Chapter 28
AMANDA
We didn’t talk much after dinner.
Didn’t need to.
My body still ached in ways I couldn’t explain. My nerves were raw. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the hours I’d spent trapped in that warehouse, but something else was pulsing underneath it now.
Something mine.
I found him in the garage, leaning against his bike like he’d been waiting for me.
He straightened when he saw me.
“I need air,” I said. “Ride with me?”
He didn’t ask questions. Just held out a helmet.
We rode into the dark, no destination, no plan. Just the road and the wind and the weight of everything unsaid settling between us.
The cold bit at my exposed skin, but I didn’t care. Not with my arms wrapped around his torso. Not with his body heat seeping into mine.
It wasn’t an escape. It was a reset.
He took a familiar turn just past the old service road, the same route the club used for perimeter sweeps, and cut the engine behind a half-collapsed hunting cabin about a mile from the compound. Still close. Still protected. But far enough that no one would come looking.
He dismounted first, then turned to me, jaw tight.
“You okay?”
I nodded, throat thick. “I will be.”
We slipped inside. The place was barely standing, but it was private. Just four walls and a warped floor. A mattress on the ground. No lights but the moon through the window.
I closed the door behind us.
Then I turned to face him.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” I said quietly. “I want to feel this instead.”
His chest rose on a sharp inhale.
“Amanda—”
“I’m not broken. Not tonight. Not with you.” I stepped closer, hands at the hem of my sweatshirt. “Let me choose this.”
He didn’t move at first.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.
Just stared at me like I was a bomb counting down and he didn’t know whether to run or let it blow him apart.
Then he reached for the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion.
The sight of him, bruised, scraped, still healing from the fight, should’ve made me flinch. But it didn’t.
It grounded me.
Because I remembered those bruises. I remembered why he had them.
He hadn’t stopped looking for me. Not for a second.
I stepped toward him. He met me halfway.
Our mouths crashed together, not soft or careful or sweet, but desperate in a way that felt like breathing again after being underwater too long. His hands cupped my jaw, holding me steady while mine slid up his chest, fingertips tracing the path of his scars like they were sacred.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t even hesitate.
“I’m sure.”
His hands dropped to my waist and then lower gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around him like muscle memory. He walked us backward until my shoulders hit the cabin wall, wood creaking behind me.
My sweatshirt hit the floor. His hands were everywhere. Palming, sliding, worshipping like he couldn’t decide what part of me he needed most.
And for the first time since the warehouse, I didn’t feel helpless.
I felt wanted. I felt mine.
I kissed him hard, letting him feel it in his bones.
He groaned into my mouth, and I felt it everywhere. Low in my belly, tight in my chest, hot between my thighs.
When he set me down, I thought he was pulling away, but he didn’t let go. His hands slid to my hips, tugging me close as he dropped to his knees in the dirt.
The air felt cooler without his body pressed to mine, but it didn’t matter. His gaze had me burning.
“I need this,” I whispered, breath shallow. “I need you.”
“I know, baby.” He looked up at me like I was something sacred. “Let me take care of you.”
Fingers shaking, I shoved down my leggings and underwear in one messy push. The second I was bare, his hands curled around the backs of my thighs and he pulled me forward until I was flush against his mouth.
The first swipe of his tongue was slow. Intentional. Like he wanted to savor the taste of me.
Then he groaned.
“Fuck, Amanda.”
My knees buckled. I gripped the edge of the bike seat behind me for balance, one hand threading into his hair as his mouth sealed over my clit.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t tease.
He ate me like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He made deep, hungry strokes of his tongue, his nose bumping against me with every pass, his grip on my thighs flexing every time I moaned.
I couldn’t hold back.
My hips rocked against his face, chasing the rhythm, chasing the high.
“Wrecker,” I gasped, my voice already shaking.
His growl vibrated through me.
I came fast and hard, head tipping back, the night sky swimming above me as pleasure ripped through my body. My thighs trembled, breath catching in my throat, and still he didn’t stop. Not until he’d licked every last drop from me.
When he finally pulled back, his mouth was wet, his eyes wild.
And he looked proud. Ruined. Mine.
I didn’t give him time to stand.
The second he looked up at me with his lips slick, pupils blown wide, I climbed into his lap and straddled his thighs. My knees sank into the cool dirt on either side of him.
“Shit,” he breathed, grabbing for my hips. “You sure?”
