Chapter Thirteen #4
She leans in, pulling at my waistband until my cock springs free, slapping against my stomach with a sound that makes her laugh—soft, breathy, full of anticipation.
I grin, hands circling her waist as she rises to her knees. Her fingers wrap around me, her touch making me groan as she guides me between her slick folds, dragging the head against her before lining me up. Then, slowly, she sinks down, inch by inch, and we both moan at the stretch, the connection.
“Gods, Violet,” I breathe, voice rough. “Ride me.”
Her eyes are half-lidded, drunk on pleasure, lips parted as she starts to move—hips rolling, teasing, before finding a rhythm that has us both spiraling.
She bounces, controlled but hungry, every movement winding the tension tighter.
I watch her, completely wrecked by the sight of her, lost in the feel of us.
Her pace quickens, each bounce more desperate, more demanding. Her thighs slap against mine, slick skin meeting slick skin, the sound loud in the charged air between us. I can feel how wet she is, how tightly she grips me every time she takes me to the hilt.
“Fuck, Violet,” I growl, digging my fingers into her waist, guiding her movements as she rides me like she owns me.
She leans forward, hands on my chest, her breath coming fast. Sweat beads at her temple, her lips parted as she pants, moans, curses under her breath.
Every roll of her hips sends a jolt of pleasure through me, electric and overwhelming.
Her walls pulse around me, and it takes everything I have not to lose it right there.
“You feel so fucking good,” she whispers, voice broken, raw.
I sit up, chest to chest, arms wrapping around her back as I start thrusting up into her. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, her forehead dropping to mine.
“Oh my god,” she moans, her voice shaking. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”
I don’t. I give her everything—every hard, deep thrust, every ounce of hunger I’ve been holding back. She’s trembling now, close, her body starting to shake around me.
“Come for me,” I whisper against her lips. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you lose it on my cock.”
She cries out, high and sharp, her whole body tensing before she unravels in my arms—clenching, pulsing, dragging me over the edge with her. I thrust once, twice more before I break, pushing my knot inside of her, groaning her name into her mouth as I come hard, buried deep inside her.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breath and the thundering of our hearts. She collapses against me, laughing softly, her body still twitching with the aftershocks.
“You okay?” I ask, brushing the damp hair from her face.
She looks up at me, dazed and smiling. “Better than okay.”
We stayed like that for a while—her pressed against me, skin slick and hearts still racing. My hands trace slow, aimless lines across her back, grounding us both. She breathes into my neck, every exhale a little calmer than the last.
Eventually, she shifts just enough to look at me, her cheeks flushed, eyes heavy but soft.
“I can’t feel my legs,” she mumbles with a sleepy smile.
I chuckle, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She hums and settles again, her hand resting over my heart. I hold her close, not in a possessive way—... like I never want to let her go. Because I don’t.
My chest tightens, but not in a bad way. It’s that kind of ache that demands to be said aloud, even if it feels too soon or too big. I clear my throat quietly, fingers still tracing her spine.
“Violet,” I say, voice low. She tilts her head up, eyes meeting mine, still hazy but curious.
“I know it hasn’t been long. I wasn’t planning to say this—not yet—but... It’s true. I love you.”
Her lips part, but I keep going, needing her to hear it all.
“It’s not just about the way you look at me, or the way we fit like this. It’s everything. The way you laugh, the way you make the world feel less heavy. The way I can breathe easier when you’re near. You make shit make sense, even when nothing else does.”
She blinks, like she’s not sure she heard me right.
“I love you,” I repeat, softer this time, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “And I don’t care if it’s fast. I’m not going anywhere.”
She stares at me for a second, lips trembling like she’s fighting something back. Then she kisses me—deep and slow and full of feeling. Like she’s pouring all the words she can’t quite say into me instead.
When she finally pulls back, her voice is barely a whisper.
“I love you too.”
And just like that, everything settles. The heat, the rush, the fear fade into something tangible. Something solid.
I hold her tighter, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Violet
June 19th
7:42 P.M
The war room—our library turned ops center—smells like coffee, printer ink, and tension.
The fireplace crackles gently, throwing flickers of orange across the spines of old books lining the walls, but it’s not warm. Not really. Not with the storm brewing inside me.
I sit at the far end of the table, one leg tucked under me, wearing a faded black hoodie and a pair of Dare’s joggers I stole this morning.
Rolled up a hundred time to fit but I like having his scent on me.
My curls are pulled into a messy bun, and I’ve got a half-empty mug of tea cooling at my elbow. I haven’t touched it in a while.
Across from me, Fox leans forward in one of the heavy leather chairs, elbows on his knees, dressed in a plain black tee and dark jeans, a scowl fixed on his face. He’s been eerily quiet all night, eyes bouncing between the screen and the floor, like he’s waiting for something awful to drop.
Dare stands by the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle hooked over the other. He’s wearing grey sweats and a worn white tank that clings to his chest and shoulders. His eyes haven’t left Romano in over ten minutes. Tension rolls off him in waves.
Jex is perched on the edge of the table, dark cargo pants tucked into his boots, and a lightweight tactical hoodie unzipped halfway down his chest. He leans over Romano’s laptop, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. He hasn’t blinked in a while.
I’m trying not to lose it.
Romano’s typing again, fingers flying over the keyboard. His glasses are slightly crooked—he keeps pushing them up with the back of his wrist—but he’s locked in. A soft, metallic ding breaks the silence, and he leans back slowly.
“I found something,” he says.
Everyone stills.
He clicks, and a spreadsheet full of numbered accounts fills the wall monitor. I squint, leaning forward as he highlights a section—wire transfers, high-level account routing, seals I don’t recognize.
“This one right here,” Romano says, tapping the screen. “It’s not a shell company. It’s a black-budget clearance account. Department of Specialized Intelligence—Internal Ops.”
My stomach drops like I’ve been sucker-punched.
Dare’s brow furrows. “That’s government.”
Romano nods. “The same agency you three used to work for. These aren’t rogue actors. The trafficking ring was funded through them.”
I glance at Fox. He hasn’t moved. But his whole body looks like it’s holding something in—barely.
“Not just funded,” Romano adds quietly, switching to a new screen. “Managed.”
On the monitor, we see familiar names and files connected to buyers. Timestamps. Encrypted logs. But then—
“That one,” he points. “Alan Keene. Director. He authorized two separate auctions under codenames ‘Red Echo’ and ‘Subject Orion.’ And he’s not the only one.”
Silence crashes into the room like a dropped hammer.
“They’re still active,” Romano says, voice razor-sharp. “Keene’s still giving orders. Still cleaning house.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“He’s the one who detained us,” Jex murmurs, voice low and even.
I stare at the screen, the web of names, blood money, and coded silence. All this time, I thought we were dealing with shadow-market scum. Traffickers. Smugglers.
But this is deeper. It’s polished floors and glowing badges. It’s the system.
And they’re still out there.
“They’re not going to stop,” I whisper, curling my arms around my middle. “They’re going to come for us again.”
“No,” Fox growls, rising to his feet. “We’re going to come for them.”
Kingston, seated beside Fallon, nods once. “We take this slow. Clean. We expose them first. Strip away the secrecy. Show the world what they’re doing.”
“And then,” Jace adds from the other side of the room, tossing a stress ball between his hands, “we bury every last one of them.”
Dare moves to me, dropping to one knee beside my chair. His palm curls around mine, grounding. “We’re not going to let them hurt you again.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is too tight. My chest is too full. Not with fear—but fury. The slow-burning kind that waits. I squeeze his hand, hard. “We don’t wait,” I say finally. “Not this time.”
Jex meets my eyes across the table, something fierce and quiet in his gaze. “Then we start the war.”
The flames in the fireplace crack, sending shadows dancing across the map-lined walls. I can feel the energy shifting—everyone trying to process the new weight of what we’ve uncovered.
Then Fallon speaks, her voice slicing clean through the silence.
“What about the omega rights coalition?”
All eyes flick to her.
She’s leaning forward in her chair, her dark blue curls twisted up in a loose knot on top of her head, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. “There’s been a growing group pushing for federal reforms. Omega ownership laws, rights to property, marriage protections…
real change. They’re organized, and they’ve got politicians on their side.
Maybe someone inside that movement could help. ”
I blink, the idea slamming into me like a caffeine rush.
I whip around to look at her. “Fallon. You’re a goddess among mortals.”
She smirks. “Takes one to know one.”
I laugh, breathless, then lean over the arm of my chair and slap her a high five. “No, seriously—who better to take down the government than the damn government? Or at least someone on the fringe of it who wants it to change.”
The wheels are turning now, faster than before. My heart is racing, but this time with purpose.
“We find someone in that movement,” I say, straightening up, “someone who’s already fighting to change things. We vet them hard—dig in deep. If they’re clean, we reach out. We give them what we’ve got. Proof. Names. Trails.”
Fox sits up straighter beside me, eyes narrowing. “If they’re real, they’ll run with it. If not…”
“Then we just outmaneuver them like the rest,” Jex finishes.
Dare nods from across the room. “You want to burn a corrupt house down, you start by pulling out the rot from inside.”
“And now,” I grin, tapping my pen against the table like a drumroll, “we get ourselves a man on the inside.”
Fallon raises her brows, smug. “All in a day’s work.”
I glance at her, then at my pack, at the flames flickering in the fireplace behind us.
This isn’t just survival anymore. This is revolution.
And we’re done playing nice.