Chapter 7 Dangerous Games – Belle #2
“Y-yes,” he breathes, his hips rising to meet mine.
We ride each other, the bed creaking and shaking beneath us.
I look down at him, his face flushed and his eyes half-closed, his cock hard and throbbing inside me.
I wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze. His eyes fly open, his gaze meeting mine.
Without a warning, Max flips us over, and now I’m on the bottom. He pushes inside me and starts thrusting.
“Oh,” I gasp, my nails digging into his ass. “Oh, oh, fuck, Max.”
“Fuck,” he growls, his hips pumping.
“Fuck me, oh God.”
He grips my thighs and fucks me, his eyes locked on mine.
I moan and cry out. His name spills from my lips.
He’s relentless, driving into me, his gaze never leaving mine. With every thrust, I feel the muscles in his ass clench, feel his cock hit just the right spot.
I’m there. Fuck. I’m nearly there.
“Max, oh God, I’m—”
My orgasm crashes over me, my back arching, my eyes rolling back in my head. As I ride the wave, I scratch his back and bite his shoulder.
“Fuck,” Max gasps, his hips pumping faster. “Oh, fuck.”
He drives into me, his pace frantic.
“I’m gonna— Fuck, Belle.”
“Come,” I order, and his body shakes, his cock pulsing.
He groans and collapses, burying his face in my neck.
“Oh, God,” he pants, his hips slowing, then stopping.
We lie there, his body pressed against mine, our breathing heavy.
After a few minutes, Max lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine.
“Wow,” he breathes.
“Yeah.”
“That was…”
“Amazing,” I finish for him.
He laughs, kissing me softly.
“We should clean up,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I agree, but neither of us moves.
I kiss him again, my hands sliding up his back. He smiles against my lips, then breaks the kiss, rolling off me.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, realizing he’s covered in bruises and wounds that trickle with blood.
“Nah,” he says. “It’s nothing.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
We shower, and afterward, he helps me treat his wounds. He insists they’re not bad, and the water didn’t make them worse, but the sight of them makes guilt coil in my stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I say, dabbing ointment on a particularly deep scratch. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t apologize.” He gives me a small smile. “I’m fine, really. And if this is how you need to work out your frustrations, well…” He shrugs, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Still. I’ll try to be more gentle next time.”
“No,” he says quickly, his hand covering mine. “I loved it. Every moment of it. This is who you are, Belle. I accept and love all of you.”
His words are a balm on my soul. They manage to soothe some of the guilt and fear.
“You’re too good to me, Max,” I whisper.
“No, I’m not.” He kisses me softly. “I’m not even close to deserving you, but I’m going to spend every day of the rest of my life trying to be good enough.”
I don’t deserve him. Not even a little bit. But as I lean into him, I breathe in his familiar scent and feel the warmth of his skin against mine. I can’t help but be grateful. Grateful for him. Grateful for his strength, his patience, his understanding.
Grateful that no matter how bad things get, he’ll always be there for me.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too, Belle.”
We lie down, curled up together. His arms are wrapped around me.
It’s not a perfect solution, not a cure for the danger and the fear.
But it’s better than nothing. It’s definitely something.
Something like a moment of peace in the middle of a storm.
Because that’s where we are right now… In the eye of the fucking hurricane.
This is our reminder that even if the world is crashing down around us, we still have each other.
The sheets are damp with sweat, twisted around our legs. My body aches in ways that feel earned and real. It’s proof that I’m still here, still alive, still capable of feeling something other than terror.
Max’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, following the curve down to my wrist. He pauses there, and I know what he’s found—the invisible mark that’s been branded into my skin since childhood. The one that only shows up under UV light, marking me as property of The Architect.
Property of Selena Harpsons.
“I hate this,” he says quietly. His thumb brushes over the spot where the symbol lies hidden beneath my skin. “I hate that they marked you. That they made you believe you were something to be owned.”
“It’s just a tattoo.” My voice comes out flat, emotionless. “Just ink under skin. It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
“Doesn’t it?” He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me.
Those dark brown eyes with their gold flecks study my face with an intensity that makes me want to look away.
“Belle, you’ve been different since you remembered.
Since you figured out about Selena. You’re… harder. Angrier.”