Chapter 4
four
. . .
Dagger
She walks through my apartment in my shirt, and it's fucking undoing me.
The hem falls mid-thigh, exposing legs that go on for days despite her height.
The fabric drapes over curves I'm desperate to map with my hands, my mouth.
Every time she moves, I catch glimpses of her—the soft swell of her ass, the generous curve of her breasts.
Mine. The word pounds through my blood like a second heartbeat.
Been pounding since I carried her from the flames.
After her shower, I gave her one of my t-shirts to wear. Seeing her draped in my clothes, marked with my scent, triggers something primal in my chest. Something hungry and possessive that wants to devour her whole.
She catches me staring and tucks a damp strand of hair behind her ear, a flush spreading across her cheeks. She has no idea how beautiful she is—how the sight of her padding barefoot across my hardwood floors makes my cock strain against my zipper.
"Are you sure I'm not imposing?" she asks for the hundredth time, fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. She keeps pulling it down, trying to cover more of herself. I want to tell her to stop—or better yet, to take it off entirely.
Instead, I say, "You're exactly where you should be."
The words come out rougher than intended. Everything about her makes me rough, makes me raw. I haven't felt this way about a woman... ever. This instant, overwhelming need to possess.
I should be taking it slow. She's been through trauma. Lost everything. Needs time to process. I know all this intellectually. But my body, my instincts, recognize her as mine. The waiting is physical torture.
"Let me make you something to eat," I say, needing distance before I do something that scares her off.
I move to the kitchen, hyperaware of her presence as she follows, perching on a stool at the counter.
The simple domesticity of the moment hits me with unexpected force.
How many nights have I come home to this empty apartment, eating whatever's convenient, sleeping in a bed that's always felt too big?
Now she's here, filling spaces I didn't even realize were empty.
I make us omelets—simple but protein-rich. She watches me cook with those big brown eyes, curious and still a little wary. Smart girl. She should be wary. The things I want to do to her would make her blush all the way down to her toes.
"You cook," she says, sounding surprised.
"I live alone. Had to learn." I slide a plate in front of her. "Eat."
She takes a bite, humming with appreciation. The sound goes straight to my groin. I imagine her making that same sound with my head between her thighs.
"It's good," she says. "Thank you."
We eat in companionable silence. She's exhausted, dark circles under her eyes despite her nap in the truck. But there's something else there too—a tension that has nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with the charge between us.
"You should sleep after this," I tell her, watching her fork push the last bits of egg around her plate.
She nods, then asks the question I've been dreading. "Where will I sleep?"
In my bed. With me. Under me. Over me. Around me. The answers surge through my mind, each more explicit than the last.
"I have a guest room," I say instead, the lie bitter on my tongue. I have no intention of letting her sleep alone, but she doesn't need to know that yet.
I show her to my bedroom, watching her eyes widen at the king-size bed dominating the space. "This isn't a guest room," she says, more observant than I gave her credit for.
"No," I admit. "It's not."
She turns to face me, those doe eyes searching mine. "Where will you sleep?"
"Wherever you want me to."
The air between us thickens, charged with possibility. I've been half-hard since she stepped out of the bathroom in my shirt, but now my cock throbs painfully, demanding attention.
She swallows, her throat working in a delicate movement I want to trace with my tongue. "I don't want to put you out of your bed."
"You won't be." I step closer, invading her personal space. "I'll be in it with you."
Her breath catches. "Dagger, I—"
"Tell me you don't feel it," I challenge, voice dropping to a growl. "This thing between us."
She doesn't pretend not to understand. "I feel it," she whispers. "But it's crazy. We just met. I don't do this."
"Do what?" I press, needing to hear her say it.
Her cheeks flame. "Sleep with men I barely know."
I cup her face in my hand, marveling at how delicate she feels despite her lush curves. "You know me, Connie. Maybe better than anyone ever has."
And it's true, though I can't explain why. From the moment our eyes met in that burning room, something locked into place. Recognition. Belonging.
"I want you," I tell her, done with pretense. "Have since I first saw you."
Her lips part on an inhale. "No one's ever looked at me the way you do."
"How's that?"
"Like I'm..." She trails off, suddenly shy.
"Perfect," I finish for her. "Because you are."
I brush my thumb across her lower lip, feeling its plush softness. "I'm going to kiss you now," I warn her. "And once I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop."
She has a chance to back away, to say no. She doesn't take it.
Instead, she rises on tiptoes, closing the last bit of distance between us. "Then don't stop."
The consent ignites something feral in me. I crush my mouth to hers, one hand tangling in her damp hair, the other dropping to her waist to pull her flush against me. She gasps into the kiss, giving me access to deepen it, to taste her more thoroughly.
She tastes like mint toothpaste and something uniquely her—something I'm already addicted to. My tongue explores her mouth, claiming every inch. Her arms wind around my neck, her soft body molding against my harder one.
I walk her backward until her legs hit the bed, then follow her down as she falls onto the mattress. Supporting my weight on my forearms, I hover over her, breaking the kiss to look at her flushed face.
"Last chance to tell me to stop," I say, the words nearly killing me.
Her response is to pull my shirt over her head, leaving her completely naked beneath me.
"Fuck," I breathe, taking in the sight of her. She's all lush curves and soft skin, full breasts tipped with dusky pink nipples, a gentle slope of stomach leading to the thatch of dark curls between her thighs. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
She tries to cover herself, suddenly self-conscious under my heated gaze. I catch her wrists, pinning them gently beside her head.
"Don't," I command softly. "Let me look at you. You're gorgeous."
