CHAPTER 17
MIA
“Mommy, I don’t want to sleep alone.” My voice trembles, barely audible. One always stayed with me until I fell asleep. Without him, the darkness feels suffocating, as if it’s alive, filled with things I can’t see.
Her arms wrap around me swiftly, warm and fragile. “You can’t call me that, Mia. If anyone hears, they’ll hurt you.”
But she is my mother. She always has been.
“But you’re my mommy,” I whisper, my fingers clutching the fabric of her clothes, desperate for her to stay close.
“I know, my love, I know.” She kisses my forehead, and for a moment, I almost forget the fear—until the door creaks open.
Nico stands in the doorway.
A cold knot forms in my stomach, twisting and tightening as though something icy is slowly choking me. He’s here for her. He’s here to take her from me.
“Please don’t take Mom today,” I beg, jumping to my feet.
She holds me tightly, as if trying to shield me, but her eyes are wide with panic. She knows there’s no escaping him.
Nico’s gaze slides over to me. His face is calm, too calm, but his eyes… his eyes are cold and calculating. “Mom?” he repeats, the word tasting wrong in his mouth. “Who said you could call her that?”
I want to answer, but his attention shifts back to her.
The slap cracks through the air like a gunshot.
My mother stumbles back, her hand flying to her cheek, the sharp sting of the blow still echoing in the room.
“You’re hurting her!” I scream, my voice breaking.
“No, Number Two,” Nico sneers. “You just hurt her.”
He grabs her by the hair, yanking it so violently I think her scalp will tear. He slams her head against the wall—once, twice, three times. Each impact is wet and heavy, and I can hear it even before I see the blood running down her face.
My knees give out beneath me. My throat constricts with the need to scream, but no sound comes out.
“Stop!” I sob, choking on the words.
“Don’t beg,” he growls.
He steps towards me, and for a moment, I think I’m next. But my mother throws herself in front of me, a futile shield.
“Nico, you said we’d try again. Focus on me. Here.”
He pauses, eyes flicking to her, calculating, considering.
“Maybe she should learn what her use is.”
My mother clings to him, her hands gripping his arms with a desperate plea. “She’s too young.”
“I decide that,” Nico spits.
Then he lifts her dress.
I watch her face transform, her eyes losing their light as if she’s suddenly somewhere else, somewhere far away. But I’m here. I see. I hear.
I press my hands against my ears, pressing hard, but the sounds still seep through—his heavy breathing, the wet slaps of flesh against flesh, the creaking of the wall as he pulls her away.
I close my eyes.
And then his voice slices through the air.
“If you shed one tear, little girl, I’ll do it all over again.”
I swallow my tears, my throat burning, but I can’t cry. I can’t move.
When he’s done, he drops her to the floor like she’s nothing, like she’s a discarded rag.
He turns to me, his eyes cold, venomous.
“If you are so noble, then give your body for hers.”
I don’t understand what he means, but the chill crawling over my skin tells me I don’t want to.
Then he leaves.
I run to my mother, my hands trembling as I try to shake her awake.
There’s blood. So much blood.
“Mo… Katie…” My voice cracks as I whisper her name, trying to pull her into me, but she’s limp, unresponsive.
I shake her harder, my desperation turning frantic.
“I love you, Katie, please don’t leave me…”
But she doesn’t answer.
Silence swallows everything.
I blink twice, trying to shake off the memory and force a smile at myself in the mirror, but everything feels wrong. My body feels distant, like it’s not even mine. My skin feels like plastic, my voice doesn’t sound like me—it’s strange, hollow, like I’m talking through a fog. My head is throbbing, the pressure behind my eyes like something is trying to push its way out. My chest feels tight, like I’m suffocating, but I don’t even know why.
I stare at my reflection, trying to ground myself, but it’s like I’m looking at a stranger. I wonder if this is what it means to be disconnected . My thoughts are slipping away from me, like they’re swirling in different directions, and I can’t grab onto any of them.
I’m not sure if it’s the past pulling at me, or if it’s the constant fear gnawing at me from the inside out. My chest hurts so much, but it’s not from anything physical—it’s from the weight of the confusion, the doubt, the overwhelming nothingness that follows me everywhere I go. I think about Katie, about Zane, and I tell myself they’re why I’m still here, why I keep trying. But then, the thought of them slips away too, like it’s too far to reach.
