Chapter 19 #2
“I've got you,” I murmur into her hair. “You're safe now.”
We stand like that in the kitchen, her crying quietly against my chest. Part of me is still back in that bathroom, finishing what I started with Ethan. The other part is here, holding the only thing that matters, trying to be what she needs instead of the monster I know I am.
“I'm sorry,” she says again, her voice muffled against my shirt.
“Don't,” I warn her, my hand stilling in her hair. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“No, I need to say it,” she insists, pulling back just enough to look at me, her face streaked with tears. “I’m sorry I let him get to me. I’m sorry I let him make me doubt myself.”
I brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.
“He’s spent years getting inside your head. That kind of damage doesn’t disappear overnight.”
“I hate that he still has that power.”
“Then take it back.”
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs gently sweeping away the tears on her cheeks. “Every time you choose what you want, you take some of that power back.”
She leans into my touch, letting her eyes close for just a moment. When they open again, something has shifted—still hurting, yes, but steadier. There’s steel under the softness now.
“I want you. I want this life I'm building. With you.”
The simple declaration hits me with unexpected force. I’ve spent my life being wanted for what I could do—damage I could inflict, protection I could offer, needs I could satisfy. But being wanted for who I am? That’s a different kind of shock.
“You sure about that?” I ask, giving her one last chance to walk away from the storm that is me. “Because I’m still the same man who nearly put your ex-husband through a bathroom wall twenty minutes ago.”
“I know exactly who you are,” she says, rising onto her toes. “And I’m still choosing you.”
Her lips meet mine—soft, insistent, tasting faintly of tears. I freeze for a heartbeat, stunned by her courage, her certainty. Then I’m kissing her back, my hands framing her face with a care I didn’t know I had, holding her as though she’s something rare and fragile.
Which she isn't. She's proven that today and every day since I've known her.
She pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips, “Take me to bed.”
Those four words cut through the last of my rage, replacing it with a different kind of heat altogether. I search her face, looking for any sign of hesitation or fear.
“Are you sure that's what you need right now?”
She nods, her fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt. “Do you always question a woman wanting you to take her to bed, or is that reserved just for me?”
“Only for you, princess,”
The smile that curves her lips is small but genuine.
“Is that so bad?” she asks, her fingers anchored in my shirt as though the touch itself is what’s keeping me beside her.
“No,” I admit, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from her face. “But I need to know this isn't just about forgetting what happened. About using me to erase him.”
Her expression flashes—anger, maybe, or pure determination. “This isn’t about him. It’s about us. About what I want.”
And fuck, I believe her. There’s no hesitation, no fear, just that same stubborn fire that’s been pulling me toward her since the beginning. I could drown in it and die happy.
“What you want,” I echo, my thumb brushing along the curve of her lower lip. “Tell me, Cece. Say it.”
She doesn’t blink, doesn’t falter. “I want you to take me to bed and make me forget everything except your name.”
That’s all it takes.
In one smooth motion, I scoop her up. Her legs wrap around my waist like she was made to fit there. Her lips find the side of my neck, trailing fire along my skin, and it takes every shred of control not to lose myself right there.
I ease her down gently, my hands unsteady for reasons I can’t quite name as I hover above her.
“You sure about this?” I ask one last time, giving her an out that part of me prays she won't take.
She answers by pulling me down to her, her mouth finding mine with a hunger that matches the storm raging inside me.
Her kiss tastes like salvation and sin all at once—sweet and desperate and consuming.
I lose myself in it, in her, letting her pull me under until the anger that's been burning through me transforms into something else entirely.
My hands find the hem of her shirt, sliding beneath to feel the warm skin of her stomach. She leans into my touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips when my fingers trace the underside of her breast. I want to worship every inch of her, to erase any memory of that bastard's hands with my own.
“Please,” she whispers against my mouth, and that one word undoes me.
I tug her shirt over her head, revealing the simple cotton bra beneath. Nothing fancy, nothing meant to seduce, and somehow that makes it all the more perfect. This isn't a show. It's just us, raw and real in this moment.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, trailing kisses along her collarbone. “So fucking beautiful.”
She shivers beneath me, her hands fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. I help her peel it off and toss it aside. When she touches me, her fingers tracing the outline of the raven on my shoulder.
“Brayden,” she whispers, and my name on her lips is like a fucking prayer.
I reach behind her, unhooking her bra. As it falls away, I take in the sight of her—skin flushed pink, nipples hardening under my gaze, eyes bright with want and something deeper. The marks on her wrists stand out against her pale skin, and I feel that rage threatening to resurface.
I push it down, focusing on her instead. On this. On us.
“What do you need?” I ask again, needing to hear it.
Her hand slides up my chest to cup my face, thumb stroking over my stubbled jaw. “You,” she says simply. “Just you.”
I lean down to capture her mouth again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her. My hand cups her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. I trail kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, taking my time as if we have all the hours in the world.
When I take her nipple into my mouth, her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me to her.
The soft sounds she makes drive me wild, each gasp and sigh like music.
I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention while my hand slides down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans.
Her hips lift slightly, an invitation I can't resist.
I unbutton her jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. She's trembling beneath me, but not from fear. I know that tremor, recognize it from every time I touch her—it's anticipation, desire, need.
“Lift up,” I murmur against her skin, and she raises her hips so I can slide her jeans down her legs.
I follow the denim with my mouth, pressing kisses to her thigh, her knee, her calf as each inch of skin is revealed.
