Chapter Nine
No Safe Way to Touch Fire
Raven
The adrenaline doesn’t leave all at once.
It lingers in your blood like a bad idea, buzzing under your skin, making everything feel louder, closer, sharper than it should. By the time the compound settles after Ghost’s injury and the fallout that followed, my hands are still shaking.
Not fear, just release deferred too long.
Savage finds me in my room just after midnight. No knock this time, just the soft click of the door opening like he already knows I won’t tell him to leave.
He looks wrecked. Not bleeding. Not frantic. Just fucking spent. His cut is off, hanging from his fingers by his side. Shirt half unbuttoned. Jaw tight like he’s been holding the line with his teeth and only just realized how hard he was biting.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “That’s a stupid question.”
His mouth curves despite himself. “Fair.”
He shuts the door behind him and leans back against it like his legs forgot how to hold him up. The silence stretches—thick, electric, and loaded with everything we didn’t say earlier when too many people were watching.
“You didn’t come to fix me,” I say.
“No.”
“You didn’t come to apologize.”
“No.”
“You didn’t come because you’re owed anything.”
“No.”
I step closer. “So why are you here?”
His eyes track my movement, dark and steady. “Because if I don’t touch you, I’m going to put my fist through something I can’t afford to break.”
Heat coils low in my stomach. “Then sit,” I say.
He does. Immediately. No hesitation. No posturing. That’s when something in my chest cracks open.
I straddle his lap without asking, knees bracketing his hips, hands settling on his shoulders like that’s where they belong. He exhales hard the second my weight settles.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters.
“Don’t start pretending now,” I say. “You’ve been looking at me you want to bend me over since I showed up here.”
“I’ve been not touching you since that fucking night,” he growls. “There’s a difference.”
I lean in until my mouth is a breath from his. “Then stop holding back.”
That’s all it takes. His hands slide up my back, firm but controlled, fingers spreading like he’s grounding himself instead of claiming me. My mouth crashes into his, hungry and unrestrained, and the sound he makes into my lips is pure relief.
We kiss like we’re done waiting. No testing. No restraint. Just heat and breath and the sharp press of want finally given permission to exist. Grounding ourselves and feeling the relief that we are both here and alive in this moment.
“Fuck,” I breathe when his mouth drops to my throat. “Savage...”
He bites the word back with a curse, mouth hot against my skin. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been not to do this?”
“Good,” I say, grinding down onto his hard cock deliberately. “Then you won’t fuck this up by rushing.”
He laughs, low and rough. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I tug his shirt the rest of the way open and shove it off his shoulders. My hands roam without hesitation—muscle, heat, tattoos, and scarