her stomach, my tongue tracing the line of her belly button, dipping inside before venturing lower. She squirms beneath me, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The intoxicating scent of her arousal fills the space between us, and I groan with need.
Settling between her thighs, I watch as her legs fall open for me. Our eyes lock, and in hers, I see a blend of trust, fear, and desire. It’s a potent mix that ignites something deep within me. Slowly, reverently, I slide a finger into her wet heat, and she gasps, her eyelids fluttering shut.
“Look at me, Darla,” I demand, my voice strained, fighting to hold back the intensity building inside me.
Her eyes fly open, revealing the fire burning within. I add another finger, scissoring them inside her, curling them just right to find her G-spot. Her hips buck, and she cries out, her nails digging into the sheets.
I move up her body, my skin slick with sweat, her taste still on my tongue. Her eyes are dazed, unfocused, and utterly wrecked. She’s beautiful. I look down at the woman I just brought to ruin with my mouth, and a fresh wave of possessiveness, so strong it’s a physical ache, rolls through me.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Darla,” I growl, my cock throbbing, straining painfully against the thin cotton of my boxers.
“When I do, I want you to know that I’m claiming you as mine.
” The words spill from my lips, raw and primal.
I watch the realization wash over her, a mix of exhilaration and trepidation that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Claim me?” she breathes, her voice a soft tremor as she meets my gaze, her vulnerability laid bare. “What does that mean for us?”
I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers. “It means you’re safe with me. I’ll protect you from everything, even from yourself if I have to.”
Darla bites her lip, her eyes searching mine. “And what if I don’t want to be claimed? What if I want to fight my own battles?”
A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face, and I can’t help but smile, my heart racing at her defiance. “Then we’ll fight them together. But right now, let me show you what it feels like to be wanted.”
Her eyes search mine, a million fragile emotions swirling in their depths. She gives a single sharp nod, her voice a rough whisper. “Okay.”
With an animalistic growl, I pull her even closer, my lips crashing against hers as I wrestle with the waistband of my boxers.
I’m clumsy, my hands shaking with a desperate need seven years in the making.
I shove them down, and my erection springs free, thick and heavy, throbbing with anticipation.
Darla’s eyes widen, her gaze dropping to my cock, but she doesn’t look away.
Instead, she lifts her hips, a silent, breathtaking invitation. Fuck, yes.
Without further encouragement, I move between her open, trembling thighs, my skin branding hers.
My hips angle, guiding me to her wet entrance.
Her pussy is so slick from my mouth; her heat is a tangible thing calling to me.
I take a deep breath, savoring the moment.
The anticipation of finally, finally joining our bodies is almost more than I can bear.
I press the head of my cock against her, just a tease, and she whimpers, her hips lifting, trying to take me.
“Easy, princess,” I rasp, needing to draw this out. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, I enter her.
Holy. Fuck. Her tightness engulfs me, her inner walls squeezing my cock like a hot, velvet fist. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.
Her nails dig into my back, and she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut as I fill her completely.
I stay buried to the hilt, just letting us both feel it.
Her, full of me. Me, finally inside her.
More than just sex, I found a piece of my past I thought was gone forever. This is home.
“Look at me,” I growl, the intensity of my voice cutting through the thick air between us.
She obeys, her gaze locking onto mine, those deep irises swirling with a tumultuous mix of pleasure and pain that sends a thrill racing down my spine.
“You’re mine now, Darla. Mine alone.” The weight of my words hangs in the air, heavy with promise and possession.
She doesn’t respond verbally, but her body speaks volumes, her pussy clenching around me, her hips arching into mine with an instinctual need that ignites every nerve ending.
I move, pulling back slowly, agonizingly, until just the tip of my cock is inside her, before thrusting deep again.
She cries out at the feeling, a raw, needy sound that feeds the animal inside me.
Her hips move in perfect sync with my rhythm.
It’s a dance as old as time, drawing us deeper into this primal connection.
Each thrust sends waves of sensation coursing through us; the raw, electric energy pulses between our bodies.
The heat radiating from her skin envelops me, and I watch the pleasure build on her face.
Her lips are parted, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that are the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
As a playboy, I know how to make a woman scream.
But this is Darla. I don’t just want her to come; I want to worship her, to brand this moment into her soul.
Reaching between us, my thumb finds her clit, already pebbled and hard from my mouth.
Circling it with teasing pressure, I continue to thrust, slow and deep.
“You feel so good, princess,” I rasp, my voice thick. “So fucking tight. My cock was made for your pussy, don’t you think?”