Chapter 12
North
I’m fucking exhausted.
My whole body aches. Every cell screams for a bed. For silence and peace.
The gate closes behind me as I kill the engine. Lights are off, and the house’s quiet. Not a sound but the tick of the engine cooling down. I shove open the door and slip inside, trying not to wake her. My boots hit the floor soft, careful. Until I stop.
A sound, no, a moan. Soft and breathless. It’s barely a whisper but it shreds through me like a bullet. My whole body stills. I know that sound, and it ain’t pain. It’s fucking pleasure.
I stalk down the hallway, rage already coiling. If someone touched her, if anyone got in this house, if someone laid a finger on her, I’ll paint the goddamn walls red.
But when I reach the bedroom and see her framed by the soft silver light of the full moon slipping through the curtains I freeze.
She’s alone. Her back arches. Her legs parted.
One hand buried between her thighs, the other gripping the sheets like she’s drowning in the feel of her own touch.
My heart stops. She’s riding her fingers in slow, trembling strokes, her breath catching, her lips parted, and then she moans again. My name.
Fucking hell.
I grip the doorframe, hard enough my knuckles go white. My cock’s hard in an instant, throbbing. She says it again, a breathless whisper that nearly brings me to my knees. She’s never said my name before.
Not like that.
And every part of me wants to charge in. Replace her fingers with mine. With my mouth. My dick. Brand her until she knows who she belongs to.
But I don’t.
I watch. She’s beautiful, fragile and burning.
Her chest heaves. Her brows draw together.
Her lips tremble. She’s close. And when she comes, her whole body shakes with soft gasps, and toes curling.
I swallow the growl that rips through my throat and bite down the smirk curling at the edge of my lips.
Because damn... She just gave me the hottest goddamn show of my life and she doesn’t even know it.
“That’s my side of the bed,” I mutter in a low voice as I step into the doorway.
She hums, like she’s dreaming. Soft, sweet and innocent. Like she doesn’t know she just fucking wrecked me.
Then her eyes open, and the second they lock on mine, she bolts upright.
“Shit,” she squeaks, dragging the blanket over her legs like I haven’t already seen everything. “When did you get home?”
I smirk, not bothering to hide it. “Now.”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours. Her cheeks flush, and she scoots fast to the other side of the bed like I might bite. Which is ironic considering what she was just doing with those fingers. And damn if I don’t feel the ghost of it, her moans still rattling in my skull.
I close the distance slowly. Her eyes dart, body tense. Ready to bolt or disappear and yet, she stays.
I reach out and grab her wrist.
She freezes.
I bring her hand to my mouth, and taste. Her flavor hits my tongue like sin and salvation in one breath.
Fuck.
She gasps. But I’m the one who growls, deep, involuntary. That sound that rips out when something sacred brushes your teeth and dares to whisper mine.
Her lashes flutter like she’s ashamed, and she tries to tug her hand away, but I don’t let her.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I murmur.
She shakes her head, stammering, “I didn’t know… I mean, I thought you—”
“What?” I cut her off. “That I didn’t want you?”
She doesn’t answer but her silence screams everything she’s ever been taught about being wanted.
I breathe hard through my nose, chest rising like a war drum. My ribs fucking ache, my head’s pounding, and still, I can’t stop looking at her.
At the way she’s trying to shrink herself again.
At the way she can’t meet my eyes.
“Nyxa,” my voice edges in steel. “Don’t ever be ashamed of needing something good, of wanting to feel good.”
Her lips part, like she wants to argue, but I lean closer. Not touching. Just breathing the same air.
“I should’ve knocked,” I murmur with a smirk.
“You should’ve,” she whispers back.
In my fucking home. Funny, ain’t it?
Silence stretches between us like a wire pulled too tight.
Then I do the only thing that feels right. I let go of her hand. Step back. Run a palm down my face to shake off the fire crawling up my skin and climb in beside her.
No touching. No pressing. Just heat.
She keeps her hands to herself. I keep my thoughts locked down tight. But every nerve I’ve got is alive and burning.
I close my eyes and swear to every god that’s ever existed. One day, when she’s ready…
I’ll have her moaning my name for real, and this time, I won’t be standing at the damn door watching.
“I—” she starts to say something.
