Chapter 5 Alexandria
ALEXANDRIA
The storm turns the world into a howling void, but inside the loft, silence outweighs the thunder. A thick, pressurized quiet rings in my ears, anticipating an avalanche.
I lie against the bank of pillows Tristan arranged hours ago, staring at ceiling beams. My leg, encased in the splint he fashioned with terrifying competence, throbs with a dull rhythm. Pain lurks behind the chemical haze of painkillers, but it fails to demand my attention. It’s him.
Tristan sits in the leather armchair, his massive frame still.
He sharpens a knife—a wicked hunting blade—with a rhythmic shhhk, shhhk, shhhk that scrapes my nerve endings.
He hasn't looked at me in twenty minutes, but his awareness permeates the room.
A sleeping tiger in a cage; the predator rests, but every muscle coils, ready to snap at a shift in the air.
Heat from the wood stove stifles the air, or perhaps fever burns in my blood unconnected to my injuries. Since he tasted me then pulled back with agonized restraint, I haven't breathed right.
"You're staring, Alexandria," he rumbles. He doesn't look up. His voice acts as a tectonic shift, vibrating through the floorboards into the mattress.
"I have nothing else to look at," I reply, voice raspy. "Just the storm. And the man who kidnapped me."
Tristan pauses the whetstone. He lifts his head, firelight catching the hard angles of his face—heavy brow, scar cutting through stubble, and eyes the color of dark river-moss.
"Saved you," he corrects. No apology colors the tone. "If I’d left you for the rescue team, you’d still be freezing on that ridge.
The storm hit the peak ten minutes after I got you inside. "
"You could have taken me to the clinic."
"No."
He sets the knife on the side table. My breath hitches as he unfolds his height.
Impossibly large, a mountain making the spacious loft feel cramped.
He wears nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, leaving that expanse of scarred, tattooed chest bare to the firelight.
Ink swirls over his deltoids—runes, wolves, and complex geometric patterns—a map of violence and loyalty on skin that could deflect bullets.
He walks toward the bed, silent despite his size. The predator approaching the wounded doe.
"Pain?" he asks, stopping by the mattress. His hand hovers over my splinted leg. Heat radiates from his palm.
"A little," I lie. It hurts like hell, but the ache between my thighs is sharper. "The meds are wearing off."
"I can give you more."
"I don't want to be numb, Tristan."
The admission hangs. He tracks the movement of my pulse like he’s deciding where to bite.
He’d stripped me and shoved me into one of his shirts while I was out, and now the fabric is heavy with him—the scent of engine grease, cast-iron, and the thick, salty musk of a man who’s been wanting someone for too long.
"You need to rest," he says, voice tight. "You have broken bones. Bruises."
"I'm not broken everywhere."
A muscle feathers in his jaw.
"Alexandria," he warns. A low growl from a beast keeping claws sheathed.
I push myself up, fighting dizziness. In the woods, you run from the bear. Here, in this warm, dim loft, I want the bear to maul me. I need him to break the agonizing restraint he holds with a death-grip on his own control.
"You kissed me," I whisper. "You put your mouth on me, then stopped. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"
"I stopped because you're injured," he snaps, restraint fraying. He leans down, planting hands on the mattress, caging me. "Because you're drugged and vulnerable. I don't take advantage of women who can't run away."
"I don't want to run." I reach up, fingers trembling as I trace the line of ink on his bicep. Granite hard. "And I'm lucid enough to know what I want. The storm trapped us here, Tristan. Just you and me. Stop being noble. It doesn't suit you."
His pupils blow wide, swallowing the green until his eyes are black voids of pure, predatory hunger. A shudder rips through his massive frame. A sound tears out of his throat—half-groan, half-snarl.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he rasps, breath hot against my lips. "I’ve watched you breathe for two days. Washed blood off your skin. Held you while you cried in your sleep. My control hangs by a fucking thread, Little Bit. If I touch you now, I won't be gentle."
"Good."
The thread snaps.
He doesn't kiss me; he claims my mouth. His tongue forces its way, rough and demanding, tasting of stale whiskey and the metallic tang of a hunter. The heat of him is a blunt force, making the throb in my broken ankle irrelevant compared to the way he's dominating my senses.
I whimper into his mouth, winding arms around his thick neck to pull him closer. He growls, a feral vibration against my chest. One large hand cups the back of my head, holding me in place as he ravages me. Hungry, desperate, consuming.
He pulls back, forehead resting against mine. "Tell me to stop," he demands, voice a wrecked rasp. "Tell me now, Alex."
"Don't you dare stop," I pant. "Touch me. Please."
He makes a noise of surrender and victory.
Straightening, eyes burn over my body. Methodical, heavy hands reach for my hem—the gray tank top of his that I've been drowning in.
"Lift your arms," he growls. I obey, wincing as the movement pulls at my bruised ribs, but the pain is a ghost compared to the heat of his gaze.
He peels the thin fabric up and over my head, but his eyes snag on the lace of my bra.
With a low, possessive grunt, he reaches behind me, his massive hands unhooking the clasp before he strips the lace away and tosses it aside, finally leaving me bared to the firelight.
Naked except for panties, my body maps purple and yellow bruises.
I try to cover the dark mark on my ribcage, feeling exposed.
Tristan looks at me like a holy relic unearthed.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, tracing a calloused thumb over the bruise. "So fucking resilient."
He presses his lips to the bruise, stubble grazing sensitive skin. He moves lower to the curve of my belly, hands spanning my waist. Thumbs dig in, testing the give of flesh. His hands nearly cover my entire torso.
"I’ll be careful with your leg," he promises, voice dropping an octave. "But I need to be inside you, Alexandria. I need to know you’re mine."
