Chapter 15 Nick
NICK
My dark eyes remain locked on the woman sitting on the edge of the leather sofa.
Lucia holds Tyra in her lap, tracing a hand over the little girl’s dark curls.
Tyra clutches her ragged grey wolf, her eyes heavy with sleep.
Lucia wears Rafe’s oversized t-shirt; the thick cotton hangs off her frame, yet it fails to mask the lethal energy vibrating beneath her skin.
She is a cartel princess turned fierce protector, her spine straight, refusing to bend.
The scent of rose, baby powder, and adrenaline sinks into my blood.
The primary objective is dismantling Dominic Costa’s empire. The stolen USB drive provides the ammunition for the kill shot. We have the leverage. We have the data.
I don’t care about the data.
A lull settles over the room. Daniel pauses his typing to drink. Mia stretches her neck. Kaila shifts her focus to the firewall. The timing is optimal.
I set my mug on the stone mantle. I walk across the room, my combat boots silent on the wood. I stop in front of the sofa.
“We need to go over communication protocols,” I state. My voice is flat, calibrated to reach the team without sounding like a formal announcement.
Lucia turns her head. Confusion flashes across her exhausted features.
“Dominic uses burner sequences,” I continue, building the operational cover. “I need your knowledge of his habits. Secure details. Things we won’t put on a whiteboard in front of the team.”
The lie is airtight. Dominic’s paranoia dictates compartmentalization. Nobody questions the Commander.
Rafe stands near the kitchen. His golden eyes flick from my face to Lucia’s. His jaw tightens, but he offers no interference. He turns back to the tactical map.
I pull two winter jackets off the rack near the door. I don’t ask for her preference. I hold the smaller black jacket out.
“Jude, can you take her?” Lucia asks.
The Surgeon steps forward, his massive, scarred hands reaching out with reverence. Lucia transfers the child into his arms.
“Mommy needs to talk about something,” Lucia whispers, kissing Tyra’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
Jude shifts Tyra’s weight against his chest. “We can make pancakes,” he tells her, his baritone softening. Tyra’s eyes light up.
Lucia stands and walks toward me. She takes the jacket. Our fingers don’t brush, but the space between us hums. I open the heavy door. We step out into the grey morning light.
The freezing mountain air hits like a wall. The cold is brutal and clean. Thick, fresh snow covers the ground, leaving a pristine silence in the woods.
I walk beside her. I don’t take the lead, which would treat her like a package. I don’t walk behind, which would treat her like a prisoner. We move shoulder to shoulder, our physical alignment establishing her as a partner.
The path to the outbuilding is narrow. The snow forces us together. The nylon of my jacket brushes her sleeve with every step. I don’t move away. I let the friction build.
I don’t speak. Silence is a tool. It forces the target to reveal their nervous energy.
Lucia doesn’t break. She matches my pace, her chin held high against the biting wind. She is waiting for my opening move.
The dark silhouette of the generator shed emerges from the pines. We reach the door. I grip the iron handle and pull it open.
We step inside. The shed is cramped, housing the diesel generator powering our grid. The mechanical hum vibrates through the floor. The air is stiflingly warm, heated by the laboring engine and the scent of spilled diesel and hot metal.
Lucia unzips her jacket. The dim amber light of a bare bulb catches the exhaustion on her face. I close the door and slide the iron deadbolt.
The snap of the lock seals us in. The world vanishes.
I don’t pace. I don’t offer a polite transition. I strip away the Commander.
“I’ve wanted you since the second I walked into that foyer,” I state. My voice vibrates through the hum of the generator.
Lucia freezes.
“You looked at me like I was a problem to be managed. I’m done pretending I don’t want to ruin you.”
She doesn’t back away. The tension spikes.
I don’t do vulnerability. Weakness invites destruction. I strip off my jacket and toss it over a crate.
“I am the Commander of an outlaw club,” I tell her. “I am a tactician. Every decision is weighed against the risk.”
I step forward. The space between us shrinks to two feet.
“I have never burned a mission for a person. Not once. I have never compromised an objective for a brother or myself.”
Her chest rises and falls. The oversized shirt is thin, dampened by the shed’s heat until it clings to the curves of her breasts.
“I spent six months building an infiltration plan. I placed my best men inside. We had the primary target in our sights.” I eliminate another foot of space. The scent of rose and diesel acts like adrenaline in my veins. “Then I received your text.”
My jaw clenches.
“I burned six months of planning to ash. I destroyed our cover. I put my crew at risk of execution. I started a war for a woman I’d just met.
” I look down at her, making no effort to hide the possessive hunger in my eyes.
“I’ve spent the last ten hours looking for a logical explanation for that decision. I haven’t found one.”
I don’t name the Thunderbolt. I state the facts. She is the only variable capable of overriding my system.
I step into her airspace.
“We’re done pretending there’s a briefing happening in here.” I have been counting down the seconds since she looked at me like I was the help. The timer is at zero. “You owe me.”
Her jaw tightens. She thinks I want gratitude. I want everything.