“Shh.” I pull her closer without thinking. My body sighs when she settles against me, but I wince as her hand presses into my chest. My cut’s still on and of course she feels it.
She sits up suddenly, switches on the light. Her eyes go wide.
“What the hell happened?” she gasps, taking in the mess I am.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” I mutter.
She lowers her eyes. Just like that.
It’s been days since I’ve seen her do that. And fuck if it doesn’t slice me open. “Hey,” I breathe out, rubbing a hand down my face. “There was an accident. Nothing serious. I’m okay.”
She doesn’t speak. Just hops off the bed and helps me kick off my boots.
I sit up and she reaches for my cut.
“Careful,” I mutter.
“I know.” She folds it like it’s made of gold and places it on the armchair.
Next comes the T-shirt. I help her peel it off. When the bandage around my ribs is exposed, she visibly shakes.
I pull her in. “This happens sometimes. I’m fine, and I’m home.”
She blinks away tears, nods, and starts working on my jeans. Her fingers go for the buckle.
“I can handle it,” I say, voice a little too rough.
She raises an eyebrow, deadpan. “I won’t take advantage of you, big boy.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, and fuck, that hurts. I help her with the rest, gritting my teeth. She doesn’t look until the very last second, and then her eyes stop on my bulge.
I clear my throat, breaking the spell. “Come back to bed. We both need sleep.” I switch off the light and lean down biting down a curse.
She hesitates, but when she moves closer, her hand brushes against my hard-on and my whole body locks up.
“You can do whatever you want,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. “But you don’t have to work.”
She holds her breath. “Why have you never touched me?” Her voice is so small I almost don’t catch it. But the question lands like a fucking brick to the chest. “It’s because of what I am, isn’t it?”
I try to move, but the pain lances through my side. Fuck. The painkillers haven’t kicked in yet. “Don’t say bullshit like that.”
She swallows. “Then why? Because I’m not slim?”
My head snaps toward her. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“I just thought maybe…”
“I like my women with curves,” I growl. “I want to suffocate when they ride my face.”
Her mouth parts, then she whispers, “Then why?”
I inhale sharply, forcing myself to be honest.
“Love is not something I can give you,” I say in a voice low and coarse. “Protection, mark it done. Make you come like no one else in their fucking life has done? You can bet your sweet ass, Firefly. But love is not something in my book.”
“Love is overrated, North. I don’t even know if that exists.” She shifts, gaze unreadable. “Why Firefly?”
Because you’re petite but lights up my whole fucking world. “Dunno. It’s the first thing that came out.”
I watch her, jaw tight. The space between us feels heavy.
“Why do you want to work?” I ask, changing the topic before I lose whatever control I have left.
“Because I can’t live on your money. I want to be useful. I don’t care what chore you want me to handle here, I can do it. Or, if you allow me, I can find a job somewhere else.”
I chuckle under my breath. The woman’s stubborn. “I’ll think about what I need in the hood,” I say. “But what would you like to do?”
She looks away for a beat. Then back at me. “Something that makes me feel like I belong.”
That…hits.
I nod slowly and I fix my eyes on her again. “We need to talk, Nyxa. I want to know what happened in your life to make you end up with that fucker and why you allowed him to take over your life.”
She freezes. Her hands bunch the sheet. “Now?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I say, softer this time. “But I need to know, Nyxa. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
She sits and takes a deep breath.
“The night before I met him, I scrubbed the floors until my knees bled in the diner after I turned the owner off.
Myka was a customer at the time; came in twice a day, sometimes more.
Seemed like a good guy. He punched the owner when he realized what was happening.
Two days later he was high, calling me 'baby' between rants about loyalty and how I should be grateful he gave me a place to sleep. I nodded, smiled, bit my tongue until I tasted blood. That’s what being invisible tastes like: copper and shame. He took my wallet with all my documents and burned it.”
I clench my jaw, and curl my fists without even realizing it.
She stares ahead, voice thin. “I used to think the world owed me something. A soft place to land. A family that didn’t trade bruises for bedtime.
A stage, a song, a spotlight that felt warm instead of searing.
Then I just hoped no one would touch me.
” Her voice breaks and my throat tightens.
“Myka’s hands were all grab and take. Slurred words.
Promises that were actually threats. Like I was a dog on a leash.
And maybe I was trained well, kept high just enough to stay.
