Chapter 11
The walk to her room took forever.
Riot's hand rested on her lower back—warm, steady, possessive—guiding her through the compound's quiet hallways.
The cookout had wound down hours ago, but neither of them had wanted to leave the firepit.
They'd stayed until the flames burned low, until the stars wheeled overhead, until every excuse to delay was exhausted.
Now they were alone. And Mandy's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.
"You're shaking," Riot said as they stopped outside her door.
"I know." She fumbled with the key, her hands clumsy. "I can't seem to stop."
He took the key from her fingers—gentle, careful—and unlocked the door. Pushed it open. Stepped back to let her enter first.
Always the gentleman. Even now, with the tension between them thick enough to choke on.
Mandy walked into the room and heard him follow. The door clicked shut behind them.
She turned.
He was watching her the way he always watched her—like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at. But there was something different in his eyes now. Something rawer. The control he usually kept locked down was slipping, fracturing at the edges.
"Tell me to go," he said roughly. "If you need more time, if you're not ready, tell me to go and I will."
"And if I don't want you to go?"
His jaw tightened. "Then I'm not going to be able to hold back.
Not tonight. Not after—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.
"I want you too much. Been wanting you since you smiled at me through your terror and offered me coffee like I was worth something.
If we start this, I won't be able to stop. "
Mandy's blood heated at his words. At the desperation underneath them. All that chaos, all that intensity, and he was standing across the room fighting himself because he wanted her permission first.
"Then don't stop." She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. "Don't hold back. Don't treat me like I'm fragile."
His eyes went dark. "Mandy—"
"I survived Trevor's crew. I stabbed a man who tried to take me. I'm not breakable." She stepped toward him, heart racing, skin burning where his gaze touched her. "So stop being careful and show me what you really want."
Something snapped.
One moment he was across the room, holding himself rigid. The next he was on her, mouth crashing into hers, hands everywhere at once. He kissed her like he was drowning and she was air—desperate, consuming, the barely contained violence in him translated into passion that left her gasping.
She grabbed his shirt and yanked. He helped, pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere she didn't care about. Then his hands were on her waist, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her to the bed.
They fell together, his weight pressing her into the mattress, and Mandy arched into him with a moan she couldn't have held back if she tried. He was hard against her, hot through the layers of fabric still between them, and she rolled her hips just to watch his eyes flutter closed.
"Careful," he growled against her throat. "You keep that up and this is going to be over too fast."
"Then stop talking and take off your pants."
His laugh was rough, breathless. "Bossy."
"You love it."
"God help me, I do."
He pulled back just enough to strip them both bare—her jeans, her underwear, his sweatpants. And then they were skin to skin, nothing between them, and Mandy felt like she was burning alive in the best possible way.
"You're beautiful." His voice was reverent as his hands traced her curves—waist, hips, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. "Every time I look at you, I can't breathe."
"Show me." She pulled him down, needing his weight on her again. "Stop talking and show me."
He kissed her again—slower this time, but no less intense. His mouth traced a path down her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. When his lips closed around her nipple, she cried out and dug her nails into his shoulders.
"More." The word came out broken. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need." His hand slid between her thighs, and when he touched her, she nearly came apart right there. "I've been thinking about this for days. Imagining what you'd sound like. How you'd feel."
"Riot—"
"That's it." He worked her with his fingers, relentless, reading every gasp and moan like a map. "Say my name. I want to hear you say my name when you come."
She was already close—wound too tight from days of tension, weeks of fear, the overwhelming relief of finally having him. When the orgasm hit, it crashed through her like a wave, and she screamed his name the way he'd demanded.
He was on her before the tremors stopped.
"Condom," she managed, still shaking.
"Got it." He fumbled in the nightstand—someone had left supplies there, bless whoever had that foresight—and then he was sheathed and positioned and looking down at her with eyes that burned.
"Tell me you want this," he said. "Tell me you want me."
"I want you." She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer. "I want everything. Don't hold back."
He sank into her in one long, devastating stroke.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Just breathed together, foreheads touching, adjusting to the feel of each other. Mandy had never felt so full, so complete, so absolutely claimed.
Then Riot started to move.
He was intense—of course he was intense, everything about him was intense—but it wasn't the blind ferocity she'd expected.
Every thrust was deliberate. Every angle calculated to drive her higher.
He watched her face, read her body, adjusted his rhythm when she gasped or moaned or dug her nails into his back.
The chaos in him translated to passion the way she'd known it would. Relentless. Overwhelming. Focused entirely on her with the same single-minded determination he brought to everything.
"You feel incredible," he groaned against her throat. "Like you were made for me."
"Harder." She arched into him, meeting his thrusts. "I told you, I'm not fragile."
His control cracked. The rhythm became faster, rougher, his hips snapping against hers with force that would leave bruises. Mandy loved it. Wanted the marks, the soreness, the physical proof that this was real.
"Mine." The word tore out of him. "You're mine."
"Yours." She pulled him down for a kiss. "I'm yours."
The second orgasm built different than the first—slower, deeper, radiating out from where they were joined until her whole body was shaking with it. Riot felt her clench around him and cursed, his rhythm faltering.
"Come with me," she gasped. "Please—I need you to—"
He buried his face in her neck and drove into her hard, once, twice, and then they were both falling, both shaking, both crying out with the force of it.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin, hearts gradually slowing from thunderous to merely racing.
"Well." Riot's voice was rough, wrecked. "That was—"
"Yeah." Mandy traced patterns on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her fingertips. "It really was."
He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him so they faced each other on the pillow. His hand came up to brush hair from her face—tender, gentle, at odds with the intensity of moments ago.
"You okay?"
"I'm better than okay." She smiled, feeling it all the way down to her bones. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
His answering smile was soft. Vulnerable. A crack in the armor he usually wore.
"Good. Because I meant what I said." His arm tightened around her waist. "You're mine now. I don't let go of what's mine."
"You keep saying that."
"I'll keep saying it until you believe it." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Until you understand that nothing—not Trevor, not his crew, not anything in this world—is going to take you from me."
Mandy curled into him, pressed her face against his chest, and let herself believe.
They stayed like that for a long time—learning the rhythm of each other's breathing, the fit of their bodies together, all the small intimacies that came after the big ones. Riot's hands traced lazy patterns on her skin. She listened to his heartbeat and felt hers sync up to match.
Something had shifted between them. Something undeniable.
She'd come to this compound running from danger, hiding from men who wanted her dead. She'd expected to survive—maybe—and then go back to her old life, pick up the pieces, pretend none of this had ever happened.
But this man had crashed into her world and rearranged everything. Had looked at her like she mattered. Had killed for her, bled for her, given her back pieces of herself she'd thought were lost forever.
And now they were tangled together in the dark, and Mandy knew with absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same.
She didn't want it to be.
"Riot?" Her voice was sleepy, sated.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For not holding back."
His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Sunshine, I've been holding back since the moment I met you. This was just the beginning."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He kissed her hair. "Now sleep. Tomorrow's going to be complicated, and you're going to need your strength."
She should have asked what he meant by that. Should have pushed for details about whatever the club was planning.
Instead, she closed her eyes, safe in his arms, and let sleep pull her under.
Something undeniable had begun between them.
And Mandy couldn't wait to see where it led.