Maybe I can’t do this anymore. The thought crosses my mind, but then it’s gone, replaced by something else—something I can’t quite make sense of.
I wonder if everyone feels like this sometimes. But it doesn’t make it easier to deal with. I just want to know what’s real . What’s left of me that’s real? Is it the pain? Is it Zane, keeping me here even when I feel so far gone? I don’t know anymore.
Maybe if I stay still, I won’t feel so… lost. But even when I try to freeze time, my thoughts keep moving, like a blur I can’t catch. The weight in my chest never stops. It’s like a constant reminder that I’m never truly okay, that I’m always hanging on by the thinnest of threads.
I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. The world is still spinning, and I’m stuck in the middle of it, trying to keep my feet on the ground, trying to pretend that I know what I’m doing.
I learned that day that I can’t call her mom anymore, so telling Zane what she is felt strange, like I hadn’t used that word in forever. It felt like I was talking about someone else, not my mom.
Smile, Mia. You have to.
They’re watching. Don’t let them see anything else, don’t let them see the cracks.
If they do, they’ll come after Katie, they’ll hurt her, and that’s something you can’t let happen.
I force myself to hold it together, pushing down the weight of everything inside.
The sadness, the confusion—it all has to stay buried. I swallow the lump in my throat and force my lips into a smile.
I can’t let them see how broken I feel, how close I am to crumbling. Because if they see it, if they sense the weakness, they won’t stop until they’ve taken everything from me. Katie. Zane. They’ll take it all.
So I smile.
I pull on a white dress today. It’s short, flared at the skirt, and it feels pretty—at least until I look down and see the marks on my shoulders. I leave them visible. I’m not scared of them. The dress is nice, but I hope I don’t end up ruining it. It’s too beautiful for that.
I head out and annoy Olga for a bit until I convince her to hang out with me. She doesn’t come around often. She’s not the social type, and I get it. I mean, I love people. I love talking and soaking up the outside world, but I don’t like being around people in that environment. No judgment.
I try calling Zane, but he doesn’t answer. I don’t press it. He’s probably busy pretending to be a mobster or something.
It’s strange how good he is at it. So good that if I didn’t know him, I might actually believe he’s the real deal.
Laura and I had planned to meet at Tony’s diner, so I drive there. Halfway there, I get a text from her: Edo has a fever.
Oh, poor thing.
I reply quickly, wishing him well. As I keep driving, I think, maybe I’ll grab some waffles while I’m here. Maybe I’ll even take some to Katie—if I can find her. When it’s safe.
Maybe I can convince Nico to let me see her. Wait for him to be in a good mood. Or maybe Zane will find her first, and... well, then I have no idea what I’ll do. Best not to think about that right now.
I park and walk into the diner. I glance around but don’t see Tony or Sammy. Instead, there’s a guy behind the register. He looks about my age but has this quiet, reserved vibe, like he’s just here to do the job and nothing else.
“Where’s Tony?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
“He went on a date,” he says flatly. “With one of the waitresses.”
My eyes widen. I knew it! The other day, I saw the glances between them. Tony, you sly dog.
“And you are?” I ask, curious.
“Me?” he blinks, surprised. “I’m his grandson.”
I tilt my head, studying him more closely.
“His grandson? I thought you were about twelve.”
He sighs, clearly used to this kind of comment.
“No, actually, I’m almost graduating from college.”
“You should tell your grandfather about that,” I tease.
“Grandpa still sees me as twelve. I don’t think that’s going to change,” he says softly.
There’s something in the way he says it that makes me pause. It’s not dramatic, but there’s a quiet kind of acceptance in his voice—like he’s long since made peace with it.
I raise an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. I’m gonna need proof you’re not just a really articulate middle schooler.”
He grins. “Take a selfie and send it to someone.”
I laugh and snap a quick photo—he’s mid-laugh, looking like one of those effortlessly charming guys from a university brochure.
Naturally, I pull out my phone and text Zane.
Mia: guess what
Mia: I was right—Tony is on a date.
Mia: but plot twist: I’m too busy catching up with his grandson
Mia: (yes, the one I thought was twelve???) turns out he’s graduating college and very much not a child
Mia: he literally told me to send a selfie so people know I’m not delusional
Mia: so here you go accidental-on-purpose evidence attached
Mia: also… kinda cute, right?
Mia: how’s your day going, tattoo boy?
Mia: [ image attached]
Zane: On my way.
