Chapter 39 Lucy
Lucy
Imoved first, or maybe he did, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was the sudden press of his mouth against mine. Soft at first, testing, then hungrier, demanding, like the years of silence and restraint had finally snapped.
My hands fisted in his kutte, dragging him closer. His hands spanned my waist, pulling me tight against the hard planes of his body.
The word clawed up before I could stop it. I nearly choked on it, nearly let it disappear. My pride screamed no, but my heart whispered yes. In the end, it slipped out broken anyway.
“Stay,” I whispered against his lips, desperate.
His forehead pressed to mine, his breath harsh. “Princess... are you sure?” His hands hovered at the hem of my dress, trembling with the effort to hold back. “This is the first and only time I ask.”
“I want this. I want you. Make me forget, Jay. Make me feel good, even for a little while. Please.”
The war behind his eyes was visible, loyalty, hesitation, raw hunger all colliding. Then his fingers caught on the torn fabric, sliding it down, and the dress fell away.
“Christ, Lucy.” His voice was a growl as his gaze swept over me. His fingertips traced the bruises on my ribs, fury sparking in his eyes. “I’m going to kill every last one of them. They’ll beg before I finish.”
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. His anger wasn’t aimed at me, but the force of it seared straight through my skin.
I should’ve felt small under that look, fragile, but instead, something in me ached.
Because in his fury I saw what he wouldn’t say out loud, how much I mattered.
And God help me, even with his jaw tight and his hands trembling, I wanted him. My hand caught his wrist, stopping him.
“I’m safe. With you.”
His breath shuddered out, and then he was kissing me again, fiercer, like the world outside didn’t exist. My body answered, every nerve lit, every fear drowned under the weight of him.
He unclipped my bra like a man who’d had plenty of practice and dropped my panties.
He picked me up and laid me across the bed, gazing down at me with a fire that burned through me.
I reached for the edge of the sheets, but his hand shot out, slamming mine against the mattress. Heat and force collided, making me flinch. His eyes locked on mine, dark, feral, claiming, like he’d been hunting the moment since the day we’d sat side by side in the bar all those years ago.
“No,” he growled, low and rough, edged with danger and something I couldn’t word.
I froze. “No?” My defiance trembled beneath the tension, but I didn’t lower my gaze.
“If you want me . . .” His lips grazed my jaw, dragging fire down my neck, teeth skimming, leaving me raw and trembling. “Then make me take you.”
I lifted my chin, fire sparking in every line of my body. “Then try,” I whispered, daring him.
His grin was lethal, sharp, all Reaper. “Fuck it.”
He kissed me hard, relentless, until I broke away, breathless, pushing at his chest. For a heartbeat, his eyes went dark, unreadable.
“Not here,” I whispered. “Not like this. The blood... the dirt...” My throat caught. “I need it gone.”
His chest heaved. He stared down at me, and I thought he might argue, then wordlessly scooped me up, carrying me into the bathroom.
The steam rose fast as he turned the water on.
He stripped off his clothes in silence—shirt, kutte, jeans, every layer hitting the tile until there was nothing left but him.
My breath caught, not from the heat but from the sight of him laid bare, scars and ink carved across his skin like a map of every battle he’d survived.
For the first time, I realised we weren’t so different. His scars were on the outside, mine hidden deeper, but both of us carried ghosts etched into our bodies. Both of us bleeding in ways no one else could see.
Then his hands were on me, steady, careful, guiding me under the spray. The water hit hot, stinging against raw skin, but his touch was gentle, smoothing dirt and blood away, fingertips tracing bruises like vows he couldn’t speak.
“Every mark on you,” he muttered, voice breaking. “Every damn bruise... they’re mine to answer for.”
“Jay—”
But his mouth was on mine again, hot water pounding over us, washing away the night until nothing was left but heat and him. I clung to him, the cold tile at my back, his body pressing me into the steam. When his hands finally lifted me, I wrapped around him without hesitation.
The world blurred, water hissing, lips colliding, bruises forgotten under the firestorm of his touch. When he carried me dripping back to the bed, it felt less like surrender and more like inevitability.
He shoved me back onto the mattress, the frame rattling hard against the wall. His body pinned mine, heat and danger surrounding me, but beneath the fury there was restraint, his weight holding me there, not crushing, his touch fierce yet careful around the places I hurt.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice like gravel dragged over steel. His teeth bit into my throat hard enough to leave marks. “You hear me, Lucy? Not theirs. Not the club’s. Not anyone’s. Fucking mine.”
“Yes.” I gasped, nails carving lines down his back, desperate to keep him close.
He tore open the condom with his teeth, sheathing himself in seconds, then slammed into me in one hard thrust that made me cry out. He didn’t give me time to breathe, his hips driving forward again, deeper, harder, like he wanted to split me open and stake a claim inside my body.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed against my jaw, rutting into me. “Wet and ready for me, like you’ve been waiting years. Like you knew I’d come back for you.”
I arched, whimpering as he pounded into me. “Jay—”
His hand wrapped around my throat, with enough pressure to remind me who held me down. His ice-blue stare burned into mine. “Reaper,” he corrected, thrusting hard enough to make the bed crash against the wall again. “Say it when you scream for me. Let them all hear whose cock is inside you.”
“Reaper,” I moaned. The name tore from my lips as he ground against me, relentless.
His grip tightened on my hips, bruising, dragging me into every savage thrust. “You belong to me. This pussy. This body. Every fucking sound you make is mine. No one else gets this. Not the bastards who grabbed you, not the ghosts of your past. I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries.”
I bucked under him, trembling, already teetering on the edge as he drove me mercilessly higher. “Don’t stop—”
“Not stopping ‘til you’re ruined for anyone else,” he snarled, teeth scraping my ear. “‘Til you can’t even think of another man without feeling me splitting you open. You get that, Princess? I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll forget your own goddamn name before you forget mine.”
“Yes! God, yes!”
His thrusts turned brutal, each one harder than the last, until my cries filled the room. “Thought I lost you,” he rasped, raw and ragged. “When they laid hands on you, I saw red. I’ll burn this whole fucking town to the ground before I let them take you again.”
My orgasm tore through me like fire, blinding, shattering, my scream muffled by his mouth crushing mine in a savage kiss. My body convulsed around him, clenching tight, dragging him under with me.
“Fuck, Lucy—” His groan was deep, guttural, his rhythm breaking as he slammed into me one last time and spilled hot inside the condom, every muscle in his body shaking as he held me down, locked against me like he’d never let go.
We collapsed together, slick with sweat, bruised, tangled. His chest heaved against mine, his hand cupping my jaw rough but trembling.
“They can have my blood, my patch, my life,” he rasped. “But not you. Never you. I’ll put every bastard in the ground before they lay a finger on what’s mine.”
And when I looked into his eyes, I believed every filthy, dangerous word.