Chapter 16
Clare
I couldn’t sleep.
Xavier’s heartbeat was steady under my palm, his breathing even, but my mind wouldn’t shut down. The clock was ticking. Two weeks. Maybe three if we were lucky.
Luck hadn’t exactly been on our side lately.
I shifted. Xavier’s arms tightened around me immediately, even half-asleep, his body knew when I moved.
“Can’t sleep either?”
The whisper left my lips against his neck.
His chest rose and fell. One deliberate breath. Then he pulled back enough to meet my gaze in the darkness.
Moonlight through the window caught his face. Sharp cheekbones. Those green irises that saw too much. The scar bisecting his eyebrow that I’d touched a hundred times while he was unconscious.
Two weeks.
The thought made my chest tighten.
I reached up, cupped his jaw. Stubble scraped my palm. “We should be sleeping. Building up reserves for whatever hell comes next.”
Xavier’s free arm came up. Pressed my palm harder against his face. What his voice couldn’t say showed clear in his expression: I know. But I can’t.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
We stayed like that. Breathing. Existing. The weight of the deadline pressing down until the air felt too thin.
Finally, I sat up. Reached for the small medical kit Hellhound had left on the nightstand. “Let me check your vitals. Establish a baseline.”
Xavier didn’t argue. Shifted to give me better access.
I located his pulse. Counted. Seventy-eight beats per minute. Elevated but not dangerous. Fingertips pressed to his throat, feeling the rhythm there too.
“Pupils.”
The murmur hung between us.
He held still while I angled his face toward the window. Right pupil dilated more than the left, same as before. The concussion or the chip. Maybe both.
“Any headache?”
He nodded. Touched two digits to his temple.
“Scale of one to ten?”
Four digits lifted.
Better than it had been. Or he was lying to keep me from worrying.
I grabbed the notepad from the nightstand. Wrote: Tell me the truth. I need accurate data to help you.
Xavier took the pen. Wrote: Four. Manageable.
His handwriting was surprisingly neat. Precise. Like everything else about him.
Setting the notepad aside, I pressed my palm to his forehead. No fever. Warm skin but not burning.
“Nausea? Dizziness?”
He shook his head.
“Good. That’s good.”
I drew back my arm. Tried to ignore how his skin felt under my touch. How close we were sitting. How much I wanted to stop cataloging symptoms and just...
Stop.
He’s dying. You’re his nurse. Act like it.
But my body wasn’t listening to my brain. Pulse kicking up. Heat crawling up my neck. The memory of this morning rushed back without permission: his mouth on mine, those calloused palms on my body, the way he’d come apart under me.
Xavier’s grip closed around my wrist. Not restraining. Holding.
I looked up. Met his stare, the raw need there stealing my air.
“I should let you rest. You need sleep. Healing. Not...”
The words came out too rough.
He drew me closer. Slowly. Giving me time to pull away.
I didn’t.
Our foreheads touched. His exhalation warm across my lips.
The scar on his shoulder called to me, the one I’d relocated in my apartment. Hellhound’s words echoed in my head: accelerated healing from continuous PSI-317 exposure. Three times normal human rates.
Xavier had recovered in days what should have taken weeks. I’d thought I’d done good work. Turned out the chip that was killing him had also been keeping him alive.
The irony was devastating.
“This is a terrible idea. You’re dying. I should be monitoring symptoms, not...”
My protest died as Xavier kissed me.
Soft at first. Testing. Then harder when I opened for him.
I made a sound I’d deny later. Grabbed his shoulders. Felt muscle shift under scarred tissue as he drew me into his lap.
Rough palms slid under my shirt. Callused warmth against bare skin making me shiver.
I broke the kiss. “Xavier...”
He pressed his forehead to mine again. Desperation burned in his stare.
Please.
The word was right there in his expression. In the way his grip tightened on my hips. In the tremor running through his body.
Please. If I only have weeks, I want them with you.
The ache behind my lids got worse.
Two weeks. Maybe three.
And he wanted to spend them like this. With me. Instead of running, hiding, trying to squeeze out every last second of survival.
He wanted this.