He replies instantly. Like, suspiciously fast.
I blink at the screen, then laugh—because there’s no way.
Mia: lol
Mia: unless you’ve mastered teleportation, I call bluff
Mia: but hey, A+ for enthusiasm, tattoo boy
I smirk at my phone, staring at Zane’s message for a second longer than I should.
Then I lock the screen, toss it back into my bag, and look up at the guy still grinning across from me.
“Sorry about that,” I say, leaning in a little, playfully. “Just teasing someone who thinks he’s intimidating.”
He laughs. “Boyfriend?”
“Something like that,” I shrug. “Let’s call it a science experiment.”
I fold my arms on the table, tilting my head.
“Oh right, you were telling me you’re a college kid,” I say. “So, is it cool like the movies? Or is it just a bunch of late-night caffeine and questionable decisions?”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for his answer.
He hesitates a moment, unsure if he should even engage. But then he starts talking.
“It depends on what you think is cool. If you like parties and messing around, then yeah, it’s cool. But if you’re really into learning, it’s a different story.”
“Do you really want to learn?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He gives me a half-smile, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah, and no. Some days I love it, some days I hate it. But I like understanding things. Figuring out how they work.”
“Like what?” I’m genuinely interested.
“Science, mostly. I’m studying engineering, so it’s a lot of math, physics... that kind of stuff.”
I let out an impressed “ooh.” “Engineering? Sounds complicated.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “but it’s kind of addictive. Solving a problem after hours of trying—it's like beating a hard game.”
“I’ve never been much of a student,” I admit, swinging my legs absently. “But I think I get what you mean. I like solving problems in a different way.”
He looks at me curiously. “What kind of way?”
I smile, tilting my head slightly. “Let’s just say I’m good at negotiations.”
He looks at me for a long moment, trying to figure me out. Finally, he nods, still thoughtful.
“Negotiations, huh? Sounds interesting.”
“It can be, if you know how to play it right.”
“So you like to play?”
“I like winning,” I wink.
To my surprise, he laughs—a soft, shy laugh. “I guess you’d make a good engineer, then. It’s all one big puzzle, really.”
I grimace. “But with numbers.”
“Yes, with numbers,” he chuckles, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“Well, then I don’t think it would work,” I reply with a grin.
He smiles slightly. “You never know.”
The conversation just flows, which is surprising. He has this reserved vibe, but maybe he just needs a little push.
“What's your name, anyway?” I ask, eager to know more.
“Adam,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Adam!” I reach my hand out for a shake, then pull it away quickly and point to the menu. “I think I’ll have waffles.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Good choice. But if you want a secret... the milkshake here is even better.”
I grin, loving the tip. “Then I’ll have both!”
He shakes his head but takes the order anyway.
Maybe I made a new friend.
"Do you recommend the strawberry or the Nutella?" I ask, swinging my feet, weighing my options.
Adam—tall, with an easy smile—leans his arms on the counter, clearly enjoying himself. “It depends. Do you like something sweeter, or do you prefer a balance?”
"Ah, I like everything that makes life worth living."
He laughs, and I smile too. But what I don’t notice right away is the shadow looming behind me.
"She doesn't want any."
Zane’s voice cuts through the air, harsh and cold. My smile fades as I turn, fully expecting to see some shadow of him in the distance—but instead, there he is, standing in the doorway, his eyes dark and narrowed at the clerk like he’s ready to rip the man’s soul out with just a glance.
Holy shit, he actually came.
I blink, caught off guard, and for a second, it feels like the air's been sucked out of the room.
Adam raises his hands nervously. "I was just helping."
Zane doesn’t respond. He just grabs my wrist, his touch warm and possessive.
"Zane—"
"Now."
My heart races, but not from fear—there’s something far more dangerous stirring inside me.
He drags me out of the store, his grip unrelenting. Once we reach the alley beside the building, he slams me against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
“You like this, don’t you?” His voice is low and dark, a predatory growl that makes my stomach tighten with anticipation.
"Of what?" My voice comes out softer than I intended.
"To tease." His gaze locks onto my lips, his eyes darkening. "To test my limits."
My body heats under his touch, but I try to hold my ground. "I was just asking for a recommendation, Zane."
His fingers trace my jaw, sliding down my neck with slow, deliberate pressure, sending a shiver down my spine that I can’t control. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and simmering with something I can’t quite place, but it makes the air between us feel suffocating.
