Chapter Twenty-Eight
Autumn
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice rolls through the room, rough, low, deep enough to thrum in my ribs. I shoot up from the chair anyway and grab more ice.
“Shh. Don’t talk.” I press a cube to Kaden’s swollen lip, and he closes his eyes like the cold actually hurts less than speaking.
“I don’t need—” he tries, but I shove the cube into his mouth before he finishes.
“You better let her do her thing, or she’ll choke you with those cubes, mate,” Flynn says from the doorway, amusement dripping from his voice.
Kaden glares at him around the ice.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I should’ve moved faster—”
Flynn strides in, that usual controlled force behind each step, and leans over him. “You took me out of the way and got shot with a bullet meant for me.” Flynn grabs Kaden’s hand with a hard squeeze. “I owe you my life, brother.”
My eyes sting immediately. I sniff loudly. Both men look at me.
“That’s so sweet,” I whisper, voice wobbly. They stare. Flynn rolls his eyes.
“Autumn,” he mutters, while Kaden smirks around the melting ice.
“Any clue who it was?” Kaden asks. Flynn nods once.
“You—” I cut him off with a swipe of my hand. “Need to rest. Eat. Heal. So you can go back to… breaking necks and cutting off horse heads—”
“We don’t cut horse heads,” they say in perfect unison.
Kaden’s laugh turns into a grunt as pain rips through his chest.
“Oh, sorry!” I pop up from the bed as the nurse walks in. She’s gorgeous, with natural red hair, freckles, green eyes, and when she leans in to clean Kaden’s face, he just… stares. Full awe.
I latch onto Flynn’s arm immediately. “Let’s—” I gesture toward them. “Eat.”
Flynn frowns. “Eat? We literally just—” I point again, and his mouth shapes an ‘Oh.’ He follows me out.
“Oh my God, do you think they…?” I wiggle my fingers in a crude little gesture.
Flynn catches them mid-wiggle. “You can say the words, Autumn.” He leans in, pulling me closer. “Fuck.”
“No—make love!” I squeal as he lifts me into his arms.
He laughs against my ear. “Lovemaking is boring. I’d rather fuck, trouble.”
He carries me down the hall, and the movement makes all the worry I’ve been bottling up slam back into my chest.
“Tomorrow…” My voice breaks. I don’t want to say more. I don’t want to imagine blood and danger and bullets again.
“You know the plan. You need to trust me.” He sounds confident. He isn’t. I can hear the tightness under it, the same fear curling in my own bones. Flanaghan is planning something. Flynn told me part of what he intends to do. Still… everything feels like it could shatter.
We reach his bedroom, and he sets me gently on the bed. “Tonight,” he says, eyes locked on mine, “we forget everything. Okay?”
His green eyes catch the low light and pull me in. “Okay,” I whisper, sinking back into the pillows.
“Autumn.” He slips off his suit jacket, slow and controlled.
Then he unbuttons his shirt. The tattoos across his chest and arms are dark, violent, beautiful.
His abs, the deep cut of his V-line—it all steals the air from my lungs.
He stands at the foot of the bed like he owns the world, like he owns me.
His eyes burn with that feral glint he never tries to hide from me.
“Yes?” My voice trembles. My teeth sink into my bottom lip because I can’t hold still.
“You know I love you, right?”
My breath stops. “You… do?”
“Yes.” His voice is low, intimate. His hands slide to his belt. “But…”
He pulls the belt free, slow enough to make my pulse throb.
“But?” My fingers go cold. My breathing turns messy, ragged. Anticipation. Fear. Want.
“But tonight,” he says in a voice meant to curl around my spine, “I’m going to fuck you like a beast. I’m going to treat you like my own private slut.”
My heart launches into my throat. Everything inside me goes tight and hot.
“Oh…” The sound barely escapes. Excitement and fear crash together in my veins.
He smiles slow, and wickedly. “I’m taking that beautiful ass.”
Oh.
Ohhhh no.
Ohhhhh shit.
He laughs low, the sound rolling through the room like thunder, and bends over the mattress, caging me with those thick, tattooed arms. His piercing green eyes lock on mine, wicked and unblinking. “Scared, little wife?”
Oh God.
The way he says wife sends ice and fire racing down my spine. My skin prickles, my nipples tighten, my whole body shivers.
