Chapter 62
sixty-two
Liana
I don’t know what wakes me at first.
It isn’t loud. It isn’t sudden. It’s… a shift.
A change in the air, like something has entered the space that wasn’t there before, something that pulls me up from sleep before my mind even catches up to it.
I lie there for a second, still half-wrapped in warmth, Zach’s arm heavy over my waist, Jackson close behind me, their breathing steady, grounding.
Then I hear it. Soft. Careful. The sound of the front door closing. My heart stutters.
Elijah.
I don’t think. I just move. Slowly, carefully, slipping out from between them, easing Zach’s arm off me, shifting so I don’t wake either of them. The floor is cool under my feet as I step into the hallway, my body already alert, already pulling toward him.
I see him just as he passes the bedroom.
And I stop. Everything in me stills.
Because he’s covered in it.
Dirt.
Blood.
Not just a smear, not just a mark, enough that it clings to him, to his shirt, to his skin, enough that my chest tightens before I even fully process it.
And then I see his arm and the blood there. Fresh.
“Elijah—”
I’m moving before the words even finish leaving me, crossing the space between us in seconds.
“You’re hurt.”
The words come out breathless, sharp with something close to panic as I reach for him.
He doesn’t let me get far.
His hand comes out, catching me, pulling me into him in one solid movement, like he needs it, like he can’t not.
And then he buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply, like my scent is the only thing grounding him.
“It’s just a graze,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rougher than usual, lower, like it’s been dragged through everything he just walked out of. “I’m okay.”
I can feel it.
The tension in him. It hasn’t left him. Not even close.
“Let me look at it,” I say softly, pulling back just enough to see him, my hands already moving toward his arm.
“I’m fine, Lia,” he says, but it’s quieter now, more strained. “I just… need to hold you.”
The words land differently. Not dismissive. Not avoiding. Just… honest. I soften.
Let myself sink into him for a moment, my arms wrapping around him, feeling the way his body is still tight, still coiled, like everything he just walked through is still sitting just beneath the surface.
He doesn’t relax. Not fully. I feel it.
So I pull back again, just enough to look at him.
“What do you need?” I ask softly.
His gaze locks onto mine and for a second, he just looks at me. Like he’s trying to decide something. Or maybe like something in him is already decided and he’s just catching up to it.
“You,” he says.
The word is quiet.
But it lands heavy.
I smile, soft, grounding, my hands coming up to cup his face, brushing away a streak of dirt, of blood, of everything he’s just been through.
“I’m right here,” I whisper.
A beat.
Then, softer...
“Take me.”
Something in him breaks. I feel it. See it. The shift is immediate.
His hands slide under my thighs without hesitation, lifting me clean off the ground, my body rising with him as I wrap around him instinctively, my arms coming around his neck.
I kiss him first.
Soft, then deeper. Because I know what this is. I know what he needs. This isn’t gentle. This isn’t slow. This is release. This is him trying to come back from everything he just stepped into.
He moves with me, carrying me with ease, pressing me back against the wall, his body following immediately, caging me in, grounding me, claiming space around me like it belongs to him.
His mouth crashes into mine.
Not hesitant.
Not careful.
Hungry.
Consuming.
Like he’s trying to take everything at once, like he needs to feel me, taste me, anchor himself in me in a way that nothing else can.
I meet him there. Match him. Because I’ve missed this. God, I’ve missed this. The intensity. The weight of him. The way he takes. The way he doesn’t hold back.
My fingers curl into his shoulders as I kiss him back just as hard, just as deep, my breath catching as his grip tightens on me, holding me firmly against him.
“There you are,” I whisper against his mouth. “There’s the man I married.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes.
His jaw tightens.
A low, rough sound pulls from him, half breath, half growl, as his grip tightens further, his hand pressing into my thigh, anchoring me harder against the wall.
“I love you, wife,” he says, the words rough, almost breaking under the weight of everything in them. And then he pins me there. Fully.
His body pressing into mine, holding me in place, leaving no space between us as everything shifts, everything tightens, everything builds.
The tension. The need. The release he’s been holding back finally starting to snap. And I feel it, the moment it tips. The moment it turns into something else entirely.
His mouth crashes into mine again, harder this time, teeth nipping at my lower lip as he growls low in his throat.
The sound vibrates through my chest, raw and desperate, like every demon he’s been carrying tonight is clawing its way out through this kiss.
He doesn’t ask. He takes. His tongue plunges deep, claiming every inch of my mouth while his hands grip my thighs so tightly I know I’ll wear his fingerprints tomorrow.
He spins us so my back hits the hallway wall with a solid thud, the impact knocking the breath from me in the best way. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he pins me there, his body a wall of heat and muscle caging me in.
One hand stays under my ass, holding me up like I weigh nothing, the other yanks my sleep shirt up and over my head in one rough motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. He doesn’t bother with my underwear, just shoves them aside, fingers hooking the fabric out of the way as he frees himself.
His cock is thick, heavy, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He fists it once, eyes wild and locked on mine, then lines up and slams into me in one brutal thrust.
I scream.
The stretch is sudden, burning, perfect.
He bottoms out so deep I feel him in my stomach, his hips flush against mine, the coarse hair at his base grinding against my clit.
The hallway echoes with the wet slap of skin on skin as he starts to fuck me right there against the wall, hard, deep, relentless strokes that make the picture frames rattle.