Wanted me.
The realization cracked something open in my ribs.
“You’re not a weapon. Not to me. You’re...”
What? What was he?
The man I’d dragged from an alley. The stranger who’d killed to protect me. The silent, broken thing I couldn’t stop trying to save.
Mine.
The thought came fierce and irrational and I didn’t fight it.
He was mine. For two weeks or two days or however long we had left.
And I was done pretending I didn’t want him.
I kissed him harder. Felt him groan against my mouth, no sound, just the vibration in his torso.
Rough palms slid higher. Ribs. Breasts. Cupped them through my shirt with a reverence that made my head spin.
I yanked my shirt over my head. Tossed it somewhere in the darkness.
Xavier went completely still. Staring at me like I was something holy he wasn’t allowed to touch.
“You can touch. I want you to.”
Those scarred digits moved. Slowly. Like he was afraid I’d disappear.
Rough palms cupped my breasts. Thumbs brushing over my nipples. Testing. Learning.
I bit my lip. Arched into the contact.
Xavier tracked every reaction. Every hitch in my breathing. Tightened his grip. Squeezed. Rolled my nipples between calloused digits until I gasped.
“That’s... yes. Like that.”
He leaned in. Mouth replacing one palm. Hot and wet against my skin. His tongue circled one nipple while his other set of knuckles worked the other.
The burn between my legs intensified. I rocked against him. Felt his erection hard against me through too many layers of fabric.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
I shoved at his shoulders. He went down easy, trusting me even now, his back hitting the mattress.
Following him down, I kissed him hard enough to bruise. Tasted desperation on his tongue when he opened for me.
Yanking up the hem of his shirt, I stripped it off when he lifted.
Scars everywhere. Violence written across his torso in surgical precision and jagged brutality. I’d cataloged them all before. Treated them. Cleaned them.
Now I wanted to taste them.
I dragged my mouth down his throat. Lower to his sternum. Felt his heartbeat hammering against my lips.
Lower still.
Xavier’s stomach tensed when I kissed just above his waistband. Fists clenched in the sheets.
I glanced up. Met his stare, the raw need there making my core clench.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
His head shook. Sharp. Definitive. The expression almost made me laugh.
Good.
I undid his jeans. Tugged them down along with his boxers. He lifted his hips to help.
His cock sprang free. Hard and thick and already leaking.
My mouth watered.
Wrapping my palm around him, I stroked once. Twice. Watched his head fall back against the pillow. Watched his throat work on a silent groan.
Then I took him in my mouth.
Xavier’s whole body went rigid.
I swirled my tongue around the head. Tasted salt and heat. Hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper.
One palm tangled in my hair. Not pulling. Holding. Trembling.
I worked him with my mouth and grip together. Slow at first. Then faster. Taking him as deep as I could before pulling back to tease the sensitive underside with my tongue.
His hips jerked. Fighting for control.
I wanted to shatter that control. Wanted to see him completely undone.
I sucked harder. Took him deeper. Felt him hit the back of my throat and swallowed around him.
Xavier’s grip tightened in my hair. His whole body shaking now. Thighs tensing. Breathing ragged.
Close. So close.
I pulled off. Licked a stripe up his length. Took him back in and sucked hard.
His hips bucked. Almost losing it.
I backed off. Let him breathe. Let the edge recede just enough.
Then did it again.
Xavier’s lids opened. Locked on mine. Burning with something wild and desperate.
He moved.
Fast. Too fast to track.
I was on my back before I could process. Xavier above me. Between my legs. Rough palms everywhere at once.
He yanked my sleep pants down. Threw them somewhere. Digits located my pussy, already wet, already ready, and stroked through the slickness.
I gasped. Grabbed his shoulders.
He circled my clit. Once. Twice. Then slid two inside me.
“Fuck... Xavier...”
He curled them. Located that spot. Worked me with a precision that suggested muscle memory knew exactly how to take someone apart.
I was already close. Too wound up. Too desperate.
His thumb pressed against my clit. Circling. Digits pumping.
“Wait... I want...” I reached for his cock. “Inside. I want you inside me.”