Would I have married him if someone asked me a week ago? God, no. We barely know each other. But do I love being his wife? Love the weight of that ring, the way he says it like a threat and a promise? Yes. Embarrassingly, dangerously, yes.
“I’m not scared,” I lie, and my voice comes out fragile, trembling, not even convincing me.
He smirks, slow and lethal, and one strong, inked arm reaches for me. Pure instinct—I kick out hard. My foot connects with his chest, and he freezes. Those green eyes darken until they’re almost black.
“Oh, Autumn.” My name in his mouth sounds like sin. His beautiful face turns feral, lips curling, eyes glittering with menace. “Do you want to fight me?”
The way he says it, rough and hungry, lights every nerve in my body on fire. The urge to scratch, bite, run slams into me so hard I almost moan.
“You’re six-six and probably outweigh me by a hundred pounds of pure muscle,” I say, laughing nervously, my gaze dragging over the ridges of his abs, the thick veins snaking down his forearms. “I can’t fight you.”
“Do you trust me?” he asks, voice softer now, but no less dangerous. He straightens, and sweet Jesus, the way his stomach flexes with every breath, the deep V disappearing into his suit pants, my mouth actually waters. He looks like a beast carved from marble and nightmares.
“I do,” I whisper.
“Then fight me.” He steps back, shoulders rolling, head tilting down, all that lethal power barely leashed.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, then slide off the bed. My eyes never leave his.
Fuck it.
I launch myself at him, slamming both fists into his chest. He gives an inch, just enough for my tiny victory, then dodges the next swing like I’m moving in slow motion.
I spin, feral now, and sink my teeth into the thick muscle of his forearm.
Hard. He hisses, a shocked breath that makes me wetter than it should.
I start to pull back. “I’m sor—”
He cuts me off with a dark chuckle. “Come on, trouble. Is that all you’ve got?”
I lunge for his hair, but he dances away, laughing again, the sound dripping sex. “Good girl,” he coos, circling me like a wolf who already knows how this ends.
I throw two more punches. He lets them land but barely flinches, just watches me with that hungry, proud glint in his eyes.
“My turn,” he says, voice velvet and gravelly.
I flinch. He stops instantly.
“Autumn.” My name again, gentle this time. “Look at me.”
I drag my gaze up. His chest heaves; a bead of sweat slides down the groove between his pecs. I want to lick it off.
“I love primal play,” he says, stepping closer, “but I will never, ever hurt you. You need to know that.”
“Primal play,” I breathe.
He nods, eyes blazing. “This. The fighting. The biting. The scratching.”
Heat floods me, pooling low and aching. “And the chasing?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“That too.”
I bite my tongue, spin, grab the heaviest book on the nightstand and hurl it at his head.
“Fuck,” he grunts, ducking smoothly, and I bolt.
The guest floor is empty; he swore it would be. The Callaghans never use this part of the mansion. I fly down the hallway, bare feet silent on the runner, heart slamming against my ribs. I dodge the main stairs and shove open the first door I see. Another bedroom, pitch black. Perfect.
I drop to the floor and wiggle under the bed, pressing my hand over my mouth to quiet my panting.
His footsteps are slow. He pauses outside the door. I see the shadow of his shoes in the sliver of light underneath.
The door creaks open.
He steps inside. Doesn’t speak. Just breathes, deep and steady, like he can smell me.
My pulse is a war drum.
He circles the bed once. Twice.
Then one huge hand clamps around my ankle and yanks.
I scream, half in terror, half in thrill, as he drags me out like I weigh nothing. I kick, claw, twist, but he’s a mountain. He flips me to my back, straddles my hips, pins both my wrists above my head with one hand. His weight settles, heavy, and I can feel exactly how hard he is.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice so deep it vibrates through my bones, “you make such gorgeous prey.”
With his free hand he drags his zipper down just enough. His cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking, and my mouth waters instantly.
“Open,” he orders, rough and possessive.
I obey before my brain catches up, lips parting, tongue ready.
He fists my hair, tilts my head back until my throat is one long vulnerable line, and slides between my lips in one slow, claiming thrust. The groan he lets out is wrecked, animal, and I feel fresh wetness soak straight through my panties.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, hips rolling slow, savouring every inch of my mouth. “You feel so fucking good.”
His thrusts turn brutal, hips snapping with a rhythm that steals my air. He drives deep, hitting the back of my throat, and I gag hard, eyes watering instantly. He fists my hair tighter, anchoring me exactly where he wants me.
