Chapter 9 #2
His mouth crashes into mine again, harder this time.
Claiming. When my palms flatten against his bare chest, I can't stop the sharp intake of breath.
The scars are worse than I imagined—burn damage stretching from shoulder to hip on his left side, puckered and twisted where skin melted and reformed.
Shrapnel scars across his ribs. A road map of violence carved into flesh.
My fingers trace each mark, following the twisted path of scar tissue from his collarbone down to his obliques. The touch is reverent, exploratory, and I feel him shudder beneath my hands.
"Beautiful," I whisper, meaning it.
"They're not...”
"They're proof you survived." I look up at him, letting him see the truth in my eyes. "Proof you're still here. Still breathing. Still capable of this."
I lean forward and press my lips to the worst of the burn scars—the place where fire tried to claim him and failed. His breath catches, and I feel his hands tighten in my hair.
I move lower, kissing another scar, then another. The shrapnel mark below his ribs. The bullet graze across his shoulder. The knife wound I can only guess the origin of. I map each mark of violence with my mouth, my tongue, wanting him to know I see all of it and want him anyway.
His hands fist in my hair, not pulling, just holding on while I kiss every piece of damage he's tried to hide.
"Willa." My name comes out rough, desperate, barely recognizable.
I look up at him through my lashes. "I want you." The certainty in my voice surprises me. "All of you. The scars, the damage, the isolation, the time you spent alone… I want every broken piece."
Something primal flares in his eyes—possessive, protective, hungry. I gasp in pleasure, back arching to press against him.
The dim lighting paints everything in shades of pale gold and amber, dancing shadows across his scarred chest and my exposed skin. His gaze tracks over me like a physical touch, and I feel it everywhere.
"Mine,” he says in a voice that is possessive, claiming, undeniable.
"Yes." I reach for him with hands that are steadier now. "Yours."
My fingers brush against the hard length of him through his pants and he hisses, hips jerking forward. I do it again, more deliberately, wrapping my hand around him through the fabric.
"Willa." It's a warning, a plea, a prayer all at once.
"I know." I squeeze gently and watch his eyes nearly roll back. "I want to feel you lose control. Want to know I can do this to you."
He moves fast—captures my wrists in one hand, pins them above my head against the wall. I gasp, testing the hold, finding it unyielding. Heat pools low in my belly, desire spiking at the dominance in the gesture.
"Is this okay?" His voice is strained, fighting for control even now.
"Yes," I say, my voice breathy and eager. "God, yes."
With his free hand, he traces the line of my throat, and I feel my pulse hammer against his fingertips. Down to my collarbone. Lower, to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my bra. My nipple is already hard, and when his thumb brushes across it I moan.
He wants to hear that sound again—I can see it in his eyes.
He works the clasp of my bra one-handed, pulls it free and tosses it aside. Then his hand is on me, palming one breast, then the other, learning the weight and shape while I writhe against the wall.
"Please," I gasp. "Kane, please."
He lowers his head, takes one nipple into his mouth, and I cry out. My back arches, offering myself to him. His tongue, his teeth—he alternates between gentle and rough until I'm panting his name.
When he releases my wrists, my hands immediately go to work on his belt. This time I succeed, and his pants hit the floor. He kicks them aside, leaving him in just boxer briefs that do nothing to hide how much he wants me.
I slide my hand inside, wrap around his cock, and he groans at the contact. Hot, hard, perfect. I stroke him slowly, learning the length and girth, my thumb swiping across the head where moisture has already gathered.
"Lay back," he manages. "Now. Before I take you on the floor."
"Maybe I want that."
"Next time." He lifts me easily, and my legs wrap around his waist. "First time, I want you underneath me where I can see every expression, hear every sound."
He lays me down as I reach for him as he strips off the rest of his clothes, my eyes tracking every movement with hunger I don't try to hide.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, the last barrier between us. "These need to go."
I lift my hips and he slides them down my legs, tossing them aside. Now we're both completely bare, nothing between us but air and desire.
