Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Her mouth was soft and familiar and absolutely wrecking me.
I’d remembered kissing her.
Of course I had. But memory was a cheap imitation of the real thing.
I’d forgotten the small, broken whimper she made when she really meant it.
I’d forgotten the way her fingers slid into my hair and kneaded at my scalp like she was trying to anchor herself.
I’d forgotten how she pressed against me—chest to chest, hip to hip—as if she wanted to fuse us into one body and never come apart.
How the hell did I ever live without this?
She pulled back, panting a little, pupils blown wide. Her eyes had that dreamy, half-dazed shine I used to see when we’d slip back into bed on Sunday mornings and pretend the world didn’t exist.
“Zarek,” she whispered. “I need you.”
Everything in my body went still.
Was she asking for what I thought she was?
Was she finally—after months—asking me back into that last, sacred place we hadn’t shared since the world had ended?
Her throat worked. “Please, Zarek. Don’t make me beg.”
Oh hell. She was asking.
For a second, I just stared at her like an idiot. Then my brain caught up and joy—real joy—hit me so fast it felt like a punch.
I cupped her cheek. “I would never make you beg,” I murmured. “You’re precious to me.”
I bent down and scooped her up so I could carry her the way I always had—arms under her thighs, mouth against her throat.
She shoved at my shoulder immediately. “Your ribs,” she said, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t carry me.”
Dammit. She was right.
I let her slide down, biting back a curse as my side protested.
She threaded her fingers through mine, warm and certain, and tugged me toward our bedroom. When she pushed open the door and saw the perfectly made bed, she giggled—an actual giggle—like we were teenagers sneaking around.
“Are we allowed to mess this up?” she asked, glancing back at me with mischief in her eyes.
“For this?” I said. “I’ll allow it.”
I hauled her against me again and kissed her, harder this time, letting months of hunger finally claw their way out.
I didn’t even know how it happened, but the next second we were on the bed—her on her back, me hovering over her, my hand under her shirt, my thumb stroking over the cup of her bra.
I teased the curve there, letting my thumb drag over the fabric where I knew her nipple waited.
“Don’t tease,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I need you too much. It’s been too long.”
God. There it was again—the raw honesty that always undid me.
I slid up onto my knees, pulling her with me. I took my time undressing her, peeling away clothes I’d dreamed about for months. Every inch of newly exposed skin was a memory I’d forgotten I owned.
When she was down to almost nothing, she swallowed and whispered, “Now you. Take off your shirt.”
My heart jerked hard against my ribs. I hesitated, knowing exactly what she was about to see.
But I did as she asked, dragging the shirt over my head with a wince.
Chloe sucked in a breath the second my torso was bare. “Jesus, Zarek.”
The bruises arced across my ribs in ugly purples and sickly greens, a roadmap of every hit I’d taken this week. The long sleeves had done nothing to hide the swelling.
“What did you do to yourself?” she whispered, reaching out but stopping an inch short of touching.
“It’s nothing,” I lied.
“It’s not nothing.” Her voice was so full of pain I almost flinched harder from that than the hits.
I didn’t let her finish the thought. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her again, swallowing her worry, drowning her in something better than fear. She responded instantly, fingers curling at my neck, her body softening against mine.
Clothes disappeared after that—hers first, then mine in slower stages because I was trying not to aggravate my ribs. She didn’t rush me, didn’t tease, didn’t look away. It was reverent in a way that almost broke me.
When we were finally close—really close—I paused, forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“Are you ready? Is this all right?” I asked, because hurting her was the one thing I would never do.
Something flickered across her face, brief and sharp, before she smoothed it away. She looked to the side for a moment, then back at me.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “Yes.”
One hand cupped her jaw gently as I kissed her. My other hand drifted lower, finding damp curls. Then glided further and touched wet folds. She was as ready as I was. I closed my eyes, giving thanks.
I slowly parted her delicate flesh with two fingers, and she arched up. It had been a long time and she was tight. I watched her face closely and all I saw was pure need. Pure desire. My thumb strummed over her clitoris.
“Zarek!”
I circled. I stroked. I caressed. My eyes never left hers. I watched as she reached her peak and shuddered. Perspiration glistened on her forehead.
“Let’s try that again,” I whispered against her lips.
“Let’s.” Her hand grasped my cock, and it felt like lightening had struck. “Jesus, Chloe. You’ve got to stop. I’ll never last.”
“Then you'd better hurry.”
What happened after that felt like touching heaven.
Not because it was perfect—though it was pretty damn close—but because it was us.
Because every sound she made felt like a stitch being sewn back into a place I hadn’t realized had torn open.
Because she looked at me like I was still her home, and I held her like I’d been drowning for months, and someone finally threw me a rope.
When it was over, I drew her onto my chest and wrapped both arms around her. She fit against me exactly the way she always had, head under my chin, fingers on my ribs, legs tangled with mine. I breathed her in, shampoo and sweat and that warm, indescribable scent that was just Chloe.
I stroked her hair and stared up at the ceiling, feeling something dangerous and unfamiliar in my chest.
This.
This was what mattered. Not the gym. Not the fights. Not the noise in my head or the grief or the goddamn nursery.
This woman. This warmth. This quiet after. This sense that maybe the world wasn’t entirely made of knives after all.
It didn’t matter if we ever filled the nursery. It didn’t matter if the world had other plans. This cut through the noise in my head. If we could just stay in bed forever, I knew I would be all right.
It was as if Chloe could read my mind, because she stiffened in my arms.
“Rest, baby,” I murmured, brushing my thumb across her shoulder.
“How do you feel?” she asked tentatively.
“Better. Better than I have in months. That was beautiful. You’re beautiful. It shut down the demons… for awhile.”
“But now?”
I sighed. “I feel them coming back.” I looked down at her. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much I feel like I failed you. Failed our children.”
Her eyes widened, then darkened.
“Are you for real?” She yanked out of my arms. “I need to go.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“I just need to,” she said quickly, already standing.
My brain scrambled to catch up. I pushed up onto an elbow, ribs protesting. “Chloe, what’s wrong?”
She stood abruptly, grabbing her clothes from the chair and jerking them on with fast, fumbling hands.
“This doesn’t solve anything,” she said, voice thick with tears. “I’ll love you to my dying day. Your name will be the last word I utter. But this?” She gestured at the bed. At us. “It was beautiful, but it was a fantasy. You’re still going to fight, aren’t you?”
I froze.
Because I had to fight. I had to figure out what Maurice was doing. I had to keep Tyler from getting crushed by a system built to chew him up. I had to dig until I could take something real to Nash.
But none of that made it sound any better in my head than it did in hers.
She saw it—saw the answer on my face before I could say anything.
“There,” she said, pointing at me. “Right there. I see it. This accomplished nothing. You’re still wallowing so deep you can’t even see daylight. So stuck that even this—this precious hour—meant nothing to you.”
Something hot and ugly surged in my chest. The words ripped out before I could stop them.
“Are you telling me this was nothing more than a transaction?” I demanded. “Fuck Zarek and make him better?”
She froze. Absolutely still.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” she whispered. “Tell me you don’t believe that.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Not a denial. Not an explanation. Just…nothing.
“Right,” she whispered. “I’m out of here.”
She grabbed her bag, her keys, and walked out. The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the picture frames.
I sank back onto the mattress, rubbed a hand down my face, and winced as my bruises complained.
“Well,” I muttered into the empty room. “That settles it. I’m the dumbest fuck alive.”