"Then why the hell were you laughing like that at him?" His voice is low, rough, cutting through the tension with a sharp edge. "You don’t laugh like that at just anyone. You only laugh like that at people you like ."
I freeze, breath catching in my throat. But before I can respond, his hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His stare is fierce, demanding—every ounce of him radiates possessiveness.
“And what the hell is this?” He gestures toward my phone with a flick of his wrist, his voice low and dangerous. “A selfie? With him? You were way too close, Mia. Too fucking close.”
His words feel like a slap, sharp and unexpected, and I can see the frustration in his eyes, burning into me.
“You think you can just—laugh and get all comfortable with someone else and then what? Come back to me like nothing happened? No.” His voice drops, dangerously quiet, as he leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You don’t get to act like that with him. I don’t share.”
The raw intensity of his words wraps around me like a tightening vice, the air thick with a mix of desire and something darker. Something that makes my pulse race.
“Well, I was making a new friend," I say with a mischievous smile. “He was going to give me lots of waffles.”
“I can give you as many waffles as you want. You don’t need that fucking cunt.”
I open my mouth to respond, but that's when I see it—he’s…
I smile defiantly. "Are you jealous?"
Silence.
His eyes were dark, jaw clenched, breath shallow—and fuck, he was beautiful when he was like this. I saw it in every line of his body. The jealousy. The want. The way he hated that someone else had my attention, even for a second.
God, it turned me on.
He stopped only when my back hit the wall, and then finally looked at me. Really looked.
“You’re mad,” I said, voice soft, almost amused.
He didn’t answer right away, just stared at me like he wanted to say ten things at once and couldn’t decide which one would hurt less.
I stepped toward him. One step. Two. Until we were chest to chest, and his breath hitched.
“You didn’t like me talking to him.”
Zane looked away.
I tilted his chin back toward me with two fingers. “Say it.”
His voice was barely a whisper, but the words sliced through the air with a cold, razor-sharp edge.
“Yeah,” Zane growled, his breath shaky, but the anger was clear beneath the tremor, something darker stirring beneath his usually calm surface. “I got fucking jealous.”
I pulled back, my heart racing at the shift in him. His eyes had darkened, not with lust, but with something far more dangerous, primal. His jaw was clenched, fists trembling at his sides as though he was barely holding back something violent, something that could tear the world apart.
"You have no idea what the thought of another man touching you—looking at you—does to me," he hissed, voice low and dangerous, a growl that seemed to vibrate in his chest. “I’d burn everything in my path, destroy anyone who dares come near you,” he growled, his grip tightening on my chin as his eyes burned with intensity. “You’re mine. Don’t you ever forget that.”
I smiled, slow and warm, and cupped him through his jeans. He was already hard.
“Mmm. That’s what I thought.” My thumb traced lazy circles against him, feeling the way his breath caught. “You were so possessive back there. Dragging me away like that. God, it was hot.”
His lips parted. He looked dazed. Uncertain.
And I loved it.
“Let me take it from here, Little Angel,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the contours of his chest under his shirt. “You have my heart, Zane. They can have my energy, my friendship, but at the end of the day, you have all of me. Only you.”
I pressed him back against the wall, slid my leg between his thighs, leaned in close to his ear.
“You’re mine. Say it.”
His breath stuttered. “I’m yours.”
“There’s my good boy.”
I kissed his neck, slow and deep, then bit down—just hard enough to make him shiver. He whimpered, soft and needy, and I cooed against his skin, “So sensitive for me. So jealous. So pretty. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you .”
And I would. Until he forgot anyone else ever looked at me.
“Mia…” he breathed, like a warning, like a plea.
I slipped a hand down, unzipping his jeans, slow and lazy. His breath hitched—he was already leaking for me, so sensitive, so desperate.
“No one else could make me feel like this either,” I murmured, thumb circling his tip. “You think I’d ever let anyone else fuck me the way you do? Possess me the way you do?”
His hand flew up to my neck, not tight—just there, trembling, possessive, protective. His eyes met mine, wild and vulnerable. “You’re mine.”
I moaned at the sound of it. At the need in his voice. The claim in it.
“All yours, baby.” I wrapped my hand around him fully, stroking him with slow, teasing pressure. “Always have been.”
His hips bucked into my hand, and I pressed him harder against the wall with my body, locking him in place with my thigh between his.
