FORTY-ONE #2
Dakota doesn’t come apart quietly. She fights it, because of course she does. It’s like pleasure is just another thing trying to take something important from her. Her thighs shake and her hand clamps tightly over her mouth.
I stop suddenly and she looks down, furious. “Why—”
“Move your hand.”
Her eyes narrow.
“No hiding,” I say. “Not from me.”
Something in her face shifts and she drops her hand.
As soon as her mouth is clear, I put my own back on her.
She’s beautifully slick and dangerously hot against my tongue, her body opening up to me regardless of the blood and despite the fear.
Despite every vile word Davis spat in the hallway.
I hold her thigh tighter when she starts to tremble, but not to keep her there.
I do it to remind her that she asked, she wanted, and she’s still choosing.
Her hips move, but not much at first. It takes a minute before she starts properly grinding against me, her fingers pulling at my hair while she guides me in sharp little tugs that make heat crawl down my spine.
I follow every single signal she sends me.
Faster when she pulls. Slower when her breath catches a little too hard.
More pressure when she says my name like she is angry at needing it at all.
I don’t rush her, and I don’t tease her. I simply keep my mouth on her until her sounds stop sounding like she’s putting up a fight and start sounding like the sweetest surrender that belongs only to her.
Her leg shakes against my shoulder and her nails scrape my scalp as she pants my name like a damned prayer. “Kaito.”
I answer with my mouth and she shatters. Completely falls apart. Her head tips back, throat exposed, Ewan’s bite visible on one side. Her body tightens hard around nothing, and the sound she makes is raw enough to strip skin from bone.
It’s not pretty, but it’s so much fucking better than that because it’s hers.
I stand before her legs can give out completely and pain lances hot over my side. I breathe through it but Dakota sees anyway. Her forehead presses against my chest and she shakes it slightly.
“For the record,” she says, breathless, “you’re shit at looking after those stitches.”
“In my defense, I didn’t claim I was good at that.”
“You’re also not good at being hurt quietly.”
“What can I say? You’re deliciously distracting.”
She exhales against my skin, an almost-laugh.
Almost.
For a full minute, neither of us speaks. Then she says, “Mat.”
I glance down. “You want the floor?”
“I want space.”
Of course she does. And I’m quick to give her exactly what she wants. I lower us to the mat, but not gracefully. Fuck me, but there’s literally nothing graceful about this anymore.
When she pushes me onto my back, pain explodes along my side. I let out one hard breath hissed between my teeth before I can stop it, and Dakota freezes.
“Nope,” I say immediately. “Not you.”
Her eyes narrow.
“The stitches,” I add.
“Then tell me if I hurt you.”
“Yup. I will.”
“Actually do it, though.”
“Scout’s honor,” I promise, even holding my hand up to show her I mean it.
She studies me for a second, contemplating whether to believe me. That only lasts a handful of seconds before she keeps going.
She looks down at me. At my body, the weapons still on the floor several feet away, the locked door, and the space stretched out around us. Her breathing steadies, and it proves why the floor matters. There’s no bed, no walls, or a body over hers unless she moves it there.
She kneels over me and reaches for my waistband.
“Protection,” she says.
“I’ve got it,” I tell her, reaching for the packet in my pocket.
Her eyebrow lifts. “You just carry those into fucked-up scenarios like earlier?”
“It was in my pocket before the hallway,” I dutifully inform, and she studies me for a second, then looks away with a small shake of her head.
It’s another little flash of her, but not a joke she chooses to make. Not now.
Her hands are steadier as she helps me. Once my length is covered, she looks at me for a long moment. Then she says, “Don’t make me feel delicate.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t make me feel clean either.”
My chest tightens, but I give her what she wants. “I won’t.”
“I’m not clean.”
“No.”
She flinches even though she asked for truth, and I touch her thigh boldly, but only there and only because she lets me.
“You’re alive, though,” I say. “So I think clean can sit back and wait.”
Her eyes shine again.
“That was a very good answer,” she whispers, then she takes me in her hand and guides me into her.
Both of us stop before her hands flatten on my chest. My hands grip the mat instead of her. Not yet.
She lowers herself slowly, jaw clenched, eyes locked on mine like she’s daring me to turn into every bad thing she has ever known. I don’t, though. I stay.
It’s only when I am fully inside her that she exhales so hard her shoulders drop.
“Okay?” I check, and she only nods. So I pause and push, “Words.”
