18. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Kairo
After talking to her friend, she seems her settled. We spent the day hanging out, playing card games. Watching her become emotionally vulnerable with me, hit me in a way I never thought it would. We even went exploring around the cabin. A small hike, but being outside seemed to do something to her. She picked some berries, wandered a bit too far from my line of sight, but I decided to trust her. And just like that, she came back, her cheeks flushed, her hair a mess. Just before five, she decided she was going to make dinner.
I watch her from the kitchen doorway. Harbor's fingers tremble as she chops vegetables, the knife unsteady in her grip. She’s not afraid of me. Not anymore. She feels something for me, she just doesn’t understand what. She knows I'm here without turning around—her shoulders tense, her breathing shallow. The cabin feels smaller tonight, the walls pressing in around us like they're conspiring to push us together.
The knife hits the cutting board with rhythmic precision despite her trembling hands. Chop. Chop. Chop . Harbor's auburn hair falls across her face as she works, and she tucks it behind her ear with a quick, practiced motion. A single drop of sweat trails down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her oversized sweater. It's not hot in here. Far from it. The mountain air seeps through the cabin's wooden walls, but Harbor's burning up from the inside out.
"I thought you might like some tea," she says to the vegetables, still not turning around. Her voice wavers slightly, betraying the calm she's trying to project.
I don't respond. She doesn't expect me to. This little charade of domesticity amuses me. She never cooked when she was at her apartment, so who was she trying to impress?
"I found some wild mushrooms on the trail today," she continues, filling the silence with meaningless chatter. "I'm pretty sure they're safe to eat, but I left them outside. Wasn't sure if you'd—"
"If I'd what, Harbor?" I finally speak. "If I'd want to risk being poisoned?"
Her shoulders stiffen further, her rhythm faltering for just a moment before she regains control. "I was going to say if you'd want me to cook them. They might be death caps, what do I know?"
The onions sizzle as she tosses them into the hot pan, the sound and scent filling the space between us. I push away from the doorframe and step into the kitchen, my footfalls deliberately loud on the wooden floor. I want her to track my approach through sound, to feel me getting closer even as she pretends to focus on her task.
I watched her explore the woods surrounding the cabin, giving her the illusion of freedom, letting her believe she's here by choice. And she is, in a way. She chose to come with me. She chose to stay when the first signs of my true nature began to show. Every step of this dance has been choreographed, but her participation—that's been her choice. That's what makes this so delicious.
"Now who’s the quiet one," she observes, a giggle escapes her as she tries to cover her discomfort, stirring the pan with unnecessary focus.
"I've been watching you," I reply simply.
The wooden spoon pauses mid-stir, just for a heartbeat, before resuming its motion. "I know."
Of course she knows. She feels my eyes on her constantly, tracking her movements, studying her reactions. She pretends it unnerves her, but I see the flush that creeps up her neck when she senses my gaze. I see how she sometimes performs for me, stretching a little longer, bending a little lower when she knows I'm watching.
I move closer, silent now, my reflection appearing in the window above the sink where she's working. Our eyes meet in the glass, and for a moment, neither of us breathes. The outside world has gone dark, turning the window into a mirror that captures us both—me standing behind her, towering and still, her small frame rigid with awareness.
"The potatoes are burning," I murmur, not breaking eye contact in our reflection.
Harbor blinks, the spell momentarily broken as she moves the pan off the burner. "Shit," she mutters, her voice breathy.
I'm close enough now to smell her, the lavender soap she used in the shower this morning, the scent of her. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. Close enough that when she turns around, startled by my proximity, she nearly collides with my chest.
"Jesus!" she gasps, dropping the wooden spoon. It clatters against the floor, spattering droplets of sauce across the worn wood. "You can't just—"
"Can't just what?" I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin. "Can't stand in my own kitchen? Can't approach the woman staying in my cabin?"
Harbor swallows hard, her green eyes wide as they stare up at me. She's backed against the counter now, her hands gripping the edge behind her, knuckles white with tension. I've positioned myself intentionally blocking her escape, forcing her to confront what's been building between us since the moment she agreed to come here.
"You can keep pretending," I murmur, my voice dangerously soft as I place one hand on the counter beside her hip, effectively caging her in. "But I can see it, Harbor. You want me just as badly as I want you."
Her breath hitches, color rising to her cheeks. She opens her mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. I lean down, my lips grazing the shell of her ear.
"The question is, do you have the strength to fight it? Or will you let go? Let me take you the way I've always wanted to."
Her pulse flutters visibly at the base of her throat, signaling her surrender before she consciously makes the decision. I press closer, my chest against hers, feeling her heart hammering through the thin fabric of her sweater.
"I—" she starts, then stops, words failing her.
Outside, the wind picks up, branches scratching against the cabin windows like skeletal fingers trying to get in. The single lamp in the kitchen casts long shadows across Harbor's face, deepening the hollows beneath her cheekbones, darkening her already dark eyes. In this light, she looks haunted. Hunted.
