Chapter 7 - Reckless
I'm way out of my comfort zone.
The thought hits me hard as I sit on the edge of Nora's bed, my hand still on her shoulder, watching her believe me when I tell her she's not nothing.
This, comfort, support, actual conversation that goes deeper than fight strategy or workout routines, this isn't what I do. I break things. I fight. I exist in a world where words don't matter as much as action, where emotional support is a beer and silence with my brother.
But here I am. Giving advice. Offering reassurance. Sitting in a very closed space with a beautiful woman who's looking at me like I just handed her something precious.
And fuck, she is beautiful.
The adrenaline is wearing off now. The immediate threat is gone. The Riders are handling it, Castellano's men are scattered or captured, and we're locked in the safest room in Blackwater Falls. Which means my brain finally has space to process things that aren't tactical.
Like the way Nora's auburn hair falls around her face. The curve of her cheek. Those hazel eyes that keep finding mine in the darkness.
Like the fact that she's curvy in a way that makes my hands itch to touch her. Soft where I'm hard. Gentle where I'm broken. A piece of heaven I have no business even thinking about.
I shouldn't be paying attention to any of that.
She's still trembling. Still a ball of anxiety and fear and exhaustion. Still processing the fact that armed men tried to drag her back to a life she'd rather die than live.
The life she's been living for the past weeks is bonkers. A civilian should never be on the run like this. Should never be fueled by constant adrenaline, always looking over her shoulder, never feeling safe.
When's the last time she had a peaceful night's sleep?
I pull my hand back from her shoulder. Put distance between us before I do something stupid. Before I lean in and—
No.
I'm not going to make a move and ruin this bubble of safety we found for ourselves. She needs protection, not some damaged bastard who can't even feel pain properly trying to—what? Kiss her? Touch her? Pretend like I'm capable of being what she deserves?
Besides, why would a younger, pretty woman like Nora see anything in a guy like me?
I accepted a long time ago that I'd live and die alone.
Made peace with it. The military took whatever capacity I had for normal relationships and shredded it.
Left me with nightmares and tinnitus and a body that doesn't work right.
No woman wants to sign up for that. For waking up to me swinging at shadows.
For the nights I can't sleep because the buzzing is too loud.
For a man who makes his living getting hit in an illegal fighting ring.
I made my peace with solitude.
So why does sitting next to Nora make that peace feel like a lie?
"You're a better man than you give yourself credit for." Her voice is soft. Certain.
I can't help it. I chuckle. "You shouldn't be tricked just because I helped you, Nora. I've done evil things."
I expect her to retreat. To pull back. To realize that the man sitting on her bed isn't some knight in shining armor. Just a broken soldier who's better at violence than anything else.
Instead, she faces me fully. Those hazel eyes lock on mine.
"What things?" she asks.
Fuck.
I fumble. Actually fumble like some teenager caught lying. Because I never expected her to ask. Never expected her to push instead of accepting the warning and backing off.
"You know I was in the military," I manage. The words come out rough. "I killed people. A lot of people. Did things I can't… Things that don't wash off, no matter how much time passes."
There. That should do it. Should make her see that I'm not—
"That doesn't surprise me." She says it simply. Like I just told her I prefer coffee to tea.
I blink. "What?"
"You were fighting for your survival. For your country, your unit, whatever.
" She shifts closer. Just an inch but I feel it like a shockwave.
"Maybe years ago I would have judged you for it.
Would have thought killing was always wrong, no matter the circumstances.
But now that I'm fighting for my life? I understand that sometimes we have to do things we don't want to just to keep breathing. To stay alive."
Her hand finds mine. Small fingers tracing the scars on my knuckles.
"But I've also learned that the bad things don't define us. We're more than only that."
"I hope I can see myself in that light someday," I confess.
The words slip out before I can stop them. Raw. Honest in a way I haven't been with anyone except my brother. Nora moves closer. Her hands cover mine completely, and she's massaging my bruised knuckles with gentle pressure. Soothing.