“Fuck, Mia,” he groaned, biting his lip, brows drawn in that beautiful desperate frown I loved so much. “You’re driving me fucking insane.”
I kissed him then—deep and messy, swallowing that frustration, that hunger, like it was mine to devour. My free hand slid under his shirt again, feeling the way his stomach clenched under my touch.
“I want you like this,” I breathed between kisses. “Jealous. Messy. Needy. Let me have it, Zane. Let me take care of my pretty boy.”
His hands gripped my ass, hard, like he didn’t know whether to surrender or pin me to the wall instead—but he didn’t stop me. He never did when I touched him like this. When I told him he was mine.
Because he was .
And he knew it.
And now I was going to prove it, right here in the alley, in the daylight, with his breath in my mouth and his whimpers in my ear.
His hands finally moved—gripping my hips, hard, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d float away. Or maybe snap.
That quiet restraint of his was unraveling, and I could feel it in the way his fingers dug into me, like he was trying to brand himself into my skin.
“Look at you,” I moaned, licking into his mouth when he tried to kiss me, all teeth and desperation. “So messy. So hard for me. You like when I take control, don’t you?”
He nodded, couldn’t even get words out now—his mouth was open, panting, eyes glassy and wide as I fucked him with my hand, rubbing him down with ruthless focus.
I could feel it in the way his breath hitched, in the tremble in his thighs as I stroked him slow and steady, my palm slick with how desperate he already was for me. Every noise he made was a confession. Every pulse of him in my hand, a promise.
Then he had the audacity—the nerve—to growl, “I should deny you your orgasm.”
My eyes snapped up to his, mouth curling as I dragged my fingers down his stomach, slow and taunting. “You won’t do that.”
His jaw clenched, but I saw the slip in his focus.
I leaned in, my voice a breath against his lips. “Because you’re my good boy.”
He whimpered, and that was it.
“And good boys,” I said, tightening my grip and picking up the pace again, “get the job done.”
With a growl like it tore out from somewhere deep, he turned me fast, my back slamming against the wall hard enough to steal my breath. His mouth claimed mine in a messy, possessive kiss as he hooked my leg over his hip, one hand sliding my panties to the side, and pushed inside me like he couldn’t wait a second longer.
The thrust knocked the breath from my lungs.
I cried out, clinging to his shoulders, but even then, I didn’t let go of control—I moved with him, rolled my hips to pull him deeper, made him feel how tight I could keep him there. Made him feel what he did to me.
“You think you’re in charge?” I whispered against his mouth, panting between the words. “You think fucking me like this makes it yours?”
His hands tightened on my thighs, slamming into me harder—but I only moaned.
“I’m meeting every move, Zane. Riding every thrust. Taking what I want.”
“Fuck,” he gasped. “Mia…”
I bit his lower lip, hard enough to make him groan. “That’s right, baby. Give it to me. You’re mine. And I’ll take you how I want.”
His forehead fell to my shoulder, hips stuttering as I clenched around him, making us both shake.
“You’re gonna make me—fuck—Mia—”
I gripped the back of his neck, dragging his mouth to mine. “No one else makes you fall apart like this. No one else gets this. You feel that?”
He could only nod, eyes wild and glassy, desperate.
“I own this,” I whispered. “Every part of you. Now cum for me, pretty boy. Cum knowing you’ll never fuck anyone else like this in your life.”
And he did.
Hard.
Hot.
Groaning into my mouth as he came inside me, cock twitching deep, his body folding into mine like he’d just been cracked open. I felt it—all of him. The way he trembled as I pulsed around him, the way he kissed me like I was the only thing in the world worth holding on to.
And when I came, it was sharp, blinding—my body clenching so tight around him that he gasped my name against my lips, both of us unraveling at once. It wasn’t just sex. It never was.
But I didn’t expect what came next.
Zane leaned into me, still breathing hard, forehead pressed to my shoulder like he was trying to slow his own heartbeat. Then he pulled back—just far enough to look at me, eyes wild and dark.
His fingers grazed the side of my thigh. The panties he’d shoved to the side earlier were still bunched there, wet and useless.
He growled.
“You’re still dripping.”
My breath hitched. He dragged his fingers through the slick mess between my legs—his cum and mine, mixing, coating my skin. He stared like it pissed him off that it was leaking out. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else ever seeing me like this.
“I’m not done with you,” he muttered. “You think I’m gonna fuck you, fill you, and just let it go?”