Mine.
"You don't need to answer," I tell her, my hand moving to cup her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "Your body already has."
She trembles visibly, her lips parting slightly, invitingly. We're alone in the world, just the two of us in this moment of terrible, beautiful truth.
And as her eyes flutter closed in anticipation of what comes next, I know I've won.
Harbor's breath comes in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling against mine. The knife she was using to chop vegetables glints in the low light, forgotten on the cutting board. I wonder if she's thinking about grabbing it—if some primal part of her brain is screaming danger. It wouldn't matter if she did. Nothing can stop what's happening between us now. I've planned too long, waited too patiently, for her to slip away.
Her knuckles are white where she grips the counter edge, as if it's the only thing keeping her upright. Maybe it is. The way she's looking at me—fuck, it's everything I've wanted. Fear and desire so tightly woven together that even she can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
"Harbor," I breathe her name like a prayer, though I've never been a religious man. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. But I worship at the altar of her body, her mind, her essence. Have done so since the moment I first saw her.
She doesn't respond, not with words. But her eyes never leave mine, pupils dilated so wide they almost swallow the green. The kitchen feels charged, like the air before a lightning strike. Each breath we take is shared, the space between us so minimal it barely exists.
When my lips finally claim hers, the connection is electric. I don't start gentle, there's no point pretending this is something soft or sweet. My mouth crashes against hers with bruising force, my hands finding her waist and gripping hard enough to leave marks. Mine . The word throbs in my mind with each beat of my pulse.
For one breathless moment, she's frozen, unresponsive under my assault. Then, like a dam breaking, she's kissing me back with equal ferocity. Her hands release the counter and find my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt. She makes a sound against my mouth—half moan, half sob—and I swallow it, hungry for every piece of her she's willing to give.
This is surrender. Not the reluctant submission of prey, but the willing capitulation of a woman who's been fighting herself as much as she's been fighting me. I've seen it in her eyes for days, the internal war between what she thinks she should want and what she actually craves.
I press her harder against the counter, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, gripping tight enough to control but not hurt. No. This time is different. This time I won’t take, she will give. The kiss deepens, my tongue demanding entrance which she grants immediately. She tastes like the wine she was sipping while cooking, rich and complex with an underlying sweetness that's all Harbor.
For the first time since we arrived at this cabin, she's fully present in the moment—not planning escape routes or measuring her words. Not watching me from the corner of her eye as if I might transform into something monstrous at any second. There's an honesty in the way her body responds to mine that satisfies something feral in me.
When I finally break the kiss, we're both breathing hard, her lips swollen and red from the pressure of mine. I keep my grip on her hair, holding her face tilted up to mine as I study her. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes dazed with desire. Beautiful. But there's still that hint of hesitation in the furrow between her brows, the slight tension in her shoulders.
She still doesn't fully understand what this is. What we are. What I've done to ensure nothing stands between us.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted you," I tell her, my voice rough with need. "How much I've sacrificed to have you here, like this."
Something flickers in her expression—confusion, maybe a touch of fear returning. Good. She should understand the magnitude of this moment.
"What do you mean?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I stroke her cheek with my thumb, watching her reaction carefully as I say, "I killed your brother and your father for you, Harbor. Because no one gets to hurt what's mine and walk away unscathed."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and irrevocable. For a moment, she doesn't react at all, her mind struggling to process what I've just said. Then understanding dawns, horror spreading across her features like spilled ink, darkening her eyes and draining the color from her cheeks.
"So that was you?” She says it like she didn’t know all along.
"Was it really that hard to believe?" I cut her off, my voice gentle despite the brutality of my words. "I’d do anything for you, Harbor. I thought you’d understand that by now."
A mix of emotions flash across her face before finally settling on acceptance. They were dumb fucks anyway, to put it lightly. They deserved a far worse fate than I gave them.
"Why?" she says. "Why would you tell me this? Do you want me to be afraid of you?"
It's a fair question. I could have kept this secret forever. But that's not what I want from her. I want the truth to stand between us, naked and bear and for her to accept it.
"Because I want all of you, Harbor. Not just your body, not just the parts you're willing to give. I want your knowledge of who I really am. What I'm capable of doing for you. I want you to understand that there are no limits to what I'll do to keep you."
She stares up at me, her heart shaped face flushed, but her forehead uncreased. She wants a love that burns like this.
"You're a monster," she whispers.
I smile, reaching down to cup her chin. "I'm your monster, Harbor. And deep down, in places you don't want to acknowledge, that's exactly what you've always wanted."
Her eyes, when they finally meet mine again, hold something I hadn't expected to see—not just horror or hatred, but recognition. As if she's finally seeing me clearly for the first time, and somehow, impossibly, still wants what she sees.