"I'm sure you can do it," she says quietly. "You can see that you're a decent man. I see it already."
I'm looking straight at her. At those beautiful hazel eyes that are focused entirely on me. Not looking away. Not flinching from the scars or the damage or the broken pieces.
Just seeing me.
Her gaze drops. To my lips.
I freeze.
Is she—no. I'm imagining it. Want it so badly that my brain is inventing things. She's probably noticing something behind me. Or she's tired and her eyes are just—
She leans forward.
Closer.
Her lips are right there. So close I can feel her breath. Plump and soft and so goddamn kissable it hurts.
I want it. Want her. Want to close the distance and find out if she tastes as good as she looks. But I can't. Shouldn't. This is…
I grip the bedsheets. Trying to regain control. Trying not to be the bastard who takes advantage of a woman who's vulnerable and scared and—
"Are you dating someone?" she asks.
The question is so unexpected I actually laugh. "No. Haven't dated in forever."
"Why not?"
"The life I lead isn't suitable for dating." I force myself to look away from her lips. "And no woman would want to be with a man like me."
"I would."
My eyes snap back to hers.
"What?"
"I would," she repeats. Softer but no less certain. "Because I'm sure you'd treat her right. And that's the most important thing."
My brain short-circuits. Is she being nice? Just trying to make me feel better? Or is she… Is she actually hitting on me?
Fuck, I have no idea. I'm not made for this. For reading signals and understanding subtext and knowing when a woman is interested versus just being kind.
But I've wasted so many things in my life. Wasted years hiding in Blackwater Falls where only fighting matters. Where I don't have to be human, just useful. Where broken is an advantage instead of a liability.
I'm tired of it.
Maybe Nora's right. Maybe I'm not that bad a person. Maybe I deserve something good for once.
And I want her.
I might have just met her twenty-four hours ago, but something deep in my gut, some instinct that's kept me alive through war and violence and everything after, tells me I'm willing to go to the depths of hell to protect this woman.
So, I accept the risk.
I close my eyes. Something I never do. Something that goes against every survival instinct I have because closing your eyes means losing awareness, losing control, making yourself vulnerable.
But I do it anyway.
And I lean forward.
Whatever I find on the other side—rejection, acceptance, something in between—I'll be fine.
My lips meet hers.
Fucking hell.
They're a perfect match. Like two pieces of the same puzzle fitting together exactly right. Soft and warm and everything I didn't know I needed.
I place my hand on her cheek. It spans her whole face. My hand is that much bigger than her, but she leans into it. Presses closer. The kiss is gentle, and I'm terrified of breaking this moment. Of doing something wrong and shattering whatever this is.
When we finally pull apart, her cheeks are rosy. Flushed. And my chest is heaving like I just went three rounds in the Pit.
"I'm sorry," I start. "I shouldn't have… If that was wrong, I—"
She presses a finger to my lips. Shakes her head.
"You did nothing wrong." Her voice is breathy. "I can't believe it took you so long to kiss me."
*I took so long.* Like she's been thinking about it. Like she wanted it too.
"I didn't want to feel like I was taking advantage of you," I admit. "You're vulnerable, you're scared, and I—"
"You're not taking advantage of me, Marcus." She moves her finger from my lips. Traces my jaw instead. "I want this. The kiss. And much more."
Much more.
Those two words are doing heavy lifting because I want much more too. Want it so badly I can barely think straight.
I place my hand on her thigh. Give her time to push me away. To tell me to stop, but she doesn't. I keep moving up. Slowly. Watching her face for any sign of hesitation. Her breath gets heavier. Her lips part. But still, she doesn't stop me.
My hand reaches the crease of her jeans. I press there. Just enough pressure to feel—
She's damp. Wet enough that I can feel it through the denim.
Fuck.
I look at her. She's clearly embarrassed. Cheeks burning red. But she's not pulling away.
"I want to help you," I say. Voice rough. "Want to make sure you're taken care of. Will you let me?"