Xavier withdrew. Positioned himself. The blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
Our gazes locked.
He thrust in. One hard stroke that filled me completely.
We both froze. Breathing hard. Adjusting.
He felt huge. Stretching me. The burn mixing with pleasure until I couldn’t separate them.
“Move. Xavier, please...”
The demand came out broken.
He withdrew. Slammed in again. Hard enough to rock the bed.
Yes. Like that.
I wrapped my legs around his waist. Changed the angle. Took him deeper.
Xavier set a brutal pace. No restraint. No careful control. Just raw need driving him.
Each thrust hit something inside me that made stars burst behind my lids. My nails dug into his shoulders. Probably drawing blood.
He didn’t slow down.
His mouth located my throat. My collarbone. My breast. Teeth scraping sensitive tissue.
The pressure built. Coiling tighter in my core. Inner walls clenching around him.
“Xavier... I’m...”
He shifted. Hooked my knee over his shoulder. The new angle drove him impossibly deeper.
I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me. Wave after wave of white-hot pleasure that had me gasping his name. Clawing at his back. Arching into him.
Xavier kept moving. Chasing his own release now. His rhythm breaking down. Getting erratic.
I felt him swell inside me. His whole body going rigid.
He came with a strangled sound.
And a word.
Broken. Rough. But unmistakable.
“Clare.”
My name.
His voice.
For the first time.
Time stopped.
Xavier collapsed against me. Trembling. His face buried in my neck. His cock still pulsing inside me.
I wrapped my arms around him. Held him while he shook.
His voice.
He’d spoken.
After weeks of silence. After whatever they’d done to steal his words.
He’d said my name.
The ache behind my lids turned into something wet. I pressed my face against his hair. Tried to breathe through the tightness in my ribs.
“Xavier.”
He lifted his head. Searched my face. Terrified and vulnerable and devastated.
Waiting for my reaction.
I cupped his jaw. “Say it again.”
His throat worked. Struggling.
Nothing came.
The hope in his expression flickered. Started to die.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You said it once. That’s... that’s everything.”
He pressed his forehead to mine. Breathing still uneven. Body still trembling.
I stroked his hair. His neck. Held him while he came back to himself.
We stayed like that. Connected. His weight pinning me to the mattress. Neither of us willing to move.
Finally, Xavier shifted. Withdrew slowly. Rolled to his side and drew me against his torso.
Arms locked around me. Protective. Possessive.
I outlined patterns on his scarred tissue. Processing what just happened.
The sex had been intense. Desperate. Almost feral in its need.
But that wasn’t what had me reeling.
He’d spoken.
For one moment, right at the edge of complete loss of control, whatever they’d done to silence him had cracked.
And he’d said my name.
“Can you try again? Just... try?”
Xavier’s arm reached for the notepad on the nightstand. He scribbled something. Showed me.
Can’t. Tried. Nothing.
“But you did. When you came. You said my name.”
He wrote again: Didn’t mean to. Just... happened.
I looked up at him. “So whatever’s blocking you... it failed. Just for a second.”
He nodded slowly.
The implications made my head spin.
If the conditioning had cracked once, even briefly, maybe it could crack again.
Maybe we could get his voice back.
“Hellhound needs to know about this. It could be important. For understanding what they did to you.”
Xavier’s grip tightened on my hip. Expression shifting to something wary.
“What?”
He took the notepad. Wrote: Don’t want to think about Hellhound right now.
Fair enough.
I outlined the scar on his ribs. “What do you want to think about?”
One palm slid down. Cupped my ass. Drew me closer.
I raised an eyebrow. “Already? You just...”
He was hard again. Pressing against my thigh.
Impressive recovery time. I’d add it to his medical file.
“Xavier...”
He kissed me. Slow this time. Thorough. His tongue stroking against mine until I melted into him.
When he withdrew, his stare asked the question.
Again?
I should say no. We should rest. Conserve energy for whatever hell was coming.
But the clock was ticking.
Two weeks. Maybe three.
And I wanted to memorize every second.
“Yes.”
The word came out against his mouth. “Again.”