Chapter 10 Amanda
AMANDA
His mouth was already on mine when the door clicked shut behind us. The sound barely registered.
All I could feel was him. He was solid, warm, and real. His hands came up to my hips and the kiss deepened, messy and urgent and nothing like the careful control he’d held onto in the training room.
I pressed closer, needing the contact, needing the proof that he was still here and I wasn’t alone with the countdown in my head.
He groaned into my mouth and backed me up until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I fell onto it without breaking the kiss, dragging him down with me. His weight followed, solid and grounding, one knee settling between my thighs as his hands slid under my shirt.
Skin on skin.
I gasped when his palms found my bare stomach, then moved higher, thumbs brushing under my breasts. I arched without meaning to, every nerve ending lit and aching.
“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at me.
His eyes dragged over my face, my chest, my mouth, like he was committing it to memory. Like this moment mattered more than he was ready to admit.
“You sure?” he asked, quieter now. Still steady. Still in control.
“Yes,” I said immediately. “I want you.”
That was all he needed.
He yanked my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside, then bent his head and took my mouth again. His kiss went deeper, hungrier, like he’d finally stopped fighting it. One hand slid down my side, fingers hooking into the waistband of my sweats.
I lifted my hips to help him.
The fabric came down fast. His mouth followed, kissing his way down my chest, my stomach, lower. I sucked in a breath when his fingers brushed between my thighs, slow and deliberate, like he was checking in again without words.
I was already wet. Embarrassingly so.
He noticed.
A low sound rumbled out of his chest as his fingers pressed closer, finding exactly where I needed him. I whimpered and clutched the sheets, my whole body tensing as he stroked me once, twice.
“God,” I breathed. “Please.”
He pushed my knees wider and settled between them, his broad shoulders blocking out everything else. When his mouth touched me, I cried out, sharp and unfiltered.
There was nothing gentle about it.
He ate me like he was starving. Mouth hot, tongue relentless, fingers gripping my thighs to keep me open. I gasped and writhed, trying to pull him closer, my hands sliding into his hair.
My head fell back as pleasure spiked fast and overwhelming, heat coiling tight in my stomach.
“Wrecker,” I sobbed. “I—I’m close.”
He didn’t slow down.
If anything, he went harder, tongue circling, sucking, driving me straight over the edge. I came with a broken cry, my body bowing off the bed, shaking hard enough my vision went white.
He stayed there through it, holding me steady until the tremors faded.
When he finally rose, his mouth was wet, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with want.
He stripped off his vest and shirt in quick, efficient motions, like he was running out of time. I drank him in. The scars on his chest. His thick arms. The way his body was already coiled and ready.
His pants came next.
And then his cock was free. Hard, flushed, thick, and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself.
My body shivered at the sight.
He climbed back over me, nudging my legs apart with his knee, lining himself up. The head of his cock brushed against me, slow and teasing, and I whimpered again, hips lifting without permission.
“Once I start,” he said, voice strained now. “I’m not sure how much I will be able to hold back.”
“Then don’t,” I said. “You won’t break me.”
“You are going to ruin me Amanda,” he said as he pushed into me in one smooth, steady thrust.
I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled me completely. The stretch burned just enough to make it real, grounding, anchoring me in my body in a way nothing else had.
He stilled for a moment, forehead dropping to mine.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Not because we didn’t want more. But because something important was happening in the space between us. Something quiet and deliberate.
This wasn’t the elevator.
This wasn’t panic or instinct or fear making decisions for me.
I was here. In my body. Choosing this.
Wrecker stayed still long enough for me to feel it—his weight, his breath, the way he was holding himself in check even now. Not taking. Not rushing. Waiting.
The realization hit me harder than the pleasure ever could.
He wasn’t using me to burn off adrenaline.
He was anchoring himself to me.
The thought wrapped tight around my chest, sharp and warm all at once.
I lifted my head just enough to meet his eyes. They weren’t wild. They weren’t distant.
They were locked on me.
“Okay?” he asked.
“So good,” I breathed. “Please fucking move.”
And he did.
Slow at first, deep and deliberate, like he was testing how far he could go before I broke apart again. Each thrust dragged a sound out of me I couldn’t control, my body answering him before my thoughts caught up.
He filled me completely. Every inch. I could feel him everywhere. Stretching me, grounding me, forcing me to stay present in my skin instead of floating off into panic or memory.
My legs locked tighter around his hips.
“Fuck,” he growled as he pulled almost all the way out and pushed back in again. “You feel incredible.”
I clawed at his back, nails scraping skin, needing proof he was real. That this was happening. That I wasn’t alone.
“Harder,” I said, breathless. “Please.”
That did it.
His control finally snapped.
He drove into me faster, harder, the bed creaking beneath us as his rhythm turned rough and urgent. Each thrust knocked the air out of my lungs, pleasure building fast and sharp, spiraling tight in my belly.
I met him instinctively, hips lifting to take him deeper, chasing the friction that made my toes curl and my vision blur. My body remembered this. Remembered how to want, how to feel, how to need.
His hand slid down between us, fingers finding me again, thumb circling my clit with just enough pressure to make me gasp.
“Oh God,” I cried. “Wrecker—”
“Come for me,” he growled. “Let go.”
I shattered.
The orgasm tore through me, violent and overwhelming, my body bowing beneath him as I screamed his name. Every muscle locked tight around his cock, pulsing, dragging him deeper as wave after wave crashed through me.
That pushed him over the edge.
He slammed into me one last time, a broken sound ripping out of his chest as he came hard, burying himself to the hilt. I felt every jerk, every pulse, his grip on me tightening like he was afraid to let go.
For a moment, there was nothing but breath and heat and the thud of our hearts.
I stayed very still, letting the moment settle.
Not because I was afraid it would break. But because I wanted to remember it exactly as it was. The way my body felt loose instead of braced. The way my thoughts weren’t racing ahead, scanning for danger.
This wasn’t relief.
It was grounding.
I’d spent days afraid that wanting something, someone, meant I was weak. That desire was just another way to lose control.
But this didn’t feel like losing anything.
It felt like claiming it.
Then he collapsed forward, catching himself on his forearms so he didn’t crush me, his face pressed into my neck. His breathing was rough, uneven, like he’d just run a mile.
I wrapped my arms around him without thinking, holding him just as tight.
Neither of us moved.
Eventually, he shifted carefully, rolling onto his side and pulling me with him so I stayed tucked against his chest. He stayed inside me a moment longer, like neither of us was ready to break that connection yet.
When he finally pulled out, I whimpered at the empty feeling.
His hand came up immediately, cupping my cheek, thumb brushing under my eye like he was checking for tears.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “More than okay.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
We lay there tangled together, my head on his shoulder, his arm heavy and warm around my waist. The room felt different now. Quieter, softer, like the storm had passed but the air was still charged.
After a minute, reality crept back in.
I could feel it in the way his body went alert beneath me. In the way his breathing evened out, his mind already shifting gears.
“When I get back,” he said, voice low but steady again, “we talk. I’m not done with you.”
Something twisted in my chest. “Just… come back safe.”
He tipped my chin up and kissed me once. Slow. Gentle. Nothing like before.
“Always,” he said.
He got dressed fast after that. Vest, weapons, boots. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like he hadn’t just wrecked me in his bed.
At the door, he looked back once more.
Then he was gone.
The door closed behind him with the same final click.
I lay there alone, sheets twisted around me, my body still trembling. Not from fear.
From clarity.
Because somewhere between his mouth on my skin and his cock buried deep inside me, something had shifted.
I loved him.
God help me, I loved him.
And I had no idea how to survive that.