Chapter 23
My fist slams into the punching bag.
Again.
And again.
The chain rattles. Sweat drips from my skin. Blood from my knuckles.
Still not enough.
I hit harder. Faster. My heart pounds in my skull. Muscles screaming. Rage boiling.
Hell’s still awake. Still clawing under my skin. It never sleeps. Never fucking quits.
I slam my fist so hard the bag splits. Sand spills out in a slow, steady stream. Like blood. Like breath. Like something dying.
My hands shake. I need more. Need something to tear apart. Rip open. Watch it bleed.
“You look like shit,” Raze says, stepping in. Drops his gear on the bench and peels off his bulletproof vest.
Voices echo down the hall—the others back from the extraction mission for Dalton and Alistair. The bunker’s crawling with even more Sovereigns. But Arsen’s still not here. It’s been three days. No word. No intel. Nothing.
I should’ve gone. Should’ve had his six. Instead, I’m fucking grounded.
Forced to sit here.
“We got them. But it wasn’t clean, and they didn’t come willingly. Sterling’s feeding them shit and lies. We gotta get a message out to people we can trust. We’re fucking sitting ducks here.”
The walls pulse. Close in.
It’s impossible to fucking breathe in this place.
I storm out—through the gym, the kitchen, past the others.
“Priest! You fucking son of a bitch!” Dalton’s voice explodes behind me.
I don’t stop.
I’m already halfway down the hall—on autopilot. My head is pounding with one thought.
Her.
I need her to calm me the fuck down.
Shoving her door open, I step inside. She’s out cold, body twitching under the blanket, already starting to toss from the nightmare clawing its way in.
Crossing the room in three strides, I climb into the bed, and press her into the mattress—my body blanketing hers. She jerks beneath me, whimpering, her small hands pushing against my chest.
Grabbing her wrists, I pin them above her head.
“Shhh, little one,” I murmur against her hair. “I’m here.”
She stills. Her body softens beneath mine. Her breathing evens out.
I drag my nose down her neck, inhaling her. She smells like skin, sweat, and sleep. It fills my head, dulling the static, slowing the chaos that never fucking ends.
I can’t stop. I need her here, under me, her scent in my lungs, her body caged in my arms.
Silence.
Empty, consuming, addictive.
She breathes through parted lips, eyelashes fluttering. Drowned in one of my shirts, the hem riding high on her thighs. And I know the second I let her go, the noise comes back.
So I won’t.
My dick’s already hard—has been since I touched her door. But the sight of her in my clothes is fucking unbearable. My cock throbs, pressed into her thigh. I slide my hand under the fabric, over her flat stomach. Her skin’s warm and soft.
I cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. It tightens instantly, her back arching into my palm. Her body knows me—even in sleep.
I glance at the painkillers I left on her nightstand with the birth control I slipped in them. She should’ve been taking it already, but she wasn’t. She doesn’t think ahead. Doesn’t think at all.
Good thing I do.
“Stupid pretty kitten.”
I drop my mouth to her chest, sucking her nipple through the shirt, letting my teeth graze it just enough to make her twitch.
“You drive me insane,” I whisper against her skin. “I can’t fucking stop.”
My hand drags lower, cupping the heat between her legs. I feel her slickness through the fabric.
My little body-warmed drug.
“I need you,” I breathe against her throat. “Need you so fucking much.”
I roll us onto our sides, dragging her back flush to my chest. She’s small in my arms. Fragile. Real. And I’m a fucking machine pretending I remember how to feel. My hand slides down the waistband of her leggings, no panties, just heat. I press my fingers into her slit, finding her soaked.
My cock pulses hard enough to hurt.
“Fuck, kitten,” I groan into her skin. “I’ve missed this pussy. Missed the way it squeezes me.”
Her ass grinds back against me, searching for friction. My fingers work deeper inside her, curling to stroke that perfect little spot that makes her twitch. I drag her leggings halfway down, exposing the round swell of her ass. My hand drifts lower. Over the curve of her thigh. Over the scar.
That scar.
The one from the night I saved her. The one that branded her as mine long before she ever realized it.
My fingers trace it, slowly, almost reverent—but my thoughts aren’t. They’re dark. Depraved. All I can think about is opening her up all over again. Making her bleed for me. Making her need it, the way I know she does.
My hand fists in her hair as I bite her shoulder, sharp enough to leave marks.
“Tell me you need me. Tell me how much you love my cock. How much you crave being ruined by me.”
She whimpers and grinds harder against my hand. My fingers speed up, thumb circling her clit.
I pull my fingers out and press my palm to her lower belly, pinning her in place. My other hand grips my cock, lining it up. I thrust in one brutal inch at a time, stretching her open, her cunt swallowing me whole.
I groan as my entire length disappears inside her.
Fuck.
I don’t move.
I stay buried, savoring it. Her slick walls clench around me, and my hand still pressed to her stomach feels the bulge of my cock from the inside. The pressure. The fullness. Her cunt is struggling to make room. And it’s fucking perfect.
“You feel that, little one?” I whisper into her neck, biting the soft skin just above her collarbone. “That’s me. Deep enough to own every inch of you.”
My grip tightens. I press her tighter against me, my whole body caging hers.
No space.
No air.
Just her and me.
Exactly how it should be.
I start to move.
Slow, deep thrusts that make her body jolt in my arms. Her cunt clenches around me like she’s trying to force me out, but I just shove deeper. My cock bulging against her belly under my hand—thick, deep, too big for someone like her—and fuck if that doesn’t make my head spin.
Her hips twitch, her breath stutters, a broken sound crawling out of her throat. My grip bruises her hip. My teeth scrape her throat. I can’t stop. Won’t.
“Take it. Take every fucking inch.”
Her body spasms. Her cunt clamps down, fluttering tight, her orgasm hitting hard. I slam into her harder, her legs twitching as I ride her through it.
And that’s what breaks me.
I bury myself to the hilt and come. My cock jerks inside her, thick ropes of cum spilling into her. I grind through it, fucking every drop deeper, my hand still splayed across her belly, feeling myself inside her.
Filling her until I know she won’t forget me. Not when she wakes up slick and sore and stuffed full of me. I collapse against her, panting. My cock buried to the base.
I can’t move.
Don’t want to.
Her body fits mine too well. Her scent, her skin, her heartbeat under my hand…
“You’re mine,” I whisper into her hair, my lips brushing her temple. “I don’t care if you fucking hate me, Arlo. You’re mine.”
And I’ll make sure you never forget it.