Chapter 7 #2
Cara lowers her weapon. "Get inside. We built a guest cabin last year. You'll have privacy and a defensible position."
I climb out on shaky legs and look at the cabin, the outbuildings, the cleared space around them. They've thought about security here.
Finn leads us to a small cabin set back from the main house. It's a single room with a wood stove, bed, and small bathroom. Supplies are stocked. Windows are positioned for tactical advantage.
"You're secure here," Finn says. "Motion sensors are on all approaches. We've got watch rotation covered. Get some rest." He looks at Marc. "Your arm needs attention."
"It's fine."
"Sela's a nurse," Cara says from the doorway. "Let her decide what's fine."
They leave us alone.
I turn to Marc. "Shirt off."
"Sela—"
"You're bleeding. I'm a trauma nurse. Shirt. Off."
He complies. The wound on his left arm is a graze, angry red and bleeding sluggishly, but the bullet passed through without hitting anything vital. Could have been worse. Could have hit the brachial artery.
I grab the first aid supplies Finn mentioned and clean the wound with steady movements. I apply antibiotic ointment and dress it properly. My hands know this work, familiar motions that ground me.
"You'll live."
"Thanks for the professional assessment."
My fingers are shaking now. The post-adrenaline crash is hitting full force. The steady control I had during the firefight is gone, replaced by tremors I can't stop.
Marc's palm covers mine. "Sela."
"We almost died."
"But we didn't."
"We almost died and I shot someone and men are hunting us and—"
He pulls me to him. His arms come around me. Solid. Warm. Real. Alive.
I don't cry. Don't fall apart. Just stand there and let someone else hold the weight for a minute.
When I pull back, his eyes are dark and intent. Looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
Something shifts in my chest. Recognition maybe. Want definitely.
"If this is a bad idea," my voice comes out rough, "say so now."
His jaw tightens. "Worst possible idea. You're a civilian under my protection. I should walk out that door."
"You won't though."
"No." He reaches up. Cups my face. Thumb brushes across my cheekbone. "Haven't been able to think straight since I pulled you out of that parking garage."
I lean into his touch. "Then shut up and kiss me."
He does.
Hard and demanding and everything I need right now. I kiss him back with equal intensity. He's already reaching for me. Hands on my hips. Drawing me in.
We break apart. Both gasping. His pupils are blown wide. Mouth already swollen from the kiss.
"Wait," nurse brain kicking in even now. "I need to know you're safe."
"I'm clean. Last physical. Haven't been with anyone since."
"I've got an implant. Tested clean at Palmer onboarding." I meet his eyes. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He reaches for the hem of my shirt. Pulls it over my head. His eyes darken as he looks at me. The way he's looking at me makes heat pool low in my belly.
I reach for his belt. Fingers work the buckle. "Bed."
We shed clothes between kisses. His mouth on my neck. Teeth scraping. My nails dragging down his back. Hands learning each other with urgent need. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just want and heat and the desperate need to feel alive after almost dying.
He backs me towards the bed. I go willingly. Fall back onto the mattress and pull him down with me.
His weight presses me into the bed. Solid muscle and warm skin. I wrap my legs around his hips, feel him hard pressed to my thigh. The weight of him grounds me. Makes everything real.
My breath catches. His name comes out rough. "Marc."
His mouth travels to my breast. Tongue circles my nipple while he palms the other. I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. He's not gentle. Neither am I. This isn't tender. It's raw and desperate and exactly what we both need.
He takes his time anyway. Kissing down my body. Teeth on my ribs. Tongue tracing the curve of my hip. Paying attention to every reaction, every sound. His fingers slide between my legs and I nearly come apart.
I'm slick with want. No hiding how much I need this. Need him. Need to feel something other than fear and adrenaline.
He makes a rough sound low in his throat. Then his mouth is on me and I stop thinking entirely.
His tongue circles and strokes. Building pressure until I'm writhing beneath him. My thighs shake. Air comes in gasps. One hand fisted in the sheets. The other in his hair.
"Marc—" I can barely get his name out. "I need—"
He doesn't make me finish the sentence. Just shifts up, settles between my thighs. The head of his cock presses where I'm aching for him and I tilt my hips up. Urging him on.
He enters me in one slow thrust that steals my breath. The stretch is perfect. Full. Right. Exactly what I needed.
I wrap my legs tighter around his hips, pull him deeper. He makes a low sound into my neck.
He starts to thrust with strokes that hit something inside me that makes me see stars. I rock with him, meeting each movement. His breathing is harsh in my ear. Mine matches. The rhythm builds between us. Finding what works. What we both need.
The pace builds. What started controlled becomes frantic. His hips snap harder, faster. I claw at his back. Bite down on his shoulder when the pressure climbs too high. Tasting salt and skin. He responds with a harder thrust.
His fingers slide between us, working my clit. The dual sensation of him inside me and his touch pushes me to the edge. Everything tightens.
"Marc—" My voice breaks. "Close—"
His rhythm stays steady. Fingers press harder. Circle faster.
Orgasm crashes through me. I clench around him. Cry out into his shoulder. He thrusts through it, prolonging every wave, until I'm gasping and trembling beneath him.
His rhythm stutters. Becomes erratic. He buries himself deep one last time and I feel him pulse inside me. A low rough sound is torn from his throat. He goes rigid before collapsing.
We collapse together, hearts racing. Sweat slicks our skin. He shifts his weight so I can breathe but doesn't pull out. Doesn't pull away. Just holds me while our bodies settle and reality seeps back in. His forehead pressed to mine. Both of us breathing hard.
Eventually he pulls out. He draws me against him. His arm around me. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip. Gentle now. Careful.
I turn my head to look at him. He kisses my forehead.
I close my eyes. Let exhaustion pull me under.
Sleep comes in fragments. Marc gets up at some point, checking the perimeter.
Low voices drift in from outside. Later he returns to the bed and I feel the warmth of his arm around me.
The wood stove crackles. Outside, wind stirs through trees.
Inside, safety and the solid presence of someone who won't let anything happen to me.