When he covers my body with his, skin against skin, it feels like coming home to a place I didn't know existed. His hands map my body, fingers tracing every curve without hesitation.
He takes his time despite the urgency I can feel vibrating through him.
His mouth finds my breast, and I feel the wet heat of his tongue circling my nipple in slow, deliberate passes.
Each circle tightens the coil low in my belly.
My hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white, needing something to hold onto as sensation floods through me.
"Kane." His name, breathless, barely more than a whisper.
He draws the peaked flesh into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me gasp.
The pull of his mouth sends a direct line of pleasure straight between my thighs.
My hips roll upward instinctively, seeking friction, anything to ease the building ache.
He shifts his weight, pressing his muscular thigh between mine, and the contact is exactly what I need and nowhere near enough.
I grind against him, shameless in my need, feeling the hard muscle of his leg against my most sensitive parts. The friction is delicious torture.
"That's it," he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot. He kisses his way across to my other breast, leaving a trail of wet heat. "Take what you need."
I do, riding his thigh with increasing desperation while he lavishes the same attention on my other breast. My breath comes in short pants, heat building everywhere he touches—his mouth, his hands, the solid weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
I can feel how wet I am, slick and ready, and I know he can feel it too against his thigh.
His hand slides lower, between my thighs, replacing his leg.
The first brush of his fingers against my slick folds makes me jolt.
I'm soaked, more ready than I've ever been, my body welcoming his touch with desperate eagerness.
He circles my clit with his thumb, applies just enough pressure to make me cry out, then eases off.
"Christ," he mutters, his voice rough with desire as he explores me with his fingers. The calluses on his fingertips create the most perfect friction. "So responsive. So perfect."
"Kane." His last name this time, sharp with need, my hips bucking into his hand, chasing more pressure, more contact, more of everything.
He slides two fingers inside me and my internal muscles clamp down immediately, gripping him, trying to hold him there. The stretch is intense, bordering on too much, but perfect. His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Oh God," I gasp, back arching off the bed. "Right there. Don't stop."
He doesn't. His thumb continues its maddening circles on my clit while his fingers work inside me, stroking that perfect spot with devastating precision. I can feel the orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter.
My hand reaches for him, wrapping around his hard length. He's velvet over steel, thick and heavy in my palm, and when I stroke him from base to tip, his hips jerk forward into my grip. A bead of moisture appears at the tip and I spread it with my thumb.
"Willa." My name comes out strangled. "Fuck."
"Please," I gasp, stroking him with purpose, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside me. "I need you inside me. Now. I need to feel you."
He groans, and I feel the vibration through his whole body, feel how close he is to losing control.
"Not yet." He captures my wrist, pins it beside my head, stilling my movements. "I want you ready. Want you so desperate you can't think of anything but this. Want to feel you come apart before I'm even inside you."
"I am desperate." My other hand claws at his shoulder, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. "I can't think. There's nothing but this, nothing but you. Please, Kane. Please."
His fingers increase their pace, thumb pressing harder against my clit, and suddenly I'm right there, balanced on the edge. "Come for me first," he commands, his voice dropping to a growl. "Let me feel you."
Two more strokes and I shatter, crying out his name as the orgasm crashes through me. My body bows off the bed, inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me. He works me through it, gentling his touch as I come down, trembling and gasping.
When I can breathe again, I open my eyes to find him watching me with an intensity that steals what little breath I've recovered.
"Beautiful," he murmurs.
Before I can respond, he shifts, positioning himself between my thighs. Then he pauses, and I see the moment military discipline overrides desire.
"Wait." His voice is rough but clear. "I need to know—are you protected?"
My brain is still fuzzy from the orgasm, but the question penetrates. "Birth control. IUD. Good for another three years."
"And...” He hesitates, clearly hating to break the moment. "I'm clean. Last physical was two months ago, and I haven't been with anyone since."
Relief floods through me. "I'm clean too. Haven't been with anyone since I left Jack."
His eyes sharpen. "Six years?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "Yes."
