Chapter 20
The sight of Mackenzi, freshly satiated, is something that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.
Her skin is a delicate pink, a stark contrast to the dark, wet strands of hair clinging to her neck and shoulders.
Her eyes, usually so full of defiant fire, are now soft and dazed, the pupils blown wide with pleasure and lingering tears.
Her lips are swollen and parted, with her breath still coming in soft, shallow pants.
She looks utterly wrecked, completely claimed, and more beautiful than any woman has a right to be.
She’s a goddamn masterpiece of desire, and I painted her this way.
Her whispered answer, “Yes, Daddy,” is a match to the gasoline already churning through my veins. It obliterates the last frayed thread of my control. I need to be inside her more than I need my next inhale.
My hands move with a new urgency, and I undo my belt, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room.
I don’t bother with finesse. I shove the heavy fabric of my tactical pants and my boxers down just enough to free myself.
My thick, weighty cock springs free, slapping against my stomach, hard and aching with a need that borders on pain.
Her eyes, which were soft and unfocused a moment ago, snap to it. They blow wide, the dazed look instantly replaced by a sudden, sharp hesitancy. The fire in her gaze dims, replaced by the wary look of prey that’s just realized the scale of the predator.
I dip my head and softly whisper. “Are you sure?”
She swallows, her eyes flicking to my cock, back up to my face. “Yes,” she breathes, but the word lacks the conviction it had moments ago. I also don’t miss the way her body has tensed or how her hands are gripping the edge of the concrete slab like a lifeline. “You don’t look sure, trouble.”
A faint blush rises on her cheeks in a charming display of vulnerability. “It’s just…” she starts, her voice barely audible. “That’s… That’s a lot bigger than your finger.”
A dark chuckle rumbles in my chest. I capture her lips in a deep, reassuring kiss, pouring every ounce of my need and a sprinkling of my control into it. “Trust me, trouble,” I murmur against her mouth. “It’ll fit. And I’ll make sure you love it.”
I position myself between her thighs, which are still spread wide, and grip the base of my cock.
The weight of it heavy and familiar in my palm.
I rest the thick, engorged head against the warmth of her entrance.
The heat coming off her is incredible. Her arousal coats my tip, a tantalizing promise of the tight, wet heat waiting for me.
I pause, wanting her consent again, before being the first man to claim this part of her and making her mine.
The comms in my ear crackle to life, a sharp, intrusive sound that shatters the intimate bubble we’ve created. “Residence secure. All hostiles neutralized… Opening panic room… Ambassador wants status on Mackenzi?”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid with frustration so profound, it’s physically painful. “Fuck,” I snarl, the word ripped from my gut. My balls ache with a denial that feels like a physical blow. The tension is gone. The stolen, perfect, chaotic moment replaced by reality.
“Damon? Status update?”
With two fingers pressed against my earpiece, I answer, “Secure. Heading to her bedroom now.”
I look down at Mackenzi, whose eyes are wide with a mixture of lingering arousal and renewed confusion.
My gaze drops to where we’re almost joined.
There’s a glistening smear of her arousal on the tip of my cock, and the sight is a fucking torment.
With a guttural groan of pure agony, I force myself to pull away.
I’m rough with myself, shoving my still-hard, aching cock back into my pants and hastily zipping them.
The confinement is agony, the cold, damp fabric a cruel reminder of what I’m giving up.
I turn my attention back to her and the mess I’ve made of her bikini.
My fingers, still trembling with adrenaline and unsated lust, fix the emerald fabric, covering her from my view.
It feels like a crime. I place a soft, lingering kiss against her lips, a silent apology for the interruption, before gripping her waist and helping her from the counter.
Her legs are shaky, and she stumbles slightly against me, her body soft and pliant.
“Easy,” I whisper, holding her for a moment, inhaling the scent of her skin, chlorine, and her arousal.
Without thinking, I slip my hand around hers and lead her toward the door.
The hallway outside remains tense; Marines crossing at the far end in quick, controlled paces while radios chatter low through the residence.
I usher Mackenzi hastily down the rear corridor in the direction of the servant staircase tucked at the end of the east wing.