“Elijah... fuck! Yes!” I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, heels digging into his back.
He snarls, actually snarls, hips snapping faster, the wet, filthy sound of his cock driving into my soaked pussy filling the hallway. “That’s it, wife. Take it. Take every fucking inch while I fuck the fear out of both of us.”
He knows Zach and Jackson can hear us. I know they can. The thought only makes me wetter, makes me clench harder around him. He feels it and groans, low and broken, pounding into me like he’s trying to exorcise every nightmare through my body.
“You’re sacred,” he pants against my mouth, voice wrecked. “My altar. I’m fucking my sins away with you, every second I thought you were gone, every drop of blood I just washed off my hands. You’re alive. You’re mine. You’re carrying my baby and still letting me ruin you like this.”
His free hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit and rubbing fast, merciless circles. The pressure builds like wildfire. My walls flutter and clench around his thick cock, the wet sounds growing louder, messier, as I grow even slicker for him.
“Come for me,” he growls against my ear, teeth grazing my neck. “Come on my cock right here in the hallway where they can hear how loud I make my wife scream.”
The orgasm rips through me like lightning.
I scream his name, back arching hard against the wall, pussy clamping down so violently around him that my vision whites out.
Waves of pleasure crash through me, my walls pulsing and milking his cock as hot slickness floods around him.
He fucks me through every spasm, hips never slowing, drawing it out until I’m sobbing, shaking, legs trembling around his waist.
Only then does he pull out, still hard, still throbbing, and lift me off the wall like I’m something precious and breakable at the same time.
He carries me down the hall, kicking open the spare room door with his foot.
The room is dark, the bed untouched. He drops me onto it face-down, yanks my hips up so I’m on my knees, and slams back into me in one brutal thrust.
Deeper.
Harder.
He grips my hips with bruising force and fucks me relentlessly, the bed creaking, the headboard slamming against the wall with every punishing stroke. The angle lets him hit that spot inside me that makes me see stars, his balls slapping loudly against my clit with every thrust.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, voice raw. “Ass up, taking my cock like the perfect little altar you are. I’m going to fuck every last demon out of me until you’re dripping with me.”
He spanks me once, sharp and hot, then again, the sting blooming into pleasure as he drives deeper.
I cry out, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust. The intensity is almost too much, my body feels like it’s going to shatter, like I won’t survive the way he’s claiming me, but I want it.
I need it. I feel alive, completely his, sacred and ruined all at once.
He reaches around, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing fast and firm. “Come again. Come for me, wife. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m still buried so deep.”
The second orgasm crashes over me even harder.
I scream into the mattress, walls clamping down around his cock as I shake and squirt, hot wetness soaking his thighs and the sheets.
He fucks me through it, hips never faltering, growling like a man possessed until the last tremor leaves me limp and sobbing.
Then he flips me onto my back.
He spreads my thighs wide, hooks my legs over his shoulders, and slides back in slow and deep, intimate now, eyes locked on mine.
The pace shifts. Still hard, still claiming, but deeper, more deliberate, like he’s pouring every ounce of love and fear and reverence into every thrust. His forehead presses to mine, breath mingling, one hand sliding down to rest protectively over the small swell of my belly.
“I love you,” he whispers, voice cracking. “My angel. My everything. I almost lost you and I’m never letting go.”
The intimacy breaks something open in both of us. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, meeting every deep stroke with my own hips. The pleasure builds slow and devastating this time, coiling tighter until we’re both trembling.
“Come with me,” he rasps against my lips. “Come with me, wife.”
We shatter together.
I cry out his name as my walls clamp down around him again, pulsing and milking every thick spurt of his release.
He groans long and broken, burying himself to the hilt as he floods me, hot, thick pulses filling me completely, claiming me from the inside out.
His body shakes with the force of it, hips grinding deep like he’s trying to fuse us together.
We stay locked like that for long moments, panting, trembling, sweat-slick and breathing the same air.
Then the brutality bleeds away into something softer.
Elijah collapses over me, careful even now not to crush my healing side or my belly.
He rolls us so I’m tucked against his chest, his arms wrapping around me like iron bands.
His hand slides down, palm spreading wide and protective over the small swell of my stomach, thumb stroking slow circles there.
“My angel,” he whispers, voice hoarse and cracking with everything he’s finally letting go of. “My beautiful, perfect angel. I love you. God, I love you so much.”
He presses soft, reverent kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, gentle now, almost worshipful, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he’s not careful. I feel the last of his tension finally bleed out of him, his body going heavy and lax in my arms.
I stroke his hair, his back, letting my fingers trace slow, soothing patterns over his skin. “I’ve got you,” I murmur against his temple. “You’re home. You’re safe. Rest now.”
He nuzzles into my neck, breath warm against my skin, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets himself truly relax. His hand stays protectively over my belly, thumb still stroking that gentle curve as his breathing evens out into deep, steady sleep.
I hold him close, feeling the weight of this powerful, terrifying man completely surrendered in my arms. This is the part no one else sees, the fragility he only ever shows me. The vulnerability he trusts me with. It’s sacred. It’s everything.
Tears slip silently down my cheeks as I press a kiss to the top of his head.
“I love you,” I whisper into his hair. “So much.”
His breathing deepens, slow and steady, and I follow him down into sleep, wrapped around the man who holds the world together for everyone else… and lets himself fall apart only for me.