Chapter Twenty #2
A quiet curse slips from his lips, rough and unsteady. His girth twitches beneath me, hot and pulsing.
He’s bare. Hard. Mine. And I want him inside of me.
Now.
I reach between us, gripping the base of him, dragging the leaking tip through my wetness, coating him, testing us both.
He slams his head back against the bed. “Fuck—” his hands snap up to my hips, fingers digging in hard, desperate. “Dawn—”
I don’t let him finish.
I sink onto him, slow and deliberate, taking every thick inch until he’s buried inside me. A sharp ache rips through my ribs, but I don’t stop.
I won’t. Because this is mine. This pain is mine. This power is mine.
I grind down harder, rocking into him, feeling him stretch me wide, filling me completely.
His breathing is wrecked. His fingers grip me so hard, I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. “Jesus fucking Christ—”
I roll my hips again, slow, teasing, forcing him to feel every single part of me.
I’m finally feeling like I’m in control of my own body. No one is holding me down. No one is taking anything from me.
I’m the one taking.
My breath shudders out, my body stretched tight around him, throbbing and burning.
I can feel it—the way he’s holding back. The way he’s waiting for me to decide.
For me to say it. To choose.
I press my palms to his chest, nails digging in, grinding down against him slow and torturous.
A ragged groan escapes his lips, “Fuck, Dawn—”
I lean in, dragging my mouth along his jaw, lips ghosting against his skin. His body tenses beneath me as I let my lips brush over the corner of his mouth, teasing. “Fuck me, Nikolai.”
His breath stalls, hands flexed against my waist.
And then—he breaks.
His mouth crashes into mine, brutal, deep and searing. His tongue licks into me, stealing my breath, claiming every inch, every fucking part of me.
I moan into him, clawing at his shoulders, rocking against his cock, needing more, needing everything.
And he gives it to me.
He grips my hips tighter, plants his feet into the mattress, and thrusts up into me—deep, rough, unrelenting.
I break apart instantly.
A gasp rips from my throat, my body arching, my thighs tightening around him. “Oh god—” The words shatter against his lips, swallowed between kisses, messy and desperate.
Then—I’m weightless.
Before I can react, Nikolai moves.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flips us, pressing me down into the mattress, taking control. I barely have time to gasp before his hands grab the backs of my thighs, pushing them up, spreading me wide, pinning me open beneath him.
My breath catches, and I feel every single twitch and throb.
Every thick, aching inch of his length stretching me, buried so deep that I can’t think, can’t breathe.
His hands slide higher, gripping beneath my knees, pushing my legs over his shoulders.
The shift is devastating.
“Nikolai—”
A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You wanted this?” His voice is pure sin, dark, wrecked and lethal. “Fucking take it, then.”
He drives into me—deep, agonizing, perfect. A sharp cry rips from me, pleasure crashing through me, burning and breaking me.
“You take my cock so fucking well, angel.” His hands tighten, dragging me closer, locking me beneath him. “You feel this? This is mine.”
I moan, writhing, clawing at the sheets, at his arms, at anything I can reach.
He doesn’t let up. His thrusts turn harder, faster—so fucking deep I feel him everywhere. “You’re squeezing so tight, baby.” His breath shudders, hot, possessive. “Like you don’t want to let me go.”
I don’t.
I’m too close.
Everything inside me coiling and tightening with a raw, animalistic desire.
“Tell me how bad you need it, baby.”
I can barely think, barely form any words. “Please—”
“Please what?” He thrusts into me harder.
A wrecked, choking sound catches in my throat. My body strains, right at the edge. “Please, Ni—” I gasp as his pace turns punishing and delicious.
“Say it.” His voice is low, rough. Strained. “You know what I want, angel.”
A sharp whimper spills from my lips. “Please—let me come,”
His breath shudders.
His fingers tighten around my thighs, locking them in place, pinning me down and forcing me to take every deep, brutal thrust he gives.
“Fuck, baby, look at you.” His eyes are ravenous, drinking me in. “You want to come for me?”
I whimper, nodding, my nails clawing into his forearms, clinging, breaking. The tension between us is wound tight and delicious, both of us needing the raw connection.
He lowers a hand to rub slow, devilish circles on my clit. “Then fucking do it.” His voice drops. Demanding. “Come all over me, angel. Now.”
I shatter.