I swallowed. “Zane—”
He was already dropping to his knees, dragging me with him as he backed me into the wall. The movement made me flinch from how sensitive I was, but he didn’t give me a chance to recover. His fingers hooked into the lace again, pulling it aside—rougher this time, hungrier.
“You think I’m gonna let this go to waste?” he murmured, voice dark, possessive. “Think I’m not gonna taste you like this?”
My thighs trembled.
“I marked you,” he said, staring up at me from between my legs, lips already slick from kissing me breathless minutes ago. “And now I’m gonna clean up my fucking mess.”
And then his mouth was on me.
Fuck.
His tongue slid through my folds like he couldn’t get deep enough, licking up every bit of what was leaking out of me. He moaned against my skin, and it was filthy—obscene. The way he groaned as he tasted both of us, like it turned him on even more knowing he was drinking himself off of me.
I gripped his hair, my breath catching.
“God, Zane—”
“Say it again,” he growled, pulling back just enough to look up at me. His mouth was wet, jaw tight, eyes full of that same heat that had wrecked me minutes ago. “Say my name like that while I’m on my knees for you.”
I whimpered as he dove back in.
His tongue circled my clit with devastating precision, soft at first—almost gentle—but the way he gripped my thighs told another story. He was holding me like he was angry.
Like the idea of anyone else touching me, tasting me, even thinking about me like this made him want to eradicate the whole world.
“You were this wet for me,” he murmured, voice muffled against my skin, “and you think I’m gonna let anyone else even look at you?”
He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh, slow and reverent, then licked up the length of me again, swallowing every drop.
“Mine,” he whispered, mouth brushing my folds like a promise. “Only mine.”
My knees buckled when he sucked my clit between his lips, tongue flicking just right, drawing another orgasm out of me like it was easy. Like he knew my body better than I did.
And then I shattered again—louder this time, grinding into his mouth as my vision blurred, my whole body jerking from the force of it.
But he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
He kept licking, moaning, tongue fucking me like he needed it—like tasting his cum in me had sent him spiraling. His hands flexed against my hips, trying to keep me still even as I shook under him.
“You come so fucking sweet like this,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again. “You like knowing I can taste myself on you, huh?”
I nodded, breathless.
“Say it.”
“I love it,” I gasped. “Love when you make me yours like this.”
His tongue slowed, mouth gentler now, kissing between my thighs with a softness that made my chest ache.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not letting go. Not now. Not ever.”
And I believed him.
Because the way he was touching me—licking up every drop like I was a drug—wasn’t just lust.
It was devotion.
That’s when I notice them—small, tucked into the corners of the alley walls, blinking red like a warning.
Cameras.
My heart stutters. I freeze.
“Zane,” I whisper, breathless, dazed.
His tongue doesn’t stop. He flicks it slowly against my swollen slit, lips soaked with me, eyes wild with something too primal to name.
“Yes,” he answers darkly, as if he already knows what I’m about to say.
“There are cameras here.” My voice is shaky, but his doesn’t waver.
He lifts his head, mouth glistening, and smiles like the devil finally getting his dues.
“I know,” he says. “Let him watch.”
“Zane—”
“I told you I’d fuck you in front of them,” he growls, grabbing my hips and yanking me back onto his face with brute force. “And I keep my promises. This—” he thrusts his tongue deep again, groaning against me, “—this is me keeping it.”
My legs shake, nails clawing at the cold brick wall. Every flick of his tongue is punishment and worship at once—slow, wet, cruelly controlled. He devours me like he wants Adam to feel every second of it.
“Let him see what’s his nightmare and my fucking heaven.”
I cry out, hips grinding down against his mouth, and he growls again, eyes flicking up to mine—possessive, unhinged.
“You think he can touch you like this?” he snarls. “He can’t even look at you without pissing me off. So now he gets to watch.”
“Zane, fuck—”
He stands suddenly, unbuckling his belt, eyes dark and wild, and lifts my leg high to the side, pinning me to the alley wall.
“Say my name when you come,” he hisses, voice right against my mouth, “so he knows exactly who you fucking belong to.”
And then he slams into me—hard, brutal, claiming. There’s no hesitation, no mercy.
Only us.
And the cameras blinking red like a crown over our sin.
His kind of love was messy. Wild. Possessive.
But underneath it all, he was still that boy who looked at me like I was everything.
And I was.
I was his.