A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. "Six years. Christ, Willa. No wonder you're so desperate."
"Shut up." I try to sound annoyed but I'm smiling too.
"I'm going to make it worth the wait," he promises, voice dropping to a growl. "Every single year."
Something in his voice breaks the last of my restraint. "Then stop talking and prove it."
He positions himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me. His heat surrounds me, and I open for him instinctively.
"Look at me," he commands. "I want to see your eyes when I take you."
I meet his gaze, and I let him see everything—trust, desire, acceptance. All of it laid bare.
"Tell me if it's too much," he says, even though I can see how hard it is for him to hold back.
"It won't be." My hands grip his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips. "I trust you."
Those words break him.
He pushes inside slowly, and I feel myself stretch around him, taking him in inch by inch. He's big, filling me completely, and the small sounds escaping me—breathy gasps and moans—seem to drive him wild. When he's fully seated, buried to the hilt, he stills.
My eyes are wide, lips parted, chest heaving. "You're so deep."
"Too much?"
"No." I experimentally roll my hips, and we both groan. "Move. Please move."
He pulls out almost completely, then thrusts back in. I cry out, back arching, and he does it again. And again. Building a rhythm that has both of us gasping, reaching for something just beyond our grasp.
My legs wrap tighter around his hips, changing the angle, pulling him deeper. He drops his head to my shoulder, breathing hard, fighting to maintain control when I can feel how close he is to losing it.
"Look at me." My hand finds his face, turns it toward mine. "I want to see you."
He meets my eyes and I see everything reflected there—acceptance, desire, something that might be love if we survive long enough to name it. The vulnerability of it nearly breaks me.
"Willa." My name is a prayer, a curse, a promise.
"I'm close." My internal muscles flutter around him. "So close."
He reaches between us, finds the bundle of nerves that makes me gasp. Circles it with his thumb while maintaining the steady thrust of his hips. My breathing speeds up, becomes erratic.
"Come for me," he tells me. "Let me feel it."
I shatter. Waves of pleasure ripple through me, pulling him deeper, demanding everything. I feel him follow three thrusts later, emptying himself inside me with a groan that comes from somewhere deep and primal.
We collapse together, sweat-slicked and breathing hard. He rolls to the side, taking me with him, keeping us connected. My head rests on his chest, over the scars, my fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.
The blizzard still rages outside. The Committee still hunts us. The war still waits beyond these walls.
But here, in this moment, with his body warm against mine and our hearts beating in sync, none of it matters.
His hand strokes through my hair, gentle and soothing. "So," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Was it worth the six-year wait?"
I prop myself up enough to look at him. "Are you seriously asking for a performance review right now?"
"Just wondering if I lived up to expectations."
I pretend to consider it. "Well, you did make some very bold promises about making it worth every year."
"And?"
"And..." I lean down to kiss him, soft and slow. "Yes. It was worth the wait."
"Good." He pulls me back down against his chest, and I feel the rumble of satisfaction in his voice. "Because I plan on making sure you never have to wait that long again."
Heat floods through me despite my exhaustion. "Is that a promise, Kane?"
"That's a guarantee, Willa."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, pulling the blanket over both of us. Later—I'm not sure how much later—we lie tangled together in the darkness. Kane's arm is around me, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong.
"That was…" I start.
"Yeah." His hand traces lazy patterns on my back. "It was."
Silence settles over us, comfortable now. Familiar.
"Kane?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?" His voice is rough with exhaustion.
"For seeing me. Not the victim Jack tried to make me. Not the liability the Committee thinks I am. Just... me."
His arm tightens around me. "I see you, Willa. All of you. And what I see is someone extraordinary."
I press a kiss to his chest, right over the burn scars. "We should sleep. Cray will wake up soon."
"Let him wait." Kane's voice is already drowsy. "Right now, the world can wait. This is more important."
I smile against his skin. For the first time in six years, I believe it.
We drift off together as the base hums around us, holding each other in the darkness while outside the door, reality waits to intrude.