The world turns white-hot as pleasure crashes through me, violent and searing, tearing me apart at the seams. I clench around him, pulsing, squeezing, milking every thick inch of him buried inside me.
A ragged cry rips from my throat, my entire body shaking, waves of bliss and pain hitting over and over.
“That’s it—Fuck—” His control snaps, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, harder, chasing his own release.
I feel him tremble, feel his muscles tighten, feel him throb inside me.
And he’s gone.
With a deep, wrecked groan, he buries himself deep inside me one final time, spilling hot, deep, filling me with his release.
His entire body shudders against mine, his grip shaking, his breath wrecked.
For a moment, neither of us move, nothing exists but the sound of our breathing—uneven, tangled and raw.
Then, slowly, his grip loosens.
He gave me exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed.
. . .
The room is quiet. Not in the way I hate—not in the way that makes me feel like I’m trapped inside my own head.
The quiet is different.
It’s heavy. Weighted with something unspoken.
The sheets are tangled beneath us, my body still trembling in the aftershocks, my chest rising and falling against his. His hands are on my back, broad and steady, fingers just barely brushing my spine.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, but I don’t want to move. Don’t want to break whatever this is.
But I feel it—the shift. The moment something clicks into place between us.
His breath is slow, controlled, but his muscles are tight beneath me, his grip tense. Like he’s piecing something together.
I lift my head, my cheek dragging against his skin, and he’s already looking at me.
His jaw flexes, then finally, he says it. “Someone inside Blackthorn sent them.”
A cold chill ripples through me. I already knew that, but hearing him say it—acknowledging it, accepting it—makes it feel more real.
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
He scoffs. Shakes his head. “I do.”
His fingers tighten on my back, his other hand dragging through his hair, frustration bleeding through. “And you do, too.”
My throat tightens. I think about the note, the warning.
I should tell him.
I hesitate, the words pressing against my ribs, against the lingering ache of what happened. But after tonight—after this—I have to.
“There was a warning.”
Nikolai stills beneath me. His fingers freeze against my back.
“What do you mean?” His voice is quiet, but sharp.
I inhale slowly. “Before the attack. Someone left a note in my apartment.”
Something dangerous flickers in his eyes. “What did it say?”
My pulse pounds. “Stay out of the archives.”
A long silence. His chest rises, slow and measured, but I feel the tension thrumming beneath his skin.
“And you didn’t tell me.” It’s not a question.
“I thought—” I cut myself off.
His jaw flexes. His grip tightens. And then, finally—he exhales.
His head tilts back against the pillows, eyes dark and unreadable. "Someone wanted to scare you.” His tone is deceptively calm. Too calm.
A chill ripples down my spine.
"And when that didn’t work…” His fingers flex again. “They sent a stronger message.”
I think about the man I work for.
No. It wasn’t Byron. “Your father wouldn’t waste his time on this,” I say slowly. Carefully.
His jaw tenses. A long breath leaves him, slow and measured. “I know.”
If Byron wanted me dead, I’d already be dead. And if he wanted to scare me? He wouldn’t have sent some hired thug in a parking lot.
This wasn’t him.
Which means it was someone else. Someone inside Blackthorn.
And Nikolai doesn’t know who.
His frustration is palpable. His fingers flex against my skin, his body coiled like he’s about to go hunt someone down and kill them himself.
“Who, then?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but Blackthorn has a lot of enemies. Some of which are old employees. If they have someone still working at the tower, it wouldn’t be hard to find out what you were doing.
And if they were trying to get to me, it would make sense to come after you for anyone who’s been paying attention. ”
Another cold chill.
I swallow, nodding slowly. It makes sense. And I hate that it does.
He watches me for a long moment, then settles back against the pillows, his grip still firm around me. “You’re staying here with me from now on.” He says, his voice final.
I blink, stomach flipping. “What?”
“It’s the safest option.” His fingers trace idly along my spine, absentminded, but deliberate. “No one gets past my security. No one touches you.”
A shiver trails down my back. Not from fear. From something else. Something I don’t know how to name.
“I don’t—”
“Please, Dawn, don’t fight me on this.” His beautiful brown eyes gaze deeply into mine, pleading.
I let out a breath, and nod. “Thank you, Nikolai.”
He places his hand on the back of my head, gently brings my forehead to his lips, and plants a slow kiss.
He’s right. It’s the safest option. At least until we figure out who sent them.