Chapter 13 #2
I can't finish the sentence. Can't articulate the terror that's been clawing at my throat since Sarah said "contact," the relief that's making my hands shake, the realization that I can't lose him again.
Won't survive losing him again.
Colton slides off the exam table, moving carefully but steady. He crosses to me, one hand cupping my face with callused fingers that smell like gunpowder and blood.
"I'm here," he says. "I'm okay. We're both okay."
"This time."
"Rachel—"
I kiss him before he can finish whatever reassurance he's about to offer. No gentle exploration this time, no building tension. Just desperate need to confirm he's alive, he's real, he's here. My hands find his face, his shoulders, his chest, checking for damage and warmth and pulse.
Stryker responds immediately, one arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer despite the fresh stitches in his other arm. His mouth moves against mine with matching urgency, and when his tongue slides past my lips I taste copper and want.
"Your quarters," I gasp between kisses. "Now."
He doesn't argue. Just takes my hand and leads me down the corridor to the small room that's his personal space in this underground facility. The door closes behind us and I'm on him before he can turn around, pressing him back against the wall, claiming his mouth with bruising intensity.
"Rachel—" He tries to speak but I swallow the words.
"Shut up," I breathe against his lips. "Just shut up and let me—"
My hands find the fastening of his tactical pants, fingers working the buckle with shaking urgency. Eight years. Eight years since I've touched him like this, and I can't wait another second.
"Wait." His hand covers mine, stilling my movements. "Are you—do we need—"
"I'm clean and on birth control," I tell him, understanding immediately. "Have been since Lucas. We're good."
The tension releases from his shoulders. "Okay; I'm clean too. We're good."
Then we're moving again, frantic and desperate.
Stryker's good hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access to my throat. His mouth traces fire from my jaw to my collarbone, teeth scraping skin in ways that make my knees weak. His other hand, the one with stitches, braces against the wall for balance.
"Bed," he growls against my neck. "Need you on the bed."
We stumble across the small room, shedding clothes with frantic efficiency. My shirt hits the floor, followed by his boots, my bra torn aside, his pants shoved down and kicked away. Each piece of fabric removed reveals more skin, more scars, more evidence of the lives we've lived apart.
My hands explore his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle and scar tissue, relearning the map of his body.
He's broader than I remember, harder, marked by violence in ways that should terrify me but instead make me want him more.
This is what kept him alive. This strength, this capability, this dangerous man who chose to protect my son.
Stryker's hands aren't gentle. They span my waist, grip my hips, cup my breasts with possessive pressure that makes me gasp. His thumbs brush across my nipples and I arch into the touch, needing more, needing everything.
"I need to be inside you," he growls against my neck.
The words send heat straight through me. I let him guide me backward until my knees hit the mattress, then I'm pulling him down on top of me, wrapping my legs around his waist to feel the hard length of him pressed against where I'm already wet and aching.
"Colton." His name comes out desperate, pleading.
"I know." His hand slides between us, fingers finding the slick heat between my thighs. "God, Rachel, you're so wet."
He circles my clit with rough pressure that makes me cry out, hips bucking against his hand. The sensation is almost too much after so long, but I need more, need him to stop being careful and just take what we both want.
"Inside me," I demand, nails raking down his back. "Stop teasing and fuck me."
His expression darkens, all control stripped away. He shifts position, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and then he's pushing in with one hard thrust that steals my breath.
The stretch borders on pain. It's been eight years, and he's bigger than I remember, filling me completely, forcing my body to accommodate him. I dig my heels into his ass, pulling him deeper despite the burn.
"Christ," he groans against my neck. "You're so tight. So perfect."
He starts to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each thrust hits deeper, harder, the headboard striking the wall with steady rhythm. My hands find purchase on his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach, needing the anchor as pleasure builds with brutal intensity.
"Harder," I gasp. "Don't hold back. I need—"
He covers my mouth with his, swallowing the words, and picks up the pace. The bed frame protests with each thrust, but I don't care. All that matters is the slide of his body against mine, inside mine, the friction building heat that threatens to consume me.
Colton's hand slides between us again, finding my clit and working it with firm circles while his cock drives into me with relentless force. The dual stimulation pushes me toward the edge faster than I can process.
"Rachel," he groans against my ear, my name desperate on his lips.
The words combined with the pressure on my clit and the perfect angle of his next thrust send me over the edge. The orgasm slams through me, back arching, thighs clamping around his hips as I clench tight around him. I cry out his name, nails breaking skin on his shoulders.
He doesn't stop. Keeps thrusting through my orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until it borders on overwhelming. Then his rhythm stutters, his body going rigid, and I feel him pulse inside me as he comes with a broken groan.
We collapse together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on skin. Stryker's weight presses me into the mattress and I wrap my arms around him, holding him close despite the sticky mess between us.
"I love you," I whisper into the silence. "Never stopped. Even when I hated you for leaving, I loved you."
Stryker shifts to look at me, eyes searching mine with intensity that makes my breath catch. His hand cups my face with surprising gentleness considering how rough he just was.
"I can't lose you again," he says, voice raw. "Can't survive it. You and Lucas—you're everything. If something happens—"
"Then don't let go." I thread my fingers through his, feeling the tackiness of sweat and other fluids between our palms. "Stay. Choose us. Keep choosing us every day."
"I choose you," he promises. "Every day, every mission, every—"
The alarm cuts through his words like a blade. Sharp, piercing, the sound that means Echo Base security is on high alert.
We're on our feet instantly, scrambling for clothes, for weapons, for anything. Stryker's comm unit comes to life, Tommy's voice tight with controlled panic.
"All personnel, priority alert. Multiple hostile contacts detected in the area. Positive ID on target: Kessler himself. I repeat, Kessler is in the region."