“I spent two days keeping my hands off you because it was the job,” I tell her, my voice unyielding. “The job is done, Principessa. Get on your knees.”
Lucia lifts her chin, her cartel blood running hot. “That’s a remarkable opening line for a man who just admitted he’s compromised.”
“I burned it,” I say. “That means I collect.”
I take a step. The distance vanishes.
“The audacity,” I rasp, “is that I am still standing this far away from you.”
My hands shoot out. I grip her hips through the cotton of the t-shirt and pull her hard against my pelvis. She gasps, her stomach crashing against my belt. My erection presses against her, thick and demanding.
I slide one hand up her spine, tangling my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. I pull her head back, exposing her throat.
“Knees.”
I apply firm pressure. She yields.
Her knees hit the floorboards. She kneels between my boots. I reach down and pull my zipper, the sound harsh in the small space. I free my cock. It springs out, rigid and cabled with veins, a heavy drop of pre-cum catching the light at the tip.
“Eyes up,” I command.
She tilts her head back, her dark eyes locking onto mine.
“I want to watch you,” I tell her. “Take it.”
She reaches out, her hands hot as they wrap around the base. She opens her mouth and touches the tip with her tongue. A groan rips from my chest.
She takes the head past her lips and slides down. The wet, crushing pressure of her mouth surrounds me.
“Fuck.”
I grip the back of her head, setting the rhythm. I thrust my hips, driving my cock deep into her throat. She gags softly, the sound muffled against my groin.
“Take it deeper,” I growl. “Look at me while you choke on it.”
She looks up, her eyes watering from the depth. She is wrecked for me. I pump into her mouth with ruthless efficiency, proving she belongs to me with every deep, punishing thrust.
The ache in my balls is white-hot. I cannot finish here.
I grip her shoulders and pull her up. She stands, breathless, her lips wet and swollen. I turn toward a massive wooden supply crate and sit, spreading my thighs.
“Come here.”
She walks toward me.
“Pants off.”
She shoves the borrowed canvas pants down and kicks them away. She stands in nothing but the oversized shirt. I grip her hips and pull her between my thighs.
I guide her down. She straddles my lap, her soaking pussy hovering over my cock.
“Tell me you want this,” I demand. I hold her hips, preventing her from lowering.
She whimpers, her hands gripping my shoulders. “I want it. Nick, please.”
“Good girl.”
I yank her hips down. My cock breaches her dripping pussy, stretching her walls wide. I don’t go slow. I bury my entire length to the hilt in one motion.
She screams, her head thrown back, the t-shirt straining as her spine arches. The fit is mind-altering. Her internal muscles clamp around my shaft with desperate force.
I grip her hips and thrust upward. I punish her pussy with relentless strikes. She rides the momentum, bouncing against my pelvis, the slapping of skin drowning out the generator.
“You belong right here,” I snarl. “Taking my cock. Taking my load.”
I hit the deepest spot on her back wall. The breeding kink wires into my brain. The need to fill her, to mark her with my seed, takes precedence.
“I’m going to breed you in this shed,” I tell her. “I’m planting my claim inside you.”
“Yes,” she sobs. “Fill me.”
I pump with mechanical speed. I grip her hips with crushing force, locking her in place.
“You are mine. Say it.”
“I am yours!” She screams.
Her inner walls clamp down on my cock. Her body shatters. Her juices flood her channel. The milking triggers my release.
I roar.
I empty my balls, thick, scorching ropes of cum pumping deep into her womb. I pulse against her walls, filling her to the brim with my seed. I claim her.
I slump back against the wood. Lucia collapses against me, her face buried in my neck. I keep my cock buried in her slick cunt.
The beast is satisfied. The Commander reboots.
I stroke her spine, the shirt soaked in sweat. “We need to move.”
I lift her off my lap. My cock pulls free with a wet pop, a mixture of her juices and my cum spilling down her thigh. I adjust my pants. Lucia pulls on the canvas pants with trembling hands.
I zip her jacket to her chin. My hand stays on the zipper a beat too long. Then it rises to her jaw. I tilt her face up. Force her eyes to mine.
“You did so well for me.” The words are low, private, stripped of the Commander’s bark. “Now let Daddy get you somewhere safe.”
The comms unit on the floor crackles. “Commander,” Rafe’s voice barks. “The phantoms are packed. We need the perimeter cleared.”
I snatch the radio. “Copy, Beast. Heading back.”
I look at her. She is mine in a way that won’t wash off.
“Kaila, Daniel, and the others are heading back to the city to run the diversion,” I tell her. My operational tone is back. “We need to get inside.”
I trace her swollen bottom lip with my thumb.
“Know this, Principessa. That was a field extraction. The bare minimum.” Her chest rises sharply. “When we finish bleeding your brother dry, I’m going to strip you in a real bed and spend a week showing you exactly how many times a man can make you scream.”
I slide the deadbolt back. I pull the door open, letting the mountain wind bite into the shed.
My hand settles on the small of her back, guiding her out into the snow.
“Now,” I tell her. “Let’s go burn your brother’s empire to the ground.”