“Wrecker.” I reached down and palmed the bulge in his jeans. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
His mouth dropped open as I worked his belt free, then popped the button and pulled down his zipper. He didn’t stop me. Just sat there, letting me do exactly what I needed.
I freed him from his boxer briefs and wrapped my hand around his cock. It was hot, hard, and perfect. His whole body jerked.
“Fuck, baby…”
I lined him up with my entrance, still slick from his mouth, and sank down slowly.
His hands flew to my thighs, holding tight as I took every inch. My body stretched around him, the burn a perfect match to the ache I’d been carrying for days.
When I bottomed out, I paused.
Let the moment settle. Let the power of it hit.
I chose this.
Not because I was broken.
Not because I needed to be saved.
Because I wanted him. Wanted this.
Wrecker looked like he was trying not to explode. His jaw was clenched, his eyes glued to where our bodies met.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered.
I rolled my hips once. Slow and deliberate. I let out a slight chuckle when his head snapped back.
“Then die happy.”
I started to move.
Slow at first. Testing the drag, the stretch, the way his cock filled me so perfectly I almost forgot how to breathe. My palms pressed to his chest, using him for balance as I rolled my hips again, then again, building a rhythm that made both of us shake.
Wrecker’s fingers gripped my ass, holding me steady, but he didn’t guide me. Didn’t try to take over. He just looked up at me like I was the only thing that had ever mattered.
“Jesus, Amanda,” he rasped. “You feel like fucking heaven.”
I leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, then bit his bottom lip. “Then shut up and enjoy it.”
That earned me a groan that vibrated through my whole body.
I rode him harder. Each thrust was a declaration. That this was mine. He was mine. And I was done letting fear write the story of my body.
My thighs burned. My muscles ached. Sweat gathered at the base of my spine. But none of it mattered. Not when Wrecker stared up at me like I hung the stars. Not when every grind of my hips brought us closer to the edge.
He sat up, wrapping his arms around my back, mouth dragging across my collarbone as he whispered my name like a prayer. I kissed him deep, biting his tongue, tasting the remnants of my own pleasure still on his lips.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered hoarsely, voice wrecked.
I obeyed without hesitation, sliding a hand between us. My fingers found my clit, slick and swollen, and I rubbed in tight, fast circles while he filled me from below.
The pressure built fast.
“Wrecker,” I gasped.
“I’ve got you.”
My fingers moved faster. His cock throbbed deep inside me, every stroke hitting just right. My thighs trembled, the coil in my belly wound so tight I could barely hold on.
Wrecker kissed my jaw, my cheek, the edge of my mouth. “That’s it, baby. Let go. I’ve got you.”
His words hit something raw and open in me. Not because I needed him to save me.
But because I trusted him to hold me.
I snapped.
My body shattered around him. White hot heat seared through me as I moaned his name, loud and broken. I could feel my body clenching down so hard I felt him twitch inside me.
He swore, low and brutal. “Fuck—Amanda—”
I didn’t stop moving. Even as I came, even as my vision blurred, I kept grinding against him, milking him for every last drop.
His grip turned punishing. His hips bucked once, twice, and then he was gone too. A hoarse, guttural cry ripped from his chest as he came, spilling deep inside me, holding me like he never wanted to let go.
I collapsed against him, breath ragged, forehead pressed to his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around me. Rocked me through the aftershocks.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Wrecker didn’t let go.
His arms stayed locked around me like I was the only thing holding him together. And maybe I was, because right now, he sure as hell was the only thing holding me together.
Our skin was sticky. My thighs still trembled. But he kept rocking us gently, his hand sliding up and down my back like he couldn’t stop touching me.
Like he didn’t want to.
“Breathe,” he whispered against my hair. “You okay?”
I nodded into his shoulder, still curled in his lap. “Yeah. Just… didn’t know it could feel like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like mine.”
His chest rose against mine. Slow and deep.
Then his mouth found the top of my head, and he kissed it. Soft. Reverent.
“You are,” he said. “You’ve always been mine.”
My throat went tight. “You mean that?”
He pulled back just enough to see my face. His eyes locked with mine. No hesitation.
“I love you, Amanda.”
The words hit like a blow to the chest. Not the kind that knocks the air out of me. But the kind that makes everything start working again.
I blinked fast, but the tears still spilled.
“I love you too.”
His jaw flexed. He leaned forward and kissed me again. It was gentle this time. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just home.
We stayed like that for a long time.
Tangled up. Bare. Breathing each other in.
When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse.
“Let’s go home.”
He nodded, brushing my hair back. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go home.”