"I want it too." She swallows hard. "But what if someone enters the room?"
I'm up and across the room before she finishes the sentence. Lock the door from the inside. The bolt slides home with a solid click. When I turn back, Nora is watching me. Her eyes are dark. Pupils blown wide.
"Are you sure?" I need to ask. Need to know this isn't just adrenaline making decisions for her. "Is this what you want, or do you feel like you have to because I helped you? Because you don't. You don't owe me anything, Nora."
She shakes her head. "I want this, Marcus."
And then she reaches for the button of her jeans.
Pops it open. Slides the zipper down.
Holy fuck.
She pulls her jeans down her hips, lifting herself slightly off the bed to work them past her ass. Then she spreads her legs for me.
I can see it. The wet spot right in the middle of her panties. Dark against the light fabric. Evidence of how turned on she is. I gasp. Actually gasp like I've never seen a woman before.
My cock strains against my jeans. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough that I have to adjust myself or risk permanent damage.
I walk toward her. My feet move on their own. And then I'm kneeling before her. On the floor between her spread legs like I'm praying at an altar.
Maybe I am.
She kicks her jeans off her ankles. They land somewhere behind me. I don't care. Can't care about anything except the woman in front of me.
I start with her legs. Kissing a path from her knee up her inner thigh. Taking my time. Savoring every inch of soft skin. She smells incredible, clean and female and aroused.
She tilts her head back. A small sound escapes her throat.
I keep moving higher. Kissing. Licking. Tasting. My hands grip her thighs, spreading them wider. When I reach the crease where thigh meets hip, I inhale deeply.
So fucking good.
The scent of her arousal is intoxicating. Makes my head spin. Makes every thought that isn't about making her come disappear completely. I look up at her one last time. Making sure. Checking. Her eyes are closed. Her chest is heaving. Her hands are gripping the bedsheets.
Permission granted.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pull them to the side.
And there she is.
Her pretty pussy. Glistening. Swollen. Ready.
She has a small patch of hair above her mound. Not completely bare but trimmed. A few stray hairs that are so fucking natural, so real, that I love it immediately.
"Fuck, Nora," I breathe. "You're perfect."
I grip her inner thighs. Hold her open. And then I dive in. My tongue runs the length of her slit. Bottom to top. Tasting her fully for the first time.
She cries out. Her hands fly to my head, fingers tangling in my hair. Pulling me closer. I don't need the encouragement but I take it anyway. She extends her legs, bracing her feet against my shoulders. Leans her back against the wall for support.
And I keep licking.
Devouring her.
My tongue moves in broad strokes at first. Learning her. Mapping every fold and valley. Finding what makes her gasp versus what makes her moan.
She tastes incredible. Sweet and tangy and uniquely her. I swallow her juices, lap at her entrance, then drag my tongue up to circle her clit.
"Oh god," she whimpers. "Marcus, that's—oh fuck—"
Hearing her curse, hearing this woman who seems so sweet and gentle say *fuck* because of what my mouth is doing, that does something to me.
Makes me want to wreck her completely.
I focus on her clit now. Flicking it with the tip of my tongue. Fast then slow. Hard then soft. Trying to figure out what she needs. Her grip on my hair tightens. Almost painful. Almost.
"Right there," she pants. "Don't stop. Please don't—"
I don't stop.
I seal my lips around her clit and suck while my tongue keeps working. Keep the pressure steady. The rhythm constant.
Her thighs start to shake. Trembling against my grip. I can feel her getting close. Feel her body coiling tighter and tighter. So, I double down. Give her everything. Lick and suck and devour her like she's the only thing that matters in the world.
Because right now, she is. Right now, making Nora Hayes come apart on my tongue is the only mission that exists. And I never fail a mission.
Her breathing gets ragged. Desperate. Her hips start moving. Grinding against my face.
I let her. Encourage it. Want her to take what she needs.
"Marcus," she gasps. "I'm going to… I'm—"
I hum against her clit.
And she fucking orgasms.