At the beginning it was for fun, he said.
But when it ran out, I needed more. And of course, he was the only one who had it. ”
My stomach turns.
“Why do you flinch? Did he ever hit you?” I know he did. But I need her to say it.
She nods. “For fun, or when he was bored. I couldn’t sleep in his bed, not always. I used to sleep on the floor or a chair.”
My hands shake. I don’t turn on the light. She needs to speak without feeling like she’s under a spotlight.
“He always said I was too chubby and needed to lose weight.”
“That why you skip meals?”
“How’d you know?”
“I’m not a kid, Nyxa. I saw the difference between our portions.”
“That’s why you always make me go grab another beer so you can fill my plate?”
I can’t help but chuckle. She noticed.
“If I was good, he’d give me food. If I behaved, or if he didn’t feel like it, he’d cut my rations.” She sighs. “It wasn’t that bad once I got used to it. But when he gave me the pills, it got worse.”
“Fucking bastard.”
Her voice shudders. “You saved me, North. No one ever cared. I think no one even knew what he was doing.”
My voice drops to a growl. “No. Bullet had no idea. But he will eventually.” And when he does, there won’t be a hole deep enough for Myka to crawl into.
Her voice trembles. Her words cut. And I just listen.
I let every fucking piece of her pain settle in my bones like shrapnel.
I hold it all, because someone should have long before I came along, and when she finishes, her body starts to curl into itself like she’s waiting for rejection.
Instead, I reach for her. She inches closer, heart in her throat, I can feel it in the tremble of her limbs, in the way her breath halts halfway up her chest. She’s nervous.
I should stop. I should give her the space to breathe, to pull away but when her eyes meet mine, there’s no fear. Just fire and want.
I thread my fingers through the back of her hair and pull her in, crashing my mouth to hers like I’ve been starving for her because I have. This isn’t a kiss. It’s a fucking reckoning. A claim carved in hunger and need, in every sleepless night I’ve spent trying to hold myself back.
And she gives in like I’m the first breath after drowning.
Her lips part, soft and gasping. Her hands cling to my shoulders like I’m the only steady thing left in the world. Every sound she makes rips right through me. I take it all, her moans, her sighs, the way her thighs tremble as I pull her onto my lap.
Then I feel her: bare, hot, and slick.
No fucking barrier.
My cock throbs so hard I nearly lose it right here. She bites her lip, blushing and bold all at once. I roll my hips once, slow, dragging the thick ridge of my cock against her soaked heat. Her body jolts, a gasp hitching in her throat, and it feeds the monster inside me.
“This,” I growl, cupping the back of her neck, “is your doing. All of it.” I drag my mouth over hers. “And you’re fucking perfect, Nyxa. Don’t let anyone, or yourself, say otherwise.”
A tear slips down her cheek and hits my skin like fire. She leans back, never breaking eye contact, and slowly peels my shirt off her frame. One inch at a time.
My breath stalls in my lungs.
Fuck, Firefly.
Her skin glows in the moonlight. Soft curves, a body shaped by scars and survival. She’s fucking art, and she has no idea.
I sit up, ignoring the pain screaming through my torso, and press my mouth to her sternum. Then her ribs. Then each faint scar that’s ever told a story no one listened to.
She shivers.
“North…” she breathes, and her voice breaks on my name.
I grip her hips, lining myself at her entrance, and pause because this moment is more than just want. It’s trust and power. It’s hers to give.
And when she nods, small, brave, trembling, I press inside her.
Slow.
Deep.
Her breath catches and her nails dig into my shoulders as her body stretches around me, taking me inch by inch until I’m fully seated inside her.
Her head falls forward against mine, clutches me like I’m her anchor but I’m the one fucking drowning.
I hold still, trembling with restraint.
“Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare,” she whispers back, tears still wet on her lashes. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
So I move.
And we find each other in the rhythm, her breath syncing with mine, her body arching, matching, meeting every thrust like she’s meant to be here. With me.
We don’t fuck.
We heal.
We burn down every lie that told us we were broken.
And as her body tightens around me, her moans spilling like confessions, my heart threatens to tear wide open.
Because for the first time in my life… I want everything.
Her. This. Us.
And when we fall, together, shaking, clinging, undone, it isn’t just her that comes apart.
I do too.
Right into her hands.