Chapter 7 #3
But beneath the damage, she's still beautiful. Still Jordan. The curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the strength in her shoulders despite the injuries.
"Keep going," I tell her, my voice rougher than I intended.
She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of the sweatpants, pushing them down.
The fabric slides over her hips, catching slightly as it moves past her backside.
She winces—still tender from last night's discipline, the skin there undoubtedly pink and sensitive.
When she steps out of the pooled clothing, she stands before me naked except for the pearl collar.
The afternoon light from the window catches on the pearls, making them glow against her throat. Below them, the handprint where the leader choked her is stark and dark—thumb on one side, four fingers on the other. Evidence of how close I came to losing her.
"Choices that saved lives," she says quietly, holding my gaze. "Choices I'd make again."
She's magnificent. Bruised and battered, marked by violence, but standing proud and unbroken. This is my wife—brave, stubborn, beautiful, and completely unbreakable.
"On the bed," I tell her. "On your back."
She climbs onto the mattress, wincing as her bruised muscles and sore bottom protest. I strip efficiently, watching her eyes track my movements. When I'm naked, I join her, settling between her thighs.
"Color?" I ask quietly, my hands gentle on her hips.
"Green." Her voice is breathless. "So green, Master."
I lean down, kissing her carefully, avoiding her split lip. "We're going to go slow. You're going to let me take care of you. And if anything hurts—if you need me to stop—you tell me immediately. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
I start with her neck, kissing the bruises there, my tongue tracing the pearls of her collar.
She shivers beneath me, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders.
I work my way down, cataloging every injury, every mark.
My mouth on her collarbone. Her breasts, careful of the bruising on her ribs. Her stomach, where his boot connected.
By the time I reach her thighs, she's trembling, her breathing ragged.
"Please," she whispers. "Please, Fitz."
"I've got you, love." I settle between her legs, spreading her thighs wider.
The first touch of my tongue makes her gasp, her hips lifting off the bed.
She's already wet, her body responding despite the pain and exhaustion.
I take my time, learning her all over again as if this is our first time.
Long, slow strokes with my tongue. The flutter of pressure against her most sensitive spot.
The slight scrape of teeth that makes her cry out.
Her hands find my hair, gripping hard. Not to guide me—she knows better—but to anchor herself as sensation floods through her. I slip two fingers inside her, finding the spot that makes her thighs shake, and work it steadily while my mouth continues its assault.
"Fitz," she moans, her voice breaking. "Oh God, Fitz, I can't—"
"You can," I tell her, my breath hot against her skin. "You will. Come for me, Jordan."
When she falls apart, it's spectacular. Her back arches off the bed, her thighs clamping around my head as she shatters.
The sounds she makes are raw and unguarded—pleasure and relief and the emotional crash of everything that's happened.
Tears stream down her face as wave after wave rocks through her.
I give her a moment to recover, then kiss my way back up her body. "Still green?"
"So green." She reaches for me, pulling me down for a kiss that's all heat and desperation. "Inside me. Now. Please."
I position myself carefully, mindful of her injuries and her tender backside. The head of my cock presses against her entrance, and I pause there, holding her gaze. "Look at me. I want to see you."
Her eyes lock with mine as I enter her, slow and controlled, giving her body time to adjust. She's hot and tight and perfect, and the sensation of being inside her again—alive, together, whole—nearly undoes me.
She wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me deeper, and makes a sound that's half pleasure, half relief.
"That's it," I murmur against her ear. "That's my girl. You're here with me. You're mine. We're alive."
We move together, and I keep the pace deliberate. Not the rough, desperate coupling we sometimes indulge in, but something deeper. Her hips rise to meet mine with each thrust. The pearl collar shifts against her throat with every movement. Her breath comes in short gasps that match my own.
I brace myself on one arm, using my free hand to grip her hip, angling her so I can go deeper. The change in position makes her cry out, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Yes," she breathes. "God, yes, just like that."
I can feel her tightening around me, her body climbing toward release again. The sounds she makes—breathy moans and whispered pleas—drive me higher. I want to make this last, want to stay buried in her warmth forever, but my control is fraying.
"Come with me," I growl against her throat. "Now, Jordan."
Her climax hits first, her inner muscles clenching around me in waves that pull my own release from me like a tide.
I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin as pleasure crashes through me—intense, overwhelming, grounding.
We shudder together, clinging to each other as if letting go means losing everything.
When the aftershocks finally fade, I collapse carefully beside her, pulling her against my chest. Our hearts are racing in tandem. Our breathing gradually slows and synchronizes.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my arm around her shoulders. The afternoon light slants through the windows, turning the snow outside to gold.
"I love you," she whispers. "Even when you're overbearing and controlling and trying to wrap me in cotton wool."
"I love you," I reply. "Even when you're reckless and stubborn and determined to give me a heart attack."
"We're quite a pair."
"We really are."
She's quiet for a moment, then: "I'll do it. But I have conditions."
"I'm listening."
"I'll work within more of a team structure." She looks up at me.
I consider it. It's more than I expected, better than I hoped. "Partners," I agree. "But when it comes to security protocols and tactical planning, you defer to me and my team. No arguments."
She smiles and kisses me. "Deal."
"Good. Now rest. We've got a long few days ahead of us before we can go home."
She settles back against me, and within minutes, her breathing evens out into sleep. I lie awake, holding her, thinking about the future.
Graham Warner. Shell corporations. Financial trails. A second team still out there somewhere. Jordan will need protection, whether she likes it or not. But we agreed on partnership, and maybe that's what we needed all along. Not me protecting her from the world, but both of us facing it together.
I hold her tighter. Whatever comes next, we'll handle it the way we should have from the start—as a team.