“Thank you.” Tears well in her eyes and my heart wrenches.
I reach for her slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn't. My hands cup her face, thumbs gently wiping the wetness from her cheeks. Her skin is hot against my palms, feverish almost. I lean in, bringing my face close to hers.
"You're all I have now," she breathes, “besides Lila.”
"That was always the point," I admit.
Our lips meet, and this kiss is different from the one before. Softer initially, a question rather than a demand. Her lips are salt stained from tears, swollen from crying and our earlier kiss. She responds with surprising tenderness, her mouth moving beneath mine with a hesitant exploration that ignites something fierce in my chest.
The gentleness doesn't last. Can't last, not with the storm raging inside both of us. The kiss deepens, grows hungry again, my hands sliding from her face to her shoulders, down her arms to circle her wrists. Not restraining, just connecting us at multiple points, anchoring her to me as our mouths claim each other with increasing urgency.
"You're safe now," I whisper against her lips, though what I mean is that she belongs to me completely. That no one will take her from me, ever.
She doesn't resist as I lift her from the floor, her body pliant against mine. I set her on the counter, stepping between her legs which part for me instinctively. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders, fingertips digging in as if she's afraid she might float away if she doesn't hold on tight enough.
"I should hate you," she says, her voice steadier than before.
I smile against her neck, tasting the salt of dried tears on her skin. "But you don't."
"No," she agrees, tilting her head to give me better access. "I don't know what I feel anymore."
My hands find the hem of her sweater, sliding underneath to touch the warm skin of her waist. She shivers but doesn't pull away. If anything, she leans into my touch, hungry for the connection despite everything, or perhaps because of it. Now that I've stripped everything else away from her, I'm all she has left. Her only constant in a world I've systematically dismantled.
There's power in that, yes, but also responsibility. I've destroyed her world; now I need to become her world.
I take my time undressing her, savouring each new expanse of skin revealed. Unlike our previous encounters, this isn't a frantic claiming. This is something deeper… a reconfiguration of our relationship. Harbor helps me remove my own clothes, her hands shaking slightly but determined.
When I finally enter her, it's with a slowness that borders on reverence. Her head falls back, eyes closing as she takes me in, a soft moan escaping her lips. I hold still for a moment, buried deep inside her, feeling her pulse around me. Connected. Claimed.
"Look at me," I command softly, and her eyes flutter open, meeting mine. "I want you to see who you're giving yourself to."
She doesn't look away as I begin to move within her, setting a rhythm that's deliberate and deep. Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me closer, hands clutching at my shoulders as if I'm a lifeline in the storm I've created around her.
The forgotten dinner preparations surround us. Chopped vegetables scattered across the cutting board, the half-burnt potatoes in the pan I moved off the burner.
"Kai," she gasps, using the shortened version of my name that feels oddly intimate on her lips. Her body responds to mine with an honesty her mind might still be fighting, inner muscles tightening, back arching to take me deeper.
I grip her hips, adjusting the angle to drive deeper into her, watching her face as pleasure transforms her features. This is what I wanted—to consume her completely, to become the center of her universe. To erase everything but the connection between us.
"Mine," I growl against her ear, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out. "Say it."
"Yours," she whispers, and I feel her surrender in the word, in the way her body yields to mine completely. "I'm yours."
We move together in the dim kitchen light, the pace gradually increasing as both of us chase release. Harbor's hands clutch at my shoulders, nails leaving half-moon indentations that I'll wear proudly later. Her breathing grows ragged, little gasps escaping with each thrust.
I can feel her getting close, her body tensing around mine, back arching further. I slide one hand between us, finding the spot that will push her over the edge, circling it with my thumb as I maintain the deep, steady rhythm of my hips.
"Let go for me," I command softly, watching her face as she comes apart. It's beautiful. Entrancing. Her features slackening with pleasure, mouth open in a silent cry, eyes half-lidded but still locked on mine.
Her release triggers my own, and I bury myself deep inside her as I come, her name a curse and a prayer on my lips. For a moment, we're completely connected, both physically and in the raw vulnerability of climax.
As the orgasm ends, Harbor collapses against my chest, her forehead resting on my shoulder. I support her weight easily, one hand coming up to stroke her hair, the other still holding her firmly against me.
"Don't leave me," she whispers against my skin, the words so unexpected they make me freeze momentarily. There's a raw desperation in her voice that wasn't there before, a naked need that has nothing to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with the emotional devastation I've wrought.
The request surprises us both, her, because she's asking her kidnapper to stay with her; me, because I never expected such surrender so quickly, so completely.
My grip tightens possessively, arms wrapping around her in a hold that's as much cage as comfort. "I never will," I promise, and it's perhaps the most honest thing I've ever said to her.
Kissing her temple gently, tasting salt and sweat, we stay like that. "I've got you," I murmur against her skin. "Always."