Chapter 11
KANE
The operations center feels too exposed after Willa leaves to grab coffee.
Too many screens showing surveillance photos of her at the clinic, walking to her truck, existing in spaces where someone watched without her knowledge.
Every image reminds me I failed to detect the threat before it documented her vulnerability.
I'm still studying the parking lot photo when she returns, barefoot on cold concrete, wearing nothing but my shirt and carrying two mugs. The sight of her in my clothes makes every nerve ending fire.
"You're still staring at it," she observes, handing me coffee.
"Can't stop." I take the mug but don't drink. "Someone was there, Willa. Watching while we had that moment. While I touched your face. While you looked at me like...”
"Like I wanted you?" She sets her coffee down. "I did want you. Still do. That doesn't change because someone photographed it."
"It changes everything." My hand tightens on the mug hard enough I'm surprised it doesn't shatter. "Whoever it is violated something private. Turned intimacy into intelligence."
"So we don't let them win." She moves closer until she's standing between me and the screens. "We don't give them power by being afraid."
I set the coffee aside carefully. Too carefully. "I'm not afraid."
"Then what are you?"
"Furious." The word comes out low. Dangerous. "Someone looked at you and thought you were something they could hunt. Something they could use against me. And every tactical instinct I have is screaming at me to eliminate that threat."
Her breath catches. "How?"
"By making absolutely certain they understand you're not their target." I step closer, backing her against the console. Not threatening. But deliberate. Claiming space. "You're mine, Willa. And I protect what's mine."
Heat and challenge flash in her eyes. "Yours?"
"Mine." I brace my hands on either side of her, caging her in. "You saved that dog when you should have walked away. You refused to run when running was smart. You stood beside me when tactical analysis said you'd be safer anywhere else. That makes you mine. Whether you like it or not."
She should push back. Should tell me possessive isn't romantic.
Instead, her hand fists in my shirt, pulling me closer. "Prove it."
The last thread of control snaps.
My mouth crashes into hers. Hard. Demanding.
My teeth catch her bottom lip and she gasps, opening for me.
I take advantage, tongue sweeping in to claim every inch.
The kiss from last night was exploration—this is conquest. My hand fists in her hair, angling her head exactly where I want it while the other grips her hip hard enough to bruise.
She tastes like the coffee she just drank, but underneath there's something sharper—the adrenaline still coursing through both of us, the defiance that made her demand I prove myself.
I can't get enough. Can't get close enough.
My chest is heaving like I've run a tactical mile and all I'm doing is kissing her, but it feels like the only thing standing between me and complete loss of control.
Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer, matching my intensity. This isn't making love. This is claiming. Possessing. Making absolutely certain that whoever's watching understands she belongs to me.
I lift her onto the console, equipment rattling as I make space.
She braces her hands on the metal surface while I step between her thighs, forcing them wider.
The shirt rides up with the movement and I get my first real look—nothing underneath.
No underwear. No barrier. Just her, ready, the evidence of her arousal visible even in the harsh emergency lighting.
My breath stops in my chest. Blood rushes south so fast I feel lightheaded.
My hands shake as I grip her thighs, feeling the muscle tense under my palms.
"Kane." My name comes out breathless. "Someone could walk in."
"Let them." I slide my hands up her thighs, watching her eyes go dark. "Let everyone know exactly who you belong to."
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against her. I can feel her heat through my tactical pants and it's driving me insane.
"Anyone could see the cameras," she manages, even as her hips roll against me.
"I don't care." My mouth finds her throat, teeth scraping skin. "Let them watch. Let them all see you're mine."
My hands grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough that I feel her skin compress under my palms. She gasps, back arching.
I don't ease up. My thumbs press into the hollows of her hip bones while my fingers span across to the small of her back, holding her exactly where I need her.
Tomorrow there will be bruises—perfect impressions of each finger in purple and blue.
The thought sends a savage satisfaction through me.
Everyone who sees them will know someone claimed her.