By the time I toss her jeans aside, she's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matches my own pounding heart.
I look up at her from between her legs, taking in the sight of her. Her hair is spread across my pillow, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with want. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, vulnerable and strong all at once.
I press a kiss to her inner thigh. Then I move higher, trailing my lips along the sensitive skin until I reach the edge.
I press my lips to her heated skin, brushing against the cotton covering her center.
She whimpers, hips rising to meet my mouth.
I can smell her arousal, feel the dampness seeping through the thin fabric.
My cock strains against my jeans, begging for attention, but this isn't about me right now.
This is about her—about making her feel good, about reclaiming what's mine, about erasing any trace of him from her body and mind.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties, dragging them slowly down her legs until she's completely bare before me. Her thighs tremble as I push them apart, exposing her to my hungry gaze.
“Brayden,” she whispers, a note of vulnerability in her voice that makes my chest ache. “I need you.”
I press a kiss to her inner thigh, then higher, until I'm breathing hot against her core. “You have me, princess. All of me.”
When I finally taste her, she arches off the bed with a gasp that turns into a moan.
I take my time, savoring her like she's the last meal I'll ever have.
My tongue traces slow circles around her clit, teasing but never quite giving her what she needs.
Her fingers clutch at the sheets, at my hair, at anything she can reach as I work her into a frenzy.
“Please,” she begs. “I need more.”
I slide one finger inside her, groaning at how wet she is for me. She's already soaked, her body responding to my touch in a way that makes my dick throb painfully against my jeans. I add a second finger, curling them to hit that spot inside her that makes her cry out my name.
“That's it,” I encourage. “Let me hear you, princess.”
I work her with my fingers while my tongue circles her clit, building her up slowly. Her thighs begin to tremble, her breathing coming in short, desperate gasps. I can feel her getting close, her walls tightening around my fingers.
“Brayden,” she moans. “I'm going to—”
“Not yet,” I growl against her flesh, pulling back just enough to deny her release. “Not until I'm inside you.”
She whimpers in frustration, her face flushed as she looks down at me.
The sight of her—desperate, on the edge—nearly makes me lose what little control I have left.
I rise to my knees, unbuckling my belt with hands that aren't quite steady.
She watches every movement, her breathing quickening as I unzip my jeans and push them down along with my boxers.
My cock springs free, already hard enough to hurt. She reaches for me, but I catch her wrists gently, mindful of the marks there.
“Let me,” I say, positioning myself between her thighs. I line myself up against her entrance, the head of my cock sliding through her wetness. She gasps, her hips lifting toward me, seeking more.
“Look at me,” I demand, needing to see her when I enter her.
She obeys, her gaze locking with mine as I push forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The heat of her surrounds me, so tight and perfect I grit my teeth to keep from losing control. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp as I fill her completely.
“Fuck,” I groan, stilling once I'm buried to the hilt. “You feel so good, princess.”
Her hands come up to grip my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. “Please move,” she whispers, voice strained. “I need you to move.”
I pull back slowly before thrusting forward again, searching her features for any sign of discomfort. There's only pleasure there, her expression hungry but vulnerable as she holds my stare. I set a rhythm that's deep but measured, each stroke deliberate, wanting to make this last.
“You're mine. Say it, Cece. Tell me you're mine.”
Her eyes lock with mine. “I'm yours,” she gasps, her body shivering violently beneath me. “Only yours.”
The words hit me with brutal force, stopping my breath.
Something fierce and overwhelming surges through me, rising so fast it steals my control.
I slam into her harder, possessed by a savage need to brand her from the inside out, to obliterate any memory of him that might still linger in her body's memory.
“That's it,” I snarl, my voice barely human as I watch her face contort with pleasure. “Take. All. Of. Me.” Each word punctuated with a punishing thrust.
Her legs vise around my waist, nails raking bloody trails down my back.
I wrench her hips up with one hand, the new angle making her scream as I hammer against that spot that makes her clench like a fist around me.
The pressure of her squeezing my cock is excruciating, magnificent. My vision blurs at the edges.
“Brayden,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I can't—I'm going to—”
“Look at me,” I command. “Don't you fucking look away. I want to see you shatter.”
Her pupils blow wide, drowning in black. There's nothing else in her eyes but me. Not him. Not her past. Just us, fused together in this brutal communion.
I reach between us, thumb pressing hard against her swollen clit. “Now,” I growl against her mouth. “Come for me. Only me.”
She fractures beneath me, my name ripped from her throat as her body seizes around my cock with violent, pulsing contractions.
Her nails break skin as she clings to me, her spine arching so severely I fear it might snap.
The sight of her—face contorted in primal ecstasy, eyes wild yet still locked on mine—carves itself into my soul.
Her inner muscles clamp down with bruising force, dragging me toward the abyss.
We sink into the quiet that follows, breath still unsteady, bodies pressed close enough that I can feel the thundering rhythm of both our hearts.
The world narrows to shared warmth, shared air, and the wild rush still echoing through us.
I'm crushing her but can't find the strength to move until her fingers dig into my shoulder blades.
I roll us, keeping her locked against me, unwilling to break our connection.
“You still with me?” I rasp, voice shredded, fingers tangling in her hair to tilt her face up.
Her eyes meet mine, glazed yet burning with something that makes my chest constrict. “Never left,” she whispers.
In her gaze, I see no walls, no doubts—just Cece looking at me like I'm her salvation instead of her ruin. Like she'd burn down paradise just to stand in my hell.