Chapter 16 Amanda
AMANDA
The compound was quiet.
Not peaceful kind of quiet. It was never peaceful.
But as if the chaos had settled into something sharper. Focused.
Doors were locked. Patrols rotated like clockwork. Guns were cleaned and checked with clinical precision. Cap’s orders rolled through the halls like thunder, steady and loud and always followed.
But under all of it, I could feel it.
The tension coiled in the floorboards.
The static in the air before a storm.
Something was coming.
Even if no one said it aloud.
Wrecker hadn’t left my side.
He was quieter today, more intense. Every room I walked into, he was already there or seconds behind. Every locked door got a second check. Every hallway got a scan before I stepped foot inside.
He didn’t speak much, but his body did.
The heat of him at my back.
The rough brush of his knuckles down my arm when he thought I wasn’t looking.
The twitch of his jaw every time someone got too close.
When I reached for a plate in the kitchen, he was there before me pulling it down like I couldn’t manage it myself.
When I moved to refill the first aid bins, he stepped in like the bandages might attack.
And when I crouched to toss a treat to Smoke, Wrecker’s hand landed on my lower back, fingers curling just enough to stake a silent claim.
“You’re hovering,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
His brow lifted. “Damn right I am.”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest ached in that soft, dangerous way.
The way that said I could get used to this.
Used to him.
We’d all been operating on adrenaline since the ambush. None of us had come down yet. The bruises were still fresh. The rage still simmering.
But I was trying.
Trying to reclaim something that looked like normal.
I helped in the kitchen, even if Ariel muttered that I chopped vegetables like a serial killer.
I sorted gauze and saline packets with Doc, who gave me quiet nods of approval and let me pretend I was helpful.
I studied maps with Ranger and learned the difference between a good line of sight and a death trap.
I fed Smoke bacon straight from the pan and kissed his dumb, wet nose.
I moved through the day like I was piecing myself back together one second at a time.
Wrecker was the constant.
My shadow. My heat.
My protector.
When the sun dipped low, casting long gold streaks through the windows, I stepped outside to the back steps. Just for a breath of air. Just to be alone.
Except I wasn’t.
Ariel slid out the door beside me. She didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the railing, her arms crossed and her eyes distant.
“You good?” I asked quietly.
Her mouth tilted. “Always.”
I snorted. “Liar.”
She shrugged. “You caught me on a soft day.”
I glanced back at the door. No Wrecker in sight, for once.
Ariel looked at me again. “Do you feel like you’re healing?”
The question hit me harder than I expected.
I didn’t answer right away.
Eventually, I said, “No.”
Then I paused.
“But I feel… safer. Like I’m not alone in it.”
Ariel nodded, her voice low. “That’s what these men do. They don’t replace your strength. They help you find it again.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Just bumped her shoulder gently into mine and disappeared back inside.
I sat there a little longer. Let the quiet settle in my bones.
And when the air turned cool and the sky started to darken, I followed the heat.
Back inside.
Back to him.
The second I stepped into the hallway, he was there.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on me like he already knew where I’d been.
Where I’d end up.
I didn’t say anything.
Neither did he.
He just held out his hand.
Big. Rough. Solid.
And I took it.
We didn’t speak as he led me to his room.
Didn’t need to.
Everything that needed to be said was in the press of our palms.
He locked the door behind us like he always did. Set his gun on the nightstand. Checked the window, the corners, the hallway behind.
Then he turned.
And looked at me.
Not like I was fragile.
Not like I was broken.
But like I was his.
His to protect.
His to hold.
His to worship.
“Get in,” he said, voice low.
I crawled onto the bed without question. Settled into the pillows, my knees tucked beneath me. I thought he’d join me. Thought he’d curl up beside me like last time.
But he didn’t.
Not right away.
He stood there watching me. Slowly peeled off his cut, his shirt, the tension in his shoulders. One layer at a time until he was bare from the waist up and glowing in the lamplight like something carved from steel and sin.
Fucking hell, he was beautiful.
He moved toward me with slow, deliberate steps.
I felt every one of them.
When he reached the bed, he didn’t climb in beside me.
He sank to his knees in front of me.
Hands on my thighs.
Eyes locked on mine.
A storm beneath the surface.
“I keep thinking about what could’ve happened,” he said, voice rough. “What if I’d been slower? What if I didn’t get there in time?”
“You did,” I whispered. “You got to me.”
“Doesn’t stop the fire in my chest, Amanda.” His fingers tightened on my legs. “Doesn’t stop the way I need to touch you. To feel you. To make sure you’re here and safe and mine.”
“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days.
Then his hands slid up, slow and reverent.
From my thighs to my hips.
From my hips to my waist.
He leaned in and pressed his forehead to my belly.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing fabric. “I’ve fucking got you.”
My fingers slid into his hair, threading through the soft strands. He kissed the waistband of my sleep shorts. Then again, higher.
And when he looked up—
Holy hell.
His eyes were wild with something deeper than lust.
Possession.
Worship.
A kind of desperation that came from almost losing something you didn’t even know you needed to survive.
“You ready?” he asked, voice tight. “Because I won’t stop once I start. Not tonight.”
I nodded. “I want you.”
His growl was low. Feral.
He surged up, cupped the back of my neck, and pulled me into a kiss that shattered the last of my restraint.
The kiss wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was everything we hadn’t said.
Everything we’d held back.
Everything we’d fought to ignore—
exploding between us in a rush of teeth and tongue and breathless gasps.
His mouth claimed mine like he was starving.
Like he’d been waiting for permission to lose control.
And now that I’d given it—
he wasn’t holding back.
Wrecker pressed me into the pillows, his weight pinning me in the best way.
Hot skin against mine.
The hard line of his body between my thighs.
