Chapter 12 Mia
MIA
I pace the small library, the soft creak of the floorboards echoing in the silence. My fingers brush against my lips, still tingling from Zane’s kiss, and I curse under my breath. What the hell was I thinking?
I know better than this. I’ve seen it before—patients mistaking kindness for love, victims clinging to the people who saved them. Trauma bonding. Basic psychology. Nothing real. Just neurons firing in survival mode, searching for something—someone—to hold onto.
But it felt real. Too real.
I stop in front of the window, my reflection faint against the darkness outside. My lips still feel warm, my pulse unsteady. His touch, his strength, the way he looked at me—it all crashes over me like a wave I can’t outrun.
“Get it together, Mia,” I mutter to myself, gripping the edge of the windowsill. My gaze drifts outside, scanning the perimeter like I know Zane or Damon would. The street is quiet, with no sign of Jason or his threats lurking in the shadows. For now.
I should be focusing on that—on keeping the girls safe, on staying ahead of Jason. Instead, I’m here, pacing and replaying the kiss in my mind like some lovesick teenager.
My chest tightens as guilt creeps in. How could I let this happen?
Damon’s been nothing but supportive, Asher’s been a light in the chaos, and now Zane…
I think about how he held me after that loud crack, the feel of his arms around me, and I can’t deny the way it made me feel. Secure, wanted, alive.
But it’s a lie. It has to be.
The girls deserve better than this mess, better than a mother who can’t keep her head straight. I promised myself I wouldn’t let them get attached to anyone else, wouldn’t let anyone in. Not after Jason. Not after everything we’ve been through.
My phone buzzes on the table, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts.
It’s the burner phone Damon gave me, vibrating softly against the wood.
I pick it up, half-expecting another warning or update from the team, but it’s just a low-battery alert.
I plug it in to charge and let out a shaky breath, my reflection staring back at me from the dark screen.
The bay window offers a view of the quiet street below. I sit on the cushioned seat, pulling my knees to my chest and pressing my forehead against the cool glass.
Stupid. So stupid. Getting involved with someone paid to protect me. Someone who’ll leave as soon as the job is done.
The thought settles like a weight in my chest, dragging me deeper into the kind of self-loathing spiral I don’t have time for. But I can’t shake it.
What am I doing? This isn’t a romance novel; this is my life. My daughters’ lives. There’s no room for—
“Mia!” Damon’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
Before I can turn, he’s across the room. I don’t have time to react before he tackles me off the window seat, knocking the air from my lungs as we hit the floor. His body covers mine, shielding me completely.
“What are you doing?” I yell, squirming under his grip, a mix of confusion and indignation burning through me.
“Dammit, Mia.” His voice is rough, his gray eyes blazing as he looks down at me. “Don’t put yourself in a window. That’s dangerous.”
His weight pins me down, unrelenting but not uncomfortable.
“It’s just a window,” I protest, though my voice comes out weaker than I intend.
“It’s not just a window,” he snaps, his tone softening only slightly. “It’s a clear line of sight for anyone who wants to hurt you.”
I stop struggling, the reality of his words sinking in. He’s right, of course, but it’s more than that.
My breath hitches, and suddenly I’m back at the motel by the road, years ago.
The memory rushes in unbidden—the heat of his hands on my waist, the press of his lips against mine, the way his low groan sent shivers down my spine. I can almost feel it now, the weight of his body just like this, the intensity in his eyes just like this.
Damon’s breath catches, and I know he feels it, too. His gaze drops to my lips, lingering, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just us.
“Mia,” he says softly, almost a warning, his voice rough with restraint.
We shouldn’t be doing this; we both know it. But the second I meet his gaze, I’m lost.
He dips his head, capturing my lips in a searing kiss.
It’s not gentle. It’s fire and desperation, an almost primal need that blazes through me.
My arms slide around his shoulders, clinging to him as he deepens the kiss, his tongue coaxing mine.
I let out a soft moan, my body arching involuntarily, needing more of him.
