CHAPTER 24 #2
“Mine,” I snarled against her lips, breaking the kiss just enough to gasp for air, my gaze burning into hers.
“Always fucking mine.” I tore at her jeans, ripping the already torn fabric further, my fingers fumbling with her buttons, driven by a desperate, primal urgency.
She helped me, her own hands trembling, her eyes wide and dark with a mirroring need.
I ripped her panties aside, and my fingers, rough and impatient, found her wet, wanting core.
She gasped, arching into my touch, her legs tightening around my hips.
“Liam...” she moaned, her voice a plea, a demand.
“I need you, Rose,” I rasped, my voice thick with pain and raw desire. “I need you to remember who the fuck you belong to.” I pressed my hips up, grinding against her, feeling her soft mound press against my jeans, against my aching cock. The friction was pure agony and pure ecstasy.
She whimpered, her head falling back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. My mouth trailed down, tasting the salty skin, sucking a bruise onto her pulse point. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but her hips continued to grind against mine, a desperate rhythm.
“Doesn’t matter,” I growled, my hand sliding under her ass, lifting her slightly, adjusting her.
I fumbled with my own zipper, releasing my hard, throbbing cock.
The pain from my shoulder was a white-hot agony, but the need for her was an inferno, consuming everything else.
I needed to bury myself inside her, to reclaim her, to make her remember, to make me remember, that in this shattered world, some things remained unbroken.
I pushed into her, slowly at first, grunting as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my injured shoulder.
She was tight, wet, hot, wrapping around me like a goddamn glove.
She hissed, arching her back, her nails digging into my good shoulder, but she didn’t pull away.
She clenched around me, sucking me deeper, pulling me into the desperate depths of her body.
“Fuck,” I cursed, my eyes squeezing shut, the raw pleasure an overwhelming wave.
I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh, controlling the pace.
She was mine. This was mine. The only thing left that truly felt like mine.
I drove into her, slow and deep, then faster, harder, each thrust a desperate assertion of life, of survival, of ownership.
She cried out, a guttural moan, her head thrashing against my shoulder. “Liam! Faster! Please!”
I responded, thrusting with a primal force, my body screaming, but my mind focused solely on her.
Her hips bucked against mine, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her nails tearing at my skin.
Our sweat mingled, the scent of sex and ash and desperation filling the air.
This wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t love in the poetic sense.
This was raw, brutal, animalistic survival. A pact forged in fire and blood.
Her body convulsed around mine, her internal muscles milking me, squeezing me, driving me over the edge.
I roared, burying myself deep inside her, emptying myself, my release a wave of pure, agonizing pleasure that shook me to my core.
I collapsed against her, my breath ragged, my head falling onto her shoulder, my teeth gently nipping at the soft skin of her neck.
“Never... leave me,” I rasped, the words a desperate, broken plea, a command.
She held me tight, her body still trembling, her heart hammering against mine. “Never,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion, her fingers stroking my hair. “Not even for this. Not even for Volkov.”
A few minutes later, Vasily’s voice cut through the aftermath, sharp and urgent. “Pakhan! I have contact. Several key operatives confirmed alive. Mikhail. Ivan. A few others. They’re scattered, but they’re regrouping.”
I pushed myself off Rose, grunting with the effort, the raw scent of our sex clinging to us.
My shoulder screamed, but the fire in my gut was stronger.
I zipped up my pants, pulling my torn shirt over my still-throbbing cock.
Rose quickly adjusted her clothes, her face flushed, her eyes still heavy-laced with the raw aftermath, but already snapping back to focus.
“Good,” I said, my voice calmer now, but laced with a cold, unforgiving edge.
I looked at Rose, her face a mask of fierce determination, her hand finding mine, interlacing our fingers once more.
We were a unit. Forged in this fucking fire.
“Tell them to secure what assets they can. Find temporary safe houses. Get communication lines back up. And send out the word.”
Vasily looked at me, waiting.
My gaze swept over the cramped, desolate room, then settled on Rose, her unwavering strength a beacon in the gloom.
“Volkov thinks he burned down my empire. He thinks he won,” I snarled, my voice a low, dangerous rumble, laced with a promise of unimaginable vengeance.
“But all he did was clear the fucking slate. Tell them the hunt has begun. Tell them we’re coming for him.
And tell them... a Morozov never forgets.
A Morozov always collects his debts. Every last fucking drop of blood. ”
My grip on Rose’s hand tightened, a silent pact.
The city still burned in the distance, but in my mind, a new empire was already rising from the ashes.
One built not just on fear and power, but on a bond forged in hell, on the unyielding will of a man and his clever, defiant witch.
This wasn't the end. This was the reckoning. We would rebuild. We would hunt. And Volkov, the old bastard, would soon learn the true meaning of a Morozov’s wrath.
And he would learn it from the man he thought he’d broken, and the woman he thought was merely a pawn. He would learn it from us.