"I'm yours," I confess. In the wild, animals know their mates.
He hooks fingers into my waistband and drags the panties down. I lift my hips, and he helps, sliding fabric down my good leg, then navigating the splint. When he tosses the underwear, I am bare. He stands between my spread legs, chest heaving, erection straining violently against gray sweatpants.
"Tristan," I breathe.
He drops to his knees beside the bed. The mattress dips as he leans over, eyes locked on my core.
"You're wet," he observes, voice thick.
"You did that."
"I'm going to do a lot more."
He drops between my knees, his massive shoulders forcing my legs wide until my pussy is fully bared to him.
When his mouth hits me, I scream. He’s not teasing; his broad, sandpapery tongue licks a heavy stripe from my bottom to my clit, drinking in the pussy juice I’ve been leaking for him.
He growls, the vibration rattling my bones, and pins my good thigh down while he drinks me in, his chin getting drenched in my heat.
He hums against my flesh, sending lightning bolts up my spine. Sensory overload—heat of his mouth, scrape of stubble, immense weight anchoring me.
"Tristan, please," I cry, head thrashing. "I need—"
"I know what you need," he mutters against my skin. He sucks hard on my clit. I scream, vision whitening.
He works me relentlessly. Knows exactly where to press. Worships me, treating my body like his only sustenance. My core fractures. Muscles seize tight, and I cry out his name. He drinks every drop of pleasure, refusing to stop until the last tremor fades and I lie limp against the sheets.
He stands immediately, eyes wild. He shoves sweatpants down, kicking them off his ankles. My breath catches. Magnificent. Terrifying. Thick, veined, and unmistakably large, standing at full attention.
"Tristan," I whisper. "Will it fit?"
He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself over me. Weight on his forearms, creating a canopy of muscle and heat.
"It’ll fit," he says, voice gritty. "You were made for this. For me."
He uses a heavy pillow to prop the splint further. I hiss at a phantom twinge, but morphine keeps agony distant.
He nudges the thick, weeping head of his cock against my entrance, dragging it through my juices until I’m drenched and begging.
The stretch is immense, a brutal, beautiful invasion as he begins to sink into me.
I gasp, my nails clawing into the iron muscle of his shoulders as he pushes harder, his heavy balls slapping against my thighs as he bottoms out, burying his entire length inside me.
I open wide, my walls straining to accommodate every veined, throbbing inch of him.
The absolute fullness of him being seated deep in my pussy, stretching me until I’m nothing but a vessel for his weight, drowns the pain of my leg entirely.
When he is buried to the root, his thick cock pulsing against my cervix, he stops.
He anchors himself there, claiming my body with a primal, unyielding force that leaves me breathless.
Forehead rests against mine. Connected in the storm's eye.
"Mine," he growls. "You feel that? You’re wrapped so tight around me."
"I feel it. Tristan, move. Please."
He withdraws, and I whine at the loss before he slams back in. A slow, grinding rhythm. He can’t pound into me, so he fucks me with deliberate, rolling friction. Grinds against my clit with every thrust, hitting the deepest part.
He watches my face. Watches me bite my lip until it bleeds. His face masks agonized pleasure, teeth bared in a rictus snarl.
"Look at me," he commands.
I open my eyes, locking gaze. Visceral connection. He touches my soul just as surely as my body.
"You’re doing so good," he praises, voice a broken rumble. "So perfect. Taking all of me."
The angle hits spots making my toes curl. I wrap my good leg around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groans, control slipping. Thrusts get harder, snapping hips against mine. Wet slap of skin on skin.
"Tristan!"
"I’ve got you," he pants. "I’ve got you, Alex. Let go."
Tension spirals tightly in my belly.
"I’m close," I gasp, the friction of his heavy cock against my clit pushing me over the edge.
"Come for me. Come on my cock, baby. Squeeze me until I break," he growls, his voice a jagged rasp of command.
He grinds his hips down, his rough pubic bone crushing against me, and I shatter.
A violent, full-body convulsion racks me as I scream his name.
My pussy clamps down in rhythmic waves, milking his thick shaft with everything I have.
My release snaps his tether. Tristan roars, a guttural, animalistic sound, and drives into me three, four times with brutal force—burying himself hilt-deep with every slamming thrust. He stiffens, his back arching as he pours his hot, thick seed deep inside me.
I feel every pulse of his release, heavy and scalding, filling me to the brim.
He rides out aftershocks, face buried in my neck. Harsh breathing fills the room.
Outside, wind howls, battering the garage. I barely hear it.
Slowly, Tristan collapses onto his elbows, taking weight off but staying inside. He kisses the pulse point behind my ear. A tender, gentle kiss.
"You okay?" he murmurs, brushing sweat-damp hair off my forehead.
I nod, feeling boneless. "My leg…"
He pulls out instantly, panic flaring. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," I say, reaching for him. "No, it just… aches a little. From the position."
He checks the splint, hands gentle and clinical. Adjusts pillows, elevating the limb, checking toes. The switch from feral lover to protective medic makes my heart ache.
He grabs a warm cloth from the basin. "Let me."
He wipes my thighs, touch reverent. He pulls the duvet up, cocooning us in warmth. Climbs in beside me, careful of my injury, and pulls me against his side. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart beating in time with mine.
His arm comes around me, heavy and possessive.
"You know," he says into the darkness, voice rumbling. "The road to town… might be blocked for a few days. Even after the storm clears."
I smile against his skin. He’s not ready to let me go. Not ready to share me.
"That's okay," I whisper, drifting toward sleep. "I’m in no hurry to leave."
His arm tightens. "Good. Because I’m keeping you."
The cage door is closed, locked, and barred. I have no desire to find the key.