Chapter Thirty One #2
His mouth finds mine then, not soft, not sweet, but slow. Like punishment. Like prayer. Like he wants everyone here to know I’ll never belong to anyone else.
And I let him.
I let him ruin me all over again in the middle of Lola’s perfect night because when his lips claim mine, when his hand drags up my spine and his body seals me against him, there is no wedding, no music, no world.
Just us.
The music swells, voices blur, the applause still humming in the air—and then his hand tightens at my waist.
Too tight.
Too sure.
Before I can protest, before I can breathe, Dax is steering me off the floor.
One step. Then two. My heels scrape against the polished floor, but he doesn’t slow.
Doesn’t glance back. Doesn’t give a fuck that Lola’s guests are still clapping, that the bride is glowing, that every camera is still snapping shots of perfection.
All I see is the way people part for him. Not politely. Not kindly. They just move. Like they can feel the violence in his veins, the war he still hasn’t shaken.
We break through the edge of the crowd, past a side door thrown open for the night air. The string lights fade behind us, the music dulls, and suddenly the world is darker, quieter, emptier.
Stone walls. A narrow hallway. The faint hum of pipes.
And him.
He slams me back against the wall before I can think, his hand braced above my head, his breath hot, whiskey-sweet and brutal.
“Do you have any fucking clue,” he snarls low, “what it did to me, watching you dance like you were mine and pretending you’re not?”
My chest caves, breath ragged. “Dax—someone will see—”
“Good.” His mouth skims my jaw, teeth scraping sharp enough to make me flinch. “Let them. Let them know I’d burn this whole perfect wedding to ash if it meant one more fucking second of you pressed to me.”
The shadows feel heavier here. Like the walls are leaning closer. Like the air itself wants to collapse around us.
I should push him back. I should shove at his chest, tell him we can’t, not here, not tonight—but my body betrays me. Tilts. Arches. Burns because even in the dark, even broken, even limping—he still owns me.
His mouth crushes mine before I can form the word no.
It isn’t sweet. It isn’t careful. It’s hunger sharpened into a blade, slicing through me until all that’s left is the taste of him.
My back grinds against the stone wall, cool and rough against my bare skin where his hands have already shoved my dress aside. Fingers bruising my thigh, dragging it up around his hip. His body cages me in, heat pressing, weight pinning, and I know—God, I know—this isn’t a kiss. It’s a claim.
“You wore this dress for me,” he growls against my lips, his hand fisting the fabric until it bites into my ribs. “Didn’t you, Butterfly?”
I shake my head, desperate, dizzy. “It’s Lola’s wedding, I—”
“Don’t lie.” His teeth snap at my throat, a bite hard enough to make me gasp, harder when he hears the sound. “You knew I’d take one look and want to ruin you.”
His hand slips higher, under the satin, dragging against skin that’s already trembling. His thumb finds me slick, wet, waiting. The low laugh that rumbles out of him is savage.
“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing harder, “you came out here already mine.”
The hall is too dark, too silent, and still I’m terrified someone will find us. That someone will push the door open and see me with my dress bunched, my legs wrapped around him, my voice breaking into filthy pieces.
And maybe that’s why I moan louder when he plunges two fingers into me, deep and ruthless. Because some part of me wants to be seen. Wants them all to know what I’ve always known—I belong to him.
“Say it,” he orders, fingers curling, dragging another cry out of me. “Say you’re mine before I fuck you against this wall.”
I should resist. I should keep my mouth shut, choke down the sounds clawing up my throat—but I can’t. I never fucking can.
“I’m yours.”
His mouth slams back to mine, swallowing the words like they’re the only thing keeping him alive.
The wall scrapes my spine, dress bunched so high around my waist I don’t even feel like I’m wearing it anymore. His fingers tear me open, brutal, unrelenting, and I’m already coming undone when he yanks out, my slick dripping down his hand.
“Not enough,” he snarls, fumbling with his belt, the metallic clink cutting through the silence like a warning bell. “I need to be inside you, right fucking now.”
“Dax—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His cock slams into me in one savage thrust, burying to the hilt, stretching me so hard my scream cracks against his mouth.
The wall shudders. My head bangs back. My legs lock around his waist on instinct, clinging to him even as he pounds into me like he’s trying to break me in two.
“Fuck—” his voice is ragged, animal, breath burning against my throat. “This pussy’s mine, Butterfly. Always was. Always will be.”
My nails tear down his back, desperate, delirious. Each thrust drives me higher, harder, into a place I shouldn’t be reaching with wedding music bleeding faintly through the walls.