It’s narrower than the main staircase, dimly lit, and mostly used by staff rotating through the residence to keep them unseen during formal events. Right now, it should be empty.
Mackenzi stays close behind me as we climb, her bare feet soft against the narrow wooden stairs. I hold her hand until we approach the landing, hating that I have to let it go and immediately missing the contact.
The second we crest the top of the staircase, another figure rounds the corner ahead.
Gunnar. His eyes flick toward me before shifting to Mackenzi behind my shoulder.
Shit. His eyes stay fixed on both of us, and I know exactly how we look.
My clothes are soaked from jumping into the pool, Mackenzi has flushed cheeks and swollen lips, while both of us are still breathing far too hard to have been sitting patiently waiting for lockdown to end.
His eyes move once over Mackenzi’s body before returning to mine with growing suspicion.
“Mackenzi,” I command immediately, rougher than intended. “Go get cleaned up.”
Her eyes widen slightly, like she’s only just now realizing how we must appear standing here together.
Pinkness floods her cheeks instantly, and it’s cute.
Dangerously cute. “O-okay.” She nods quickly before stepping around me toward the east hallway.
She takes two paces before glancing at me over her shoulder, and the soft, hesitant look on her face nearly drops me to my knees.
I keep my expression and tone neutral through sheer force of will. “Go.” My instruction garners another tiny nod before she walks down the hallway toward her bedroom. My gaze follows, immediately catching on the vivid red mark still blooming across the exposed curve of her ass.
Fuck.
It stands out against her soft skin, undeniably a handprint. It’s beyond obvious. And judging by the clearing of his throat, Gunnar absolutely noticed. Slowly, I turn my head to face him and find one eyebrow arched upward with almost surgical precision.
“You know,” he states calmly, “you’re lucky it was me.”
I exhale hard through my nose. “It’s nothing.”
His gaze drops to my soaked pants and the erection still tenting them. “Mmhmm.”
“That sounds a lot like you’re judging me.”
“Oh, that’s because I am.”
I drag one hand down my face roughly. The adrenaline wafting through my body feels brutal, though my pulse is still pounding too hard from the perimeter scare, from nearly losing control in that storage room, from Mackenzi melting under my hands like she was made for it.
Made for me.
Gunnar studies me for another long second before leaning casually against the banister. “You put a fucking handprint on the ambassador’s daughter. Really?”
“It wasn’t?—”
He raises his eyebrow higher, and I stop talking immediately because there is literally no version of that sentence to improve the situation.
“Right,” Gunnar interrupts dryly.
I glare at him. “She ignored a direct order during an active threat.”
“So, naturally, you disciplined her.”
“Jesus Christ, Gun.”
“It appears you’ve gotten over your hesitation.” A faint smirk pulls briefly at the corners of his lips.
“Would you drop it?”
“Yeah… but Jagger sure won’t when he finds out.”
Despite myself, a rough laugh escapes me before reality settles in once more. I grip the back of my neck hard enough to ache. Gunnar watches me carefully for a second longer before his expression shifts slightly more serious. “You’re deep in.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I stare down the hallway, where Mackenzi disappeared moments earlier. Into the room, where she’s probably standing in front of a mirror right now, touching the mark I left on her skin.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly, and that realization terrifies me more than cartel threats ever could.
Gunnar exhales quietly beside me. “You know this gets complicated.”
“Everything about this is already complicated.”
“For what it’s worth, she looks at you like you hung the moon.”
I nod once, knowing exactly what he means. I’ve seen it, too. That soft, adoring gaze she gets when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
Gunnar starts down the staircase before stopping halfway. “Oh,” he adds without looking back. “Next time, maybe avoid leaving visible evidence if you’re planning on escorting her through shared hallways afterward.”
“Fuck off,” I call after him, certain he’s chuckling as he traverses the last of the stairs.
I remain standing there alone for another moment, wet clothes clinging to me, and my pulse still uneven with Mackenzi’s taste lingering maddeningly on my tongue.
After running my hands through my hair, one brutal realization settles heavier and heavier into my chest. When this storm raging between us finally breaks, it’s going to be fucking cataclysmic.