“I love hearing you gag on my cock,” he rasps, voice shredded with lust, and slams deeper. I swirl my tongue desperately, worshipping every thick inch, and his head snaps back, a broken groan ripping from his chest. “Fuuuck.”
God, he’s so big, huge, thick, stretching my jaw until it aches in the sweetest way. He holds himself there, buried to the root, cutting off my air completely. Panic flares, and I thrash beneath him, nails scraping his thighs.
“Easy, trouble,” he soothes, thumb stroking my cheek even while he owns my throat. “Relax for me.”
I force my body to soften, to trust. When the tears stop spilling, he eases back just enough for one desperate breath. “One more time,” he murmurs, eyes wild but gentle underneath. “Hold your breath. Tongue out, baby.”
I obey instantly, my tongue flat, throat open, and he slides home again. This time I take him. All of him and my lungs burn, stars burst behind my eyes, and still I stay soft, perfect, his.
He pulls out slowly and hauls me up for a kiss that tastes like sin and worship. His tongue claims my mouth the same way his cock just claimed my throat.
Then he’s lifting me, carrying me back to our bedroom like I’m weightless. The second the door clicks shut, my heart tries to climb out of my chest.
“I don’t want to do it here,” I whisper, cheeks on fire.
He stops, brow furrowing. “It?”
“The… anal thing.” The words tumble out tiny and mortified. “I don’t want—”
He silences me with the softest kiss to my forehead. “We won’t, baby. Not until you beg me for it.”
Relief and lust crash together so hard I laugh, shaky and wet. He smirks, wicked, and drags my jeans down my legs in one impatient tug. “But I still need to be buried in this warm, greedy little cunt.”
I cover my face with my hands, moaning, and then he’s pushing inside, slow, relentless, splitting me open inch by torturous inch.
“Christ, Autumn,” he groans, voice cracking. “Your cunt—”
He bottoms out and stills, letting me feel every throbbing inch. Then he leans down, mouth brushing my ear. “Good girl for telling me what you need.”
A tear slips free. He licks it off my cheek like it belongs to him.
“Don’t be gentle,” I breathe.
His eyes flash pure feral. “Never.”
He slams into me so hard, punishing, perfect. The headboard crashes against the wall in a rhythm that screams we’re fucking, not making love. He pins my wrists above my head again, hot breath on my neck, teeth scraping my skin.
He’s everywhere inside me, around me, owning every sense, every thought, every beat of my heart. I yank against his grip, and this time he lets me go. My hands fly to his ass, nails digging deep, carving half-moons into muscle.
He laughs, dark and delighted. “Love when you mark me, wife.”
He drives harder, faster, until my orgasm coils so tight I’m shaking.
Then he stops.
I curse, loud and filthy, and he flips me over like I’m a doll, face down, ass up, pulled to the edge of the bed. His huge palm cracks across my cheek, the sting blooming into liquid heat.
He thrusts back in, and holy fuck, this angle. He’s deeper than should be possible, pain and pleasure twisting into something unholy. I’m drowning in it.
“Want to come, wife?” he growls, perfectly controlled while I’m falling apart.
“Yes—please—”
Another sharp slap, then his hands spread me open. I feel his hot spit land on my tight hole, and his thumb presses in slowly.
“Relax for me, baby.”
I do, melting under his voice, and he starts fucking my ass with his thumb in time with his cock. His other hand snakes around, fingers circling my clit hard and fast.
“Good girl. Move those hips for me.”
I grind back desperately, chasing the edge, every nerve screaming. He slams harder, adds a second finger, and the stretch shoves me straight over.
I come with a scream that rips my throat raw, my body seizing, vision whiting out. He doesn’t stop, fucks me through it, wrings every aftershock from my shaking body.
When I finally sag, boneless, he yanks my hair, hauling me upright against his chest. One arm bands around my waist, holding me pinned, and he hammers into me like a man possessed.
“You’re mine,” he snarls against my ear. “No one else will ever touch you.”
“Yours,” I sob, lost.
“Mine.” One final brutal thrust and he buries himself deep, roaring as he comes, hot, endless pulses filling me while his cock jerks inside my spasming cunt. His arms lock around me so tight I can barely breathe, and I never want him to let go.
“I love you, Autumn,” he whispers, voice wrecked.
My heart shatters open. “I love you, Flynn.”