“Yes, Kaito, I’m okay.”
Her voice is rough and I believe her.
Then she moves. The first rock of her hips makes my vision blur at the edges and arousal shoot through my veins and straight to my cock. The second makes my knot start to swell way too soon. It’s way too much, and I have to force myself to grit my teeth and breathe through it.
Dakota feels the change and her eyes drop. Then they lift again.
“No panic?” I ask.
“No.”
“Good.”
“You sound relieved.”
“I absolutely am.”
Something in her softens right before she leans down and kisses me. This time, I let my hands come to her hips when she nods. I help her move, but I don’t set the pace until she tells me to.
“Harder,” she demands on a rasp that has no right being so fucking sexy.
I tighten my grip on her hips and drive up into her with more force, relishing in the way her breathing hiccups. For one second, I watch her face instead of chasing what my body is dying for. Her eyes stay open and her hands stay on me without fear and without pulling away.
There’s only want.
So I do it again, harder this time. Her nails rake down my chest, and the sting helps keep me inside my own skin.
She moves with me now, meeting every thrust, taking what she asked for.
The sound of us fills the training room, skin slapping against skin.
Breaths shuddering from parted mouths. Her small, rough sounds every time I hit the place deep inside her that has her fingers digging into me.
I want to roll her under me. I want to cover her with my body.
I want to put my teeth in her throat and keep her pinned to the mat until every person in this compound knows she is not theirs to touch.
That desire is sharp enough to slice through stone and completely frayed at the edges.
But it belongs to me. It’s only mine to control.
So I stay exactly where she put me.
Under her.
Hands on her hips.
Watching her choose.
Her pace stutters a moment later and her jaw clenches.
I sit up before I can think better of it, but I do not trap her.
I keep one arm behind her back and one hand on the mat, giving her enough room to pull away if she needs it.
The movement tears a dull ache through my stitches and Dakota’s eyes narrow.
“Side?”
“I’ve got it.”
“Kaito.”
“I’ll tell you,” I repeat and she watches me for one hard second before accepting it.
She doesn’t pull away, instead she wraps herself around me and kisses me until the world fades away and all that’s left between us is heat and skin and the bite of restraint that chews into need.
My knot swells more, rubbing against her every time she sinks down on me. I feel the moment my instinct starts getting loud.
Bite.
Hold.
Claim.
Keep.
My teeth ache with it and my hands tighten before I can stop them and Dakota notices. Of course she does. “Kaito.”
I stop completely, my body fighting me so hard sweat beads down my spine. Dakota looks down at me, breathing hard. “Why’d you stop?”
“Because wanting to bite isn’t permission.”
The room goes quiet except for our breathing. Her face changes.
Right there. That’s the moment. Not the knot, not the sex. That.
She sees me stop, she sees instinct hit the door and stay outside because I said no. Her hand comes up to my jaw. “You stopped.”
“Yeah.”
“You wanted to.”
“I did.”
“But you stopped.”
“Always will unless you tell me otherwise.”
Her thumb brushes my lower lip and then the edge of my teeth. My entire body goes still.
“Kaito.”
“Do not ask unless you mean it,” I blurt, swallowing hard directly after.
Her eyes hold mine for only a moment before she says, “I want your bite.”
My breath leaves me.
“I want your bond,” she says. “Not because my body is doing something weird. Not because NOVAC scared me. Not because Davis made me feel like something people can argue over.”
She swallows. “Because you stopped.”
My control almost breaks right there.
She leans closer. “Because you want me and still let me choose.”
I close my eyes for half a second. When I open them, she is still there, still watching. Still choosing.
“Where?” I ask.
Her pulse jumps under the skin of her throat. She tips her head, showing me the unmarked side while her hand slides into my hair. “Here.”
My mouth goes dry. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Dakota.”
“If you ask me three more times, I’m going to bite you first.”
A rough sound tears out of me, half-laugh and half-ruin. “That sounds like yes.”
“It’s definitely a yes.”
There she is. Mine to love but not mine to own.
I shift us carefully, still buried inside her, knot swelling harder now. Stretching her, catching at the edge of locking. Her breath stutters but I keep one arm around her back, one hand braced on the mat.
“Say stop, and I stop,” I tell her.
“I know.”
“Say wait, and I wait.”
“I know.”
“Say bite, and I bite.”
Her eyes are dark, clear, and undeniably hers.
“Bite,” she says.