Chapter 9 - Rampage
This is happening.
This is fucking happening.
I'm about to be inside Chloe.
She's naked in my arms, pressed against the wall of my apartment, and she looks like a goddamn bombshell. Her breasts are full and perfect, jiggling slightly with each breath she takes. Her ass, soft and round and absolutely perfect, is pressed against the wall behind her.
I want her.
All of her.
And I'm not stopping until she collapses, until she can't endure a single second more.
I flex my knees slightly, adjusting my grip on her, and guide my cock to her entrance. She's so wet I can feel it coating the head before I even push inside, and when I do, when I start to enter her, she gasps and bites her lower lip and the sight of it nearly undoes me right there.
I press deeper.
Inch by inch, I fill her, and she's so tight around me that I have to force myself to go slow, to give her time to adjust. Her arms wrap around my neck and she leans in close, her mouth right next to my ear.
"You feel so good," she whispers.
Fuck.
I keep a slow, steady pace at first. Long, deep strokes that fill her completely before pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in.
Making sure she adjusts to my size, making sure this is good for her, but I never stop.
Never falter. Never give her a moment to think about anything except what I'm doing to her.
And then I feel her start to move with me. Her hips rolling to meet my thrusts, her body accepting me completely, and that's when I know she's ready for more.
I increase the pace.
Harder. Faster. Pounding into her mercilessly, my thighs slamming against her ass with all the force I can generate while still holding her up.
The wall behind her shakes with each impact and she's moaning now, loud and unrestrained, and my eyes are locked on her breasts, watching them bounce with every thrust.
"Harder," she gasps.
I ram inside her.
No holding back now. No control. Just brutal fucking, giving her everything she asked for and more. Her pussy is gripping me so tight I can barely think, can barely process anything except how good this feels, how right this feels.
"I'll protect you," I tell her between thrusts. "From anything. Anyone. I swear to God, Chloe, I'll protect you from everything."
"I know," she moans. "I know. I'm not—oh God—I'm not going anywhere."
I can't believe I found someone worth fighting for. Someone worth loving. And it's someone I met when I least expected it, when I'd given up on the idea that there was anyone out there who could understand me, who could see what I am and not run.
How did a self-defense class turn into this so quickly?
I have no idea. I never thought I'd be one of the lucky ones to find my match.
But now that I have, I'll do anything for her.
I'll always be Rampage in that ring, I'll always need the fights, need the violence to quiet the noise in my head.
But maybe now my fury can cool down, be turned into something else. Something more positive.
She calms me down in a way nothing else ever has.
Yet I never stop fucking her. Not until she breaks the rhythm by saying, "Wait. Wait, I want—can I ride you?"
I still completely, my cock buried deep inside her and look at her. "What?"
"You can't do everything, right?" She's breathing hard, her face flushed, her eyes bright behind those glasses. "I want to put in some work too."
A smirk tugs at my mouth. "It's my pleasure."
I carry her to the couch, my cock still hard and throbbing inside her, and sit down with her straddling me. Her thick thighs bracket my hips and fuck, they're fantastic. Soft and strong and absolutely perfect.
She starts slowly at first. Just grinding against me, finding her balance, getting used to the angle. And then she starts rolling her hips, bouncing on my cock, and fucking hell it feels incredible.
Her breasts are right in front of my face, jiggling with every movement, and I can't deny myself. I lean forward and capture one stiff nipple between my lips, grazing it with my teeth just enough to make her gasp and tilt her head back.
She bounces faster.
"I'm close," she pants. "Oh God, Cole, I'm so close."
"Cum for me," I tell her. "Let me feel it."
I grip her ass cheeks, helping her move, guiding her rhythm, and she places both hands on my face, forcing me to look up at her.
"Look at me," she says.
Our eyes lock.
And then she cums.
Her eyes roll back, her fingers trace my jawline, and her pussy clenches around my cock so tight it's almost painful. I watch every second of it, watch her come apart on top of me, watch pleasure transform her face, and I have never felt this appreciated. Never thought I would be.
When her pussy grips my cock like that—pulsing, squeezing, milking, it's like a siren's song calling for me. I don't even have time to warn her. Don't have time to pull out or ask permission or do any of the responsible things I should do.
I just explode inside her.
Three big loads, maybe more, coating her inner walls, and I'm groaning through it, my hands tightening on her hips, holding her down on me so she takes every drop.
When I finally come back to myself, I realize what I just did.
"Fuck," I say. "I'm sorry. I should have… I didn't ask—"
"It's fine," she says quickly, still catching her breath. "I would have asked for it anyway."
I look up at her. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I smile. Can't help it. "I'm glad I did it then."
She shifts slightly, starting to lift herself off me, and my cock slides out. Immediately, my cum starts dripping from her pussy, running down her inner thighs, and it's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.
She rubs her thighs together, trying to contain it, and looks around. "Where's your bathroom?"
I point to the door in the corner. "Over there."
She stands on slightly shaky legs and walks toward it, and I watch every step, watch my cum continue to drip down her thighs, marking her.
Mine. She's mine now.
And I'm never letting her go.
She returns from the bathroom a few minutes later, water still dripping from her face where she must have splashed it to cool down. Her breasts bounce with each step, heavy and perfect, and I can't look away. Don't want to look away.
She lies down next to me on the couch, pressing her naked body against mine, her face nestled against my shoulder. The couch isn't really big enough for both of us like this, but neither of us seems to care. She fits against me perfectly, soft where I'm hard, warm and alive and here.
I pull the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over us.
"You happy?" I ask.
She's quiet for a moment, and then she says, "I've never been this happy. Next to you," she continues, her voice soft, "I feel like I can just be naked without judgment. Without worrying about what you're thinking or if you're noticing all the things that are wrong with me."