"I'm not—"
"You are," I cut her off, brooking no argument. "Every inch of you is exactly how a woman should be."
I release her wrists to strip off my own shirt, then my sweats and boxers in one efficient movement. Her eyes widen as she takes in my body, lingering on my erection standing proudly from its nest of dark blond hair.
"You're huge," she whispers, and I can't tell if it's appreciation or apprehension in her voice.
"We'll fit," I promise her, lowering myself to her again. "I'll make sure of it."
I kiss her throat, her collarbone, working my way down to her breasts. They're lush and heavy in my hands, spilling over my palms. I take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, then with more pressure as she arches beneath me.
"Dagger," she gasps, her hands flying to my hair, holding me to her.
I lavish attention on each breast in turn, nipping and sucking until she's squirming beneath me. Only then do I continue my journey downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her soft stomach.
She tenses, trying to push me away. "Don't—"
I look up at her, seeing the insecurity in her eyes. "Every inch of you," I repeat, pressing a reverent kiss to the slight swell of her belly. "Perfect."
The tension leaves her body on a shuddering exhale. I continue my path downward, spreading her thighs with gentle but insistent hands. Her sex is pink and already glistening with arousal, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"I'm going to taste you now," I tell her, maintaining eye contact. "Going to make you come on my tongue before I fuck you."
Her moan is answer enough. I lower my mouth to her center, giving her one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. She bucks beneath me, a cry tearing from her throat.
"That's it, baby," I encourage, circling her clit with the tip of my tongue. "Let me hear you."
I devour her like a starving man, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her clit. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head, her hands fisted in the sheets. She tastes like heaven—sweet and tangy and addictive.
"So good," I murmur against her flesh. "So perfect. My girl."
The possessive endearment makes her whimper. I slide one finger into her tight heat, then a second, curling them to find the spot that makes her see stars.
"Dagger, please," she begs, her hips moving in rhythm with my fingers.
"Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."
"Make me come," she whispers, her inhibitions falling away in the face of pleasure. "Please make me come."
I double my efforts, sucking her clit between my lips while my fingers work inside her. She shatters with a cry, her inner walls clamping down on my fingers, her thighs squeezing my head. I work her through it, easing only when her body goes limp with satisfaction.
Crawling back up her body, I kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue. "Beautiful," I tell her. "So fucking beautiful when you come for me."
Her eyes are hazy with pleasure, but they sharpen as she feels my erection pressing against her thigh. Surprisingly bold, she reaches between us to wrap her fingers around my length.
"I want you inside me," she says, her voice husky with desire.
I nearly lose it at her words. Reaching into the nightstand, I grab a condom, tearing it open with my teeth. Her hands push mine away, taking the condom and rolling it onto my length with careful movements that make my jaw clench with restraint.
Positioning myself at her entrance, I brace my weight on one forearm while the other hand cups her face. "Look at me," I command softly. "I want to see your eyes when I make you mine."
She obeys, those brown eyes locking onto mine as I push forward slowly, giving her body time to adjust to my size. The sensation is exquisite torture—her heat enveloping me inch by inch, her walls stretching to accommodate me.
"Fuck," I groan when I'm fully seated within her. "You feel perfect. Made for me."
She wraps her legs around my waist, drawing me impossibly deeper. "Move," she urges. "Please move."
I establish a rhythm, starting slow and deep, watching her face for signs of discomfort. There are none—only pleasure, her lips parted, eyes half-lidded but still locked on mine.
"My girl," I growl, increasing the pace. "Mine."
"Yours," she agrees, the word falling from her lips like a confession.
The single word snaps my control. I pound into her, harder and faster, driven by the need to claim, to mark, to possess. She meets me thrust for thrust, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders.
"Touch yourself," I command, feeling my own release building. "Make yourself come on my cock."
Her hand slides between us, fingers finding her clit. The sight of her pleasuring herself while I fuck her is almost enough to end me.
"That's it, baby. Show me how good it feels."
Her walls begin to flutter around me, signaling her approaching climax. I drive into her harder, hitting the spot that makes her gasp with each thrust.
"Come for me," I demand. "Come for me now, Connie."
She shatters with a cry of my name, her body convulsing around my cock, milking me with rhythmic pulses. The sight and sensation push me over the edge. I come with a roar, emptying myself into the condom, my hips jerking erratically as pleasure crashes through me.
In the aftermath, I gather her close, unwilling to break our connection just yet. Her body is soft and pliant against mine, her breath warm against my chest.
"You okay?" I ask, suddenly concerned I might have been too rough.
She nods, a smile curving her lips. "Better than okay."
Relief floods me. I withdraw carefully, disposing of the condom before returning to bed and pulling her against me. She fits perfectly in the crook of my arm, her curves aligning with my angles like puzzle pieces snapping into place.
"That was..." she trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Just the beginning," I finish for her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Get some rest. We're doing that again when you wake up."
She laughs softly, the sound warming something cold and hard inside my chest. "Confident, aren't you?"
"About wanting you? About needing you?" I tilt her chin up, making sure she sees the truth in my eyes. "Absolutely."
Her smile fades into something more serious, more vulnerable. "I've never felt like this before."
"Like what?"
"Like I belong to someone," she whispers. "Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
The simple honesty of her words hits me like a physical blow. I tighten my arm around her, drawing her closer.
"You do belong to me," I tell her, no room for doubt in my voice. "My girl. Right where you're supposed to be."
She nestles closer, her breathing gradually slowing as exhaustion claims her. I remain awake, watching her sleep, marveling at how completely this woman has upended my life in less than twenty-four hours.
Mine, I think again, the word settling in my chest like a vow. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to keep.
Forever.