That she belongs to someone who won't let go.
"We should go to your quarters," she says, but her hands are already working my belt.
"No." I catch her wrists, pin them behind her back with one hand. "Here. Now. I need you now."
Her eyes widen, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of color remains.
Her lips part on an inhale that catches in her throat.
For a second she goes absolutely still, every muscle locked—and then her thighs tighten around my hips, pulling me closer instead of pushing away.
Her pulse hammers visibly at the base of her throat, racing, but when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, it's not fear I'm seeing.
Her hips roll forward against me, a deliberate invitation that sends fire straight down my spine.
"Please," she whispers.
That one word destroys me.
I release her wrists. My hands drop to my belt, yanking it free with movements that lack any finesse.
The tactical pants hit the floor and I kick them aside.
The seconds apart feel like hours, but then I'm back, positioning myself.
I grip her hips, pulling her to the edge of the console.
The head of my cock presses against her entrance and the contact makes every muscle in my body lock.
She's slick with arousal, heat radiating through me at just this first touch.
A sound tears from my throat—rough, possessive, barely human.
"Last chance to stop this," I tell her, even though stopping would kill me.
"Don't you dare." Her nails dig into my shoulders. "I want this. Want you. Want everyone to know I'm yours."
I thrust into her in one hard stroke. Her cry echoes off the stone walls, head snapping back as her spine bows.
I feel her body stretch around me, tight and hot, but I don't stop.
Don't give her time to adjust. I pull back and drive in again, setting a punishing rhythm that makes the console screech against the floor with each impact.
Her nails rake down my back, dragging hard enough that I feel skin split.
The sting only drives me harder. Her hips surge up to meet every thrust, matching my rhythm, her inner walls gripping me so tight I can barely move.
Each time I pull back, her body resists, muscles clenching like she's trying to keep me locked inside.
Her heels dig into my ass, pulling me deeper, while her hands claw for purchase on my shoulders.
The only sounds from her mouth are gasps and broken moans—no words, no requests to slow down.
Just her body demanding everything I can give.
"Mine," I growl against her throat. "Say it."
"Yours." Her voice breaks on the word. "I'm yours, Kane."
Hearing her claim herself as mine snaps the last thread of restraint.
My fingers dig deeper into her hips, pulling her up and back until she's at the perfect angle.
I drive into her harder, the angle letting me hit deeper than before.
The console rattles with each thrust, metal groaning under the assault.
Sweat drips down my spine. My shoulders burn from the strain of holding back from completely losing control.
The console rattles beneath us. Equipment shifts. I don't care. All I care about is the woman in my arms, the feel of her around me, the sounds she's making that tell me she's as desperate for this as I am.
"No one else gets to have this," I tell her between thrusts. "No one else gets to touch you. See you like this. Make you feel like this."
"No one," she gasps. "Only you. Always you."
My hand slides between us, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves.
I circle it with my thumb—once, twice—and her whole body jerks like I've hit a trigger.
Her thighs clamp tighter around my hips.
The muscles in her neck cord as her head presses back against the console.
Her inner walls are fluttering around me now, the rhythm changing from steady to erratic.
Each breath she takes comes faster than the last, ragged gasps that tell me she's seconds away from breaking.
"Come for me," I command. "Let me feel it."
She breaks first. Her cry rips through the operations center, loud enough to echo off stone walls.
Her entire body goes rigid, back arching off the console, thighs clamping around my hips like a vice.
I feel her inner walls contract around me in rhythmic waves, each pulse dragging me closer to my own edge.
Three more thrusts and I'm gone—a groan tears from my throat as release slams through me.
My hips jerk forward, grinding deep as I empty myself inside her.
The primal satisfaction of marking her this way, of leaving part of myself inside her body, makes my vision white out at the edges.
We collapse together, both breathing hard, sweat-slicked despite the cold air. I'm still inside her, still holding her close, unwilling to let go even as reality starts filtering back.