Chapter 14 Claim This
FOURTEEN
CLAIM THIS
LARK
I barely make it to the table before Knight’s hand closes around my wrist.
Not hard.
Not rough.
But sure.
“Hey,” I start, half turning, ready with some smart remark about Helios and feelings and productivity hacks.
He doesn’t give me the chance.
He tugs—not enough to jerk, just enough to spin me back toward him, momentum sending me straight into his chest.
My hands splay against the front of his shirt.
His eyes are darker than they were thirty seconds ago.
“Knight?” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “We’re not… we’re not pretending we’re focused on packet logs right now, Birdie.”
My heart stutters.
He’s close enough that I can see the tiny golden ring around his pupils, the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his mouth is already a little parted like he’s halfway between words and kiss.
“I mean, we could multitask,” I manage. “Solve crime, make out, very efficient—”
He kisses me before I can finish the sentence.
It’s not tentative this time.
It’s not even careful.
It’s like he’s been bracing against a tide and finally lets go.
His mouth crashes into mine, and the whole world narrows to heat and pressure and the way my knees threaten to give out. One hand slides up my spine, fingers spanning the back of my neck, keeping me there. The other finds my hip, anchoring me against him.
I make a sound in the back of my throat that is not dignified and also completely out of my control.
He swallows it like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.
My fingers bunch in his shirt, pulling him closer when there’s nowhere left to go.
His chest is solid under my palms, warm and absolutely, infuriatingly real.
The kiss deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, and I open for him without thinking, greedier than I should be, hungrier than I want to admit.
All the tension of the last few days—fear and adrenaline and unsaid want—funnels into this.
Into us.
Into the way he kisses me like he’s memorizing me cell by cell.
He breaks away only when breathing becomes non-optional, resting his forehead against mine, both of us panting.
His hand is still locked on my hip.
“I keep telling myself we should wait,” he says quietly.
“For what?” I whisper, lips tingling.
He gives a short, broken laugh. “For… a lot of things. For the bounty to be gone. For Helios to be a non-issue. For us not to be hiding in a forest with a murder spreadsheet on the table.”
I search his face in the dim light. “And?” I ask.
“And I keep looking at you,” he says, thumb rubbing slow circles at my waist, “and there’s a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like yours saying you don’t know how much time you get, so maybe stop pretending you do.”
My throat tightens. “That voice sounds annoyingly wise,” I manage.
“It’s insufferable,” he agrees. He draws back just enough to really look at me. His gaze roams my face, like he’s scanning for hesitation, for regret, for any sign that he should step back and go back to being the responsible one.
I don’t give him any.
I can feel the want written all over me.
The trust, too.
“Lark,” he says, voice serious now, one notch deeper, “if we do this… there’s no pretending it didn’t happen later. No ‘oops, bunker brain.’ No ‘it was just stress.’ This is not casual for me. Not something I can toss back in a drawer when we get home.”
My heart hits the back of my ribs. “Good,” I say, surprising both of us with how steady it sounds. “Because I don’t want it to be casual. I don’t…” I swallow, forcing the words out. “I don’t sleep with people who feel temporary. I’ve spent enough of my life feeling like that.”
His jaw flexes. Something fierce flashes behind his eyes. “I’m not temporary,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I say. “That’s why I’m… here.”
His fingers tighten just a fraction. “Are you sure?” he asks. “About this. About me. About right now.”
There’s no teasing in it.
No ego.
Just a man who’s spent his life fixing other people’s broken code and doesn’t want to accidentally break me.
I take a breath. “Do I want you?” I say. “Yes. Have I thought about this for longer than is reasonable? Also yes. Am I scared? Kind of. Am I going to let that stop me?” I step closer, pressing my body fully against his, leaving no space for doubt. “No,” I whisper. “I’m not.”
Something in his expression breaks.
In a good way.
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for weeks and finally got the all-clear. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Yeah. Okay.”
He kisses me again, and this time there’s no question in it.
His hand finds mine, fingers weaving, and without breaking the kiss he walks me backward, guiding, careful not to let me trip.
My heels bump the rug, the doorway, the narrow hall wall.
We fumble and laugh into each other’s mouths, breathless and clumsy and so damn alive.
He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us with a quiet thud.
The sound echoes in my chest like a seal on something I can’t name.
He backs me toward the bed, slowing at the last second so my knees hit the mattress gently. I sink down, pulling him with me, and we topple together in a tangle of limbs and covers.
He catches most of his weight on his arms, braced above me, giving me space, not pinning, not trapping. “How’s your anxiety level now?” he asks, voice rough, eyes searching mine.
“Somewhere between meltdown and transcendence,” I say. “It’s weird, I kind of like it.”
His mouth kicks up at the corner. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You adore me,” I remind him, breathless.
He drops his head, nuzzling my nose with his. “Yeah,” he says against my mouth. “I really, really do.” Then he kisses me like he’s claiming the words.
Like he’s claiming me.
His mouth is hot and sure, every brush of his lips a careful, thorough exploration. His hands settle at my waist again, fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt just enough to touch skin.
I shiver.
His palms are warm, calloused from too many keyboards and too many late nights with other people’s code. They glide up my sides, slow and reverent, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. He pauses at the line of my ribs, as if asking another silent question.
I answer by arching into his touch, my own hands skimming under the back of his shirt, fingers splaying over the flex of his muscles.
He makes a low sound in his chest, half groan, half something softer that hits me straight in the center.