“Say it louder,” he grits, hips slamming, the slap of skin echoing obscene. “Say who you belong to when you’re screaming like this.”
“You—” my voice shatters, half sob, half moan. “Fuck, Dax, you.”
“That’s right.” His hand fists my hair, yanking my head back so I have to look at him. Blue eyes gone feral. Jaw clenched. Sweat dripping. “Every time you cum, you’ll remember it’s only ever been me.”
And then he fucks me harder. Brutal. Relentless. Each thrust a brand, each grind of his hips staking a claim so deep I’ll never wash him out.
I come apart around him, body convulsing, walls clenching so tight he growls like an animal against my ear.
“Good fucking girl,” he rasps, voice dark and ruined. “Now take it. Take every drop like you’re made for me.”
When he spills into me, it’s not quiet. It’s a violent groan, a vow, his cock pulsing deep while his hand stays locked in my hair like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he lets go.
The world outside keeps celebrating. The music swells, the laughter echoes, the lights spill golden through the stained-glass windows.
But in here?
It’s war.
It’s ruin.
It’s him.
And I let him.
We slip back through the side door, my dress clinging, hair ruined, his hand still welded to mine like he doesn’t trust me not to vanish the second he loosens his grip. The room spins with colour and sound, and before I can even gather breath—Lola crashes straight into us.
“Holy shit,” she laughs, flinging her arms around both our shoulders and squeezing until my ribs ache. “I was about to send a search party. You two look like—” she pulls back, eyes flicking over us, lips curling, “—yeah, no, I don’t even need to say it.”
Dax smirks, still breathless, the bastard. “Guess subtle’s never been my style.”
“Subtle?” Lola snorts. “You two disappeared in the middle of my first dance as a married woman. Half the room is taking bets on whether the kitchen table survived.”
My cheeks flame. “Lola—”
“Don’t you Lola me,” she grins, tugging us both back into a softer hug this time, her voice dipping low. “God, I’m going to miss you.”
I freeze. My stomach plunges.
She didn’t say us.
She said him.
I pull away, searching her face. “Wait—what? What do you mean?”
Lola’s smile fractures. She turns sharply, pinning Dax with a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “You didn’t fucking tell her, did you?”
The air detonates. Heavy. Sudden. Loaded.
“Lola,” I press, my voice cracking. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Lola doesn’t look at me. Not once. Her entire fury is locked on him, her hand stabbing at his chest with the precision of a blade.
“You had one job, Dax. One. Fucking. Job.”
“Not here.” His voice is steel—low, warning.
“Not here?” Lola fires back. “When then? When she’s blindsided? When it’s too late to even—”
“Lola.” His tone drops darker, but she barrels straight through it.
“You think you’re protecting her? You think keeping her in the dark is some noble sacrifice? No. You’re doing what you always do—shutting down, locking up, and dragging everyone else into your wreckage with you.”
My pulse spikes. “Stop it. Stop talking around me like I’m not standing right here!”
Neither of them turns. Neither flinches.
Lola’s eyes blaze. “She deserves the truth.”
“And she’ll get it—” His jaw ticks. “When it’s time.”
“Time?” she snaps. “Jesus, Dax, there is no time. That’s the fucking point.”
“Enough.” His voice cracks like a whip.
My chest twists. “No. Not enough. I’m done standing here while you two spit poison around me. One of you better tell me exactly what’s going on, right now.”
Finally—finally—they both look at me.
Two sets of eyes.
Two different flavours of guilt.
Lola folds first. Her shoulders sag, her mouth trembling as she steps closer. “Cass…”
I shake my head, stepping back. “Don’t—don’t you dare pity me.”
She pulls me into a crushing hug anyway, whispering hot and broken against my ear, “I’m so sorry.”
Before I can grab her, before I can demand anything—She lets go.
Turns.
Walks away.
My chest heaves as Lola’s heels disappear into the noise of the wedding. My hands are shaking. My pulse is a drumbeat in my skull.
I whirl on Dax so hard my dress nearly tears. “What the fuck was that?!”
He stands rigid in the shadows, jaw iron, fists flexing at his sides. “Cass—”
“No.” I jab his chest hard enough he has to step back. “Don’t Cass me. You don’t get to do that. Not after she just said—whatever the hell she just said. You’re hiding something. Again.”
His eyes flick away.
That’s all it takes.
My stomach drops.
“Oh my God.” My voice shatters. “It’s bad, isn’t it? It’s something you don’t think I can handle, so you’re going to ghost me again? Just rip yourself out of my life and let me burn alone?”
“Stop.” His voice is sharp, but there’s no heat in it. Just exhaustion.