"Nothing's wrong with you."
"My ex would disagree." She traces a pattern on my chest with her finger. "He used to comment on how my thighs rub together when I walk. How my breasts have stretch marks. How I should probably lose some weight if I wanted to look better in the things he bought me."
Rage floods through me so fast and so complete that I have to consciously stop myself from sitting up, from moving, from doing something violent with the energy suddenly coursing through my body.
I should have knocked him the fuck out.
I should have done more than just threaten him, should have made good on every promise I made against that wall. And I will. Eventually. I didn't forget about the tracker on her car, didn't forget that he's been stalking her for three months. He'll get what's coming to him.
But right now, I need to focus on Chloe. On the self-doubt her piece-of-shit ex planted in her head.
I kiss her forehead. Let my lips linger there.
"You're beautiful," I tell her. "Everything I see is exactly what I want. Your thighs, your breasts, your stomach, all of it. That will never be a problem. Ever."
She looks up at me, her brown eyes searching my face like she's trying to determine if I'm telling the truth.
"I mean it," I say. "He was a fucking idiot who didn't deserve you. And he definitely didn't deserve to touch you."
"You're really okay with… With all of this?" She gestures vaguely at her body.
"More than okay," I say. "I'm obsessed with it. With you."
She smiles then, small and genuine, and burrows closer against me.
We lie there in silence for a while. My hand traces lazy patterns on her back, following the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist. Her breathing gradually slows, deepens, and I realize she's falling asleep.
Good. She should sleep. She should feel safe enough here to let her guard down completely.
I close my eyes.
And despite every intention to stay awake, to keep watch, I fall asleep too.
Hours later…
The nightmare comes like it always does.
The desert. The heat. The road that stretches endlessly in both directions. The convoy moving slow because one of the trucks is having mechanical issues and we're three hours behind schedule and the sun is beating down and something feels wrong.
Something always feels wrong in the dream because I know what's coming.
The explosion hits the lead vehicle first. Then the one behind it. Then ours. Fire and smoke and the sound—God, the sound—of metal tearing apart and men screaming and I'm trying to get out, trying to reach them, but there's so much smoke I can't see, can't breathe, can't find anyone.
And then I'm alone.
Standing in the desert with bodies around me and smoke in my lungs and the absolute certainty that I should be dead too. That I was supposed to die with them.
I wake up gasping.
Sweating. Disoriented. The blanket tangled around my legs and I don't know where I am, don't know what's real, and I need space, need air, need to get away from—
I stumble off the couch and back into the corner of the room.
My back hits the wall and I slide down, knees pulled to my chest, trying to remember how to breathe.
The nightmare is still right there, still playing behind my eyes every time I blink, and I can smell smoke even though I know there's no smoke, can hear screaming even though the apartment is silent.
"Cole?"
Her voice. Chloe's voice.
I open my eyes.
She's sitting up on the couch, the blanket wrapped around her, her hair messy from sleep. Concern etched across her face.
"I'm fine," I manage. My voice sounds wrong. Too rough, too strained.
"No, you're not."
She stands up, lets the blanket fall, and walks over to me completely naked. She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't ask permission. Just lowers herself to the floor next to me and wraps her arms around me as much as she can given the size difference.
"It was a nightmare," I say. Stating the obvious because I don't know what else to say.
"I know."
"I get them every night."
"I know that too."
She holds me tighter. Her cheek pressed against my shoulder, her body warm against mine, and slowly, so slowly, the nightmare starts to recede. The smell of smoke fades. The sounds quiet. The feeling that I'm still in the desert, still surrounded by death, gradually loosens its grip.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Don't apologize."
"I woke you up."
"I don't care." She pulls back slightly to look at me. "Cole, listen to me. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You have nightmares? Okay. We'll deal with them together."
"You don't understand what you're signing up for."
"Then explain it to me. Help me understand."
I look at her, this woman who walked into my gym less than two weeks ago asking to learn self-defense, who somehow became the most important person in my world in the span of days.
Who's sitting naked on my floor at what's probably four in the morning, holding me while I come down from a nightmare, and she's not running. She's not scared.
She's just here.
"My entire unit died," I say. The words come out flat, emotionless, because that's the only way I can say them. "Eleven years ago. Ambush in Afghanistan. IED took out the lead vehicle, then insurgents attacked from both sides. I was the only one who made it out."
"Oh, Cole."
"I dream about it every night. Every single night. Sometimes it's exactly how it happened. Sometimes my brain makes up new ways they could have died. New ways I could have saved them and didn't."
"That wasn't your fault."
"I know that logically. But logic doesn't matter at four in the morning when I'm watching them die again."
She's quiet for a moment, just holding me, and then she says, "What do you need? When this happens, what helps?"
No one has ever asked me that before.
"This," I say quietly. "Having someone here. Someone real. It helps."
"Then I'll be here," she says simply. "Every time. For as long as you need me."
"Chloe—"
"I mean it." She takes my face in her hands, forces me to look at her. "I'm not going anywhere. You protected me tonight. Let me protect you too. Even if it's just from the nightmares."
Something breaks in my chest. Something that's been locked down tight for eleven years suddenly cracks open, and I pull her against me, holding her so tight I'm probably hurting her but I can't stop.
"I promise," she whispers against my neck. "I'll always be here for you."
"I promise too," I say. "I'll always be here for you. Always protect you. Always keep you safe."
We stay like that on the floor, wrapped around each other, naked and vulnerable and making promises we both intend to keep.
And for the first time since I came home from the desert, I think maybe I've found something worth staying alive for.
Maybe I've found someone worth fighting for.
Maybe I've found home.