I arched into him, nails dragging down his back, and he groaned into my mouth like it wrecked him.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel too good. You always feel too good.”
“Then take it,” I whispered. “Take what you need.”
His growl vibrated through me.
He yanked my tank top off, tossed it somewhere behind him, and leaned back just enough to take me in.
Eyes dark.
Jaw clenched.
Hands braced on either side of my ribs like he didn’t trust himself to touch me yet.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he said.
“You already ruined me,” I whispered back. “So maybe we’re even.”
That was it.
That snapped the last of his control.
He palmed my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I cried out, arching into his hands.
Then his mouth followed. Hot, open, devouring.
One nipple, then the other, his teeth scraping just enough to make my hips jerk.
I was already soaked.
Already shaking.
Already begging without saying a word.
He worked his way down, teeth dragging over the curve of my waist, the dip of my hip, the inside of my thigh, until he was exactly where I needed him.
He kissed the inside of my knee, then looked up at me from between my thighs, his voice gravel.
“Don’t hold back, Amanda. Not with me. Not ever.”
Then his mouth was on me. His tongue was hot, slow, and relentless.
I cried out, one hand in his hair, the other gripping the sheets like a lifeline.
He moaned against me, like my taste was everything he needed.
His hands pinned my hips down when I tried to rise. Then he moved his hand to my entrance and pushed deep inside while his tongue circled my clit again, and again, and again. My thighs started to shake and my vision blurred.
“Oh my god—Wrecker—”
“Give it to me,” he growled. “Now.”
My whole body shattered. It was hard, fast, and loud.
“FUCK WRECKER!” I screamed. I didn’t care if the whole compound could hear me. My back arched up, my mouth opened wide, and my hands clawed at the sheets around me.
And Wrecker kept going. He didn’t stop until I was barely gasping his name, over and over, like it was the only thing I knew how to say.
When I finally blinked through the haze, he was already crawling back up my body, pressing kisses over my ribs, my neck, my jaw.
“You with me?” he whispered, brushing his nose against mine.
I nodded, still breathless.
“Yeah. Always.”
His lips curled into the faintest smile.
Then he reached between us, grabbed himself, and groaned at the contact.
“Turn over, red.”
I rolled to my stomach, chest still heaving against the pillows, and I didn’t even need to ask what came next.
Because Wrecker’s hand was already sliding down my spine—slow and reverent, like he needed to memorize every inch of me with his touch. He then pulled up on my hips so I was on my hands and knees.
“You ready?” he asked, voice a low rumble behind me.
Not because he didn’t know the answer.
Because he needed to hear it.
I turned my head, met his gaze over my shoulder.
“Fuck me Wrecker,” I said. “Fuck me hard.”
He swore under his breath, like the words punched through his chest.
Then I felt the blunt head of his cock drag through my slick folds.
One hard thrust.
Then he pulled all the way out again, and then he sank in deep, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so goddamn tight like this.”
My fingers fisted the sheets again.
I gasped, hips arching as he filled me completely.
It wasn’t just the angle. It was the stretch, the intensity, the overwhelming way he owned every inch of my body.
Wrecker braced a hand on the bed beside me, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
He pulled out slow, then thrust back in with a sharp snap of his hips.
I moaned.
Loud.
Wrecked.
He leaned forward, chest brushing my back, lips finding the shell of my ear.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what safe feels like. That’s what mine feels like.”
He started to move. Deep, punishing thrusts that stole my breath with every drag.
But it wasn’t just rough.
It was controlled.
Every motion calculated.
Every sound I made met with a growl of approval.
“You take it so good,” he bit out. “You were made for this. Made for me.”
I couldn’t speak. I could barely think. I just felt the stretch of my body around him. The pressure as he pushed deeper inside me. The dizzying heat building low and fast at my core that was impossible to ignore.
When I whimpered, his hand slid up my back and fisted my hair. He pulled back slightly, not enough to hurt me, but just enough to anchor me as he thrusted his hips. His other hand snuck between my thighs, fingers finding my clit and circling with devastating precision.
“Come again,” he ordered.
“Right now.”
It hit me like a goddamn explosion.
I cried out, shaking apart around him, clenching so hard he swore and slammed in once, twice—
then froze.
Body tight.
Breath ragged.
“Fuck, Amanda,” he groaned, spilling deep inside me.
Still holding my hair.
Still inside me.
Still mine.
He didn’t pull out right away.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just braced over me, forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, our breaths tangled in the silence.
My body felt like liquid. His weight above me was the only thing tethering me to the earth.
After a long minute, he finally eased out of me, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to let go.
I whimpered at the loss.
He whispered something low under his breath, it sounded like mine, then slipped from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
When he came back, he had a warm towel in one hand and the softest look in his eyes.
He cleaned me up with slow, reverent strokes. Then he tossed the towel into the laundry basket. He got up and grabbed a hoodie from the chair and pulled it over my head. It smelled like him. Motor oil and pine and sweat and just Wrecker.
He climbed back into bed and tugged me into his chest like there was no question where I belonged.
“I didn’t mean for it to be like that,” I murmured, voice raw. “I just… I needed you.”
He wrapped his arms around me tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. His lips brushed my temple. “Whenever you need me.”
Silence stretched, comfortable and full.
Then—
“You okay?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… full.”
He chuckled. “Physically or emotionally?”
“Both.”
He kissed my hair again, voice dropping to a promise.
“Good. I want you to stay full. With me. Every damn way you can.”
And I did.
I curled tighter into him, heart pounding steady for the first time in days, skin buzzing from more than just the sex.
Because this wasn’t just about being claimed.
It wasn’t even about being safe.
It was about knowing, without question, that I wasn’t alone in this anymore.
And when I finally drifted off to sleep, still tangled in his arms, it was the last peaceful night I’d get for a long, long time.