His hand slips under my shirt, the rough warmth of his palm closing over my breast. A gasp tears from my throat, and I don’t hesitate—my fingers fly to his belt, fumbling with the buckle.
It feels like everything is happening at once.
Damon’s mouth moves hungrily against mine, his hand squeezing my breast. My own hands yank the leather free from his waist.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to tug my pants down. The cool air hits my skin, sending a shiver through me, but Damon’s right there, his body heat pressing against me. My heart hammers, and I can’t think past the need coiling in my stomach.
“Damon,” I whisper in a half plea, half warning.
His lips crash into mine again, his teeth grazing my bottom lip. It’s possessive, almost frantic, and I don’t care. I match his urgency, my nails digging into his back as he shifts his weight.
His cock is hard against my hip, the press of it sending a jolt of arousal low in my belly. My breath hitches as his hand slips between my legs, his fingers finding my clit with a rough, eager touch. I gasp, hips rolling instinctively to meet him.
He curses under his breath, and with a swift move, he spreads my thighs wider. I feel him align himself, the slick head of his cock grazing my entrance. My heart thunders, and a flash of both anticipation and guilt surges. This is insane, reckless.
“God, Mia,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.
We shouldn’t—God, we shouldn’t—but I can’t form a single coherent argument to stop this. The thought of having him is too overwhelming.
In one quick thrust, he’s inside me, and I gasp, my head falling back. The sensation is a rush of heat and pressure that tears a low moan from my throat. Damon groans, his forehead dropping to mine, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to hold himself together.
The stretch of him is almost too much.
For a moment, neither of us move, the intensity overbearing. My fingers curl into his hair, and I feel him tremble, every breath a ragged gasp against my lips.
Then he starts to move, slow at first, each roll of his hips sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I cling to him, lost in the sensation of his body, the taste of his kisses, the desperate, reckless need that’s pulling us under.
Damon’s movements grow faster, more insistent, each thrust tearing a gasp or moan from my lips.
His hands roam my body, possessive and rough, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of me.
One hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back so his mouth can claim mine again, hard and unrelenting.
The other slides under my shirt, his thumb brushing over my nipple in a way that makes me cry out against his lips.
I arch into him, my body trembling with the sheer intensity of it all.
The hardwood floor digs into my back, but I barely notice.
All I feel is Damon—his heat, the way he moves inside me like he’s staking a claim.
His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then lower to my neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him to stay there with me.
“Mia,” he groans against my skin, his voice rough and strained. The sound of it sends a shiver down my spine. He’s losing control, and something about that—about him letting go for me—makes me feel powerful. Alive.
I wrap my legs around his hips, urging him deeper. His hand grips my thigh, fingers pressing into my skin like he can’t get enough. My name falls from his lips again, a low growl that sends my heart racing.
I cling to him, my nails scraping down his back as heat coils tighter and tighter in my stomach.
I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, and my head falls back.
He leans in, teeth grazing my lower lip, his breath ragged.
My hands scramble under his shirt, splaying across his back, desperate to hold onto something solid.
“Look at me,” he mutters, his voice raw.
I manage to lift my gaze, and the intensity in his eyes nearly undoes me. There’s lust, yes, but something deeper. Something I’m not ready to name. His hand moves between our bodies again, thumb circling my clit just enough to send me spiraling.
I moan his name, my legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer, harder.
Each thrust rocks me against the floor, the mixture of pain and pleasure pushing me closer to the edge.
His hand grips my hip, pulling me into each thrust, and I feel my body tense, a coil winding tighter with every second.
I cling to him, my lips parting on a silent scream as release slams into me without warning. Pleasure lashes through me, my body seizing around him. My nails rake across his shoulder blades, and he groans low in his throat, his own movements turning erratic.
“Mia,” he rasps, burying his face against my neck.
A shudder wracks him as he thrusts one final time, stiffening before he lets go. His breath stutters, a broken sound of relief and something like surrender, his cock pulsing inside me.
For a few heartbeats, we stay like that—tangled on the floor, locked in the aftermath of something we both know we shouldn’t have done.
“Everything okay in there?” Asher’s voice pierces the heated silence.