We move together, the kiss deepening, our bodies adjusting almost automatically—finding angles, fitting closer, layers of barrier turning into annoyances.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me.
The lamplight from the hallway spills in under the door, painting him in soft gold and shadow.
“You’re sure?” he asks again, like he can’t stop verifying, like I might glitch any second and disappear.
I cup his face, thumbs brushing the edge of his jaw. “I’m sure,” I say. “Knight, I chose this. I’m choosing you. I want you to choose me back.”
His breath shudders out. “I already did,” he says. “I just… didn’t know if I was allowed to keep you.”
That’s it.
That’s the sentence that pushes me all the way over the edge.
“Idiot,” I whisper, kissing the word into his mouth. “You’re stuck with me.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my lips, and then there’s no more talking for a while.
Clothes become… negotiable.
Not in a frantic ripping way, but in a slow, deliberate unwrapping. Every inch of exposed skin feels monumental, like a reveal in a game I’ve been playing blind for years.
His hands are patient, careful, always giving me time to stop, to breathe, to change my mind. Every time I don’t—every time I pull him closer instead—I feel the last of his restraint unravel.
He touches me like I’m something he’s wanted for a long time and never thought he’d get to keep. Like he’s memorizing textures and sounds for safekeeping.
I touch him back with the same hunger.
He grips his dick, stroking it as he brings it closer. “You want this?”
I want to tell him desperately. That I’ve wanted him like this for so long it hurts. Instead, I smile. “Yes, please,” I beg.
He fists his dick, pushing it at my entrance. I hiss as he pushes deeper inside me.
The world shrinks to the press of him, the heat of him above me, the way we fit together without any room left for fear between us.
He murmurs my name against my skin like a prayer he doesn’t believe in.
I say his like a promise I absolutely do.
Time fractures.
There’s only this:
His breath, ragged in my ear.
My fingers pressing into his shoulders.
The way he says tell me if anything feels wrong even when everything feels impossibly, terrifyingly right.
We cross that last threshold together, not with dramatics or high drama, but with a shared, shaky exhale and a whispered yes that echoes between us like an oath.
He’s careful.
So careful it makes my chest ache.
Every movement is a question, every shift calibrated around my responses. When my body tenses, he slows. When I pull him closer, he answers with a low sound that makes the edges of my vision spark.
I’ve never felt so… seen.
Not as an idea. Not as a crush. Not as someone’s little sister.
As me.
As Lark, messy and stubborn and scared and wanting too much.
He gives me more anyway.
At some point I realize I’m shaking—not from fear, but from the sheer force of everything hitting me at once. The danger outside. The man inside. The way my heart is beating so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
He buries his face in my neck, breath hot against my skin. “Lark,” he groans, like my name is the only thing holding him together.
I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulder blades, not to hurt but to anchor. “I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”
We find a rhythm that’s all ours.
Messy and tangled and a little desperate.
Beautiful in its imperfection.
When it finally crests—when everything snaps white and bright and too much—I feel like I’m being rewired from the inside out. Like the entire world narrows to the point where we’re joined, to the sound of his voice in my ear, to the way he holds me like breaking apart around me is not an option.
I come back to myself slowly, heartbeat roaring in my ears, chest heaving.
Knight is still above me, weight braced, forehead pressed to mine, eyes squeezed shut like he’s praying to something that might be listening.
His breath is a stuttered mess.
“Hey,” I whisper, lifting a shaky hand to brush damp hair off his forehead. “You okay?”
His eyes open.
They’re blown wide and weirdly soft.
“I am now,” he says, voice rough. “You?”
“Currently experiencing a full system reboot,” I say. “Ten out of ten. No notes.”
He huffs out a breath that might be a laugh or a sob. It sounds like both.
He kisses me again, softer this time, almost reverent. He rushes to clean up and dispose of the condom, and then he’s back in bed before I can even miss him.
He rolls us carefully so I’m half on top of him, using his shoulder as a pillow, one arm wrapping around my back like he has no intention of ever letting go.
I tuck myself into the curve of him, still breathing him in, still half dazed.
The world outside the cabin is unchanged.
We’re still on a list.
Helios is still out there.
Dean and Arrow and the others are still tearing apart digital empires to make sure we get to always instead of maybe.
But in here, in this cramped little bedroom with the sheets twisted around our legs and his pulse steady under my palm, something absolutely did change.
We jumped.
And instead of falling alone, we crashed into each other.
“Knight?” I murmur after a while, my voice slow and sleepy.
“Yeah?” His fingers are tracing idle patterns on my spine, half-conscious.
“You realize there’s no going back from this, right?”
His hand pauses. Then keeps moving, slower. “Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t want to go back.”
I smile into his chest.
My body is tired in the best way.
My anxiety, for once, is a quiet, distant hum instead of a scream.
“I love you, you know,” I say, the words easier now, sliding out on a sigh.
He tightens his arm around me, lips brushing my hair.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m… getting there. Saying it out loud. For now, you’re going to have to settle for ‘I’m not letting anyone take you from me.’”
I close my eyes, letting those words sink all the way down. “That works for me,” I whisper.
Outside, the wind moves through the trees.
Somewhere beyond that, a network of monsters thinks it’s hunting us.
They’re wrong.
Because for the first time since this started, I feel like we’re not just dodging blows.
We’re building something worth fighting for.
And Knight Hayes?
He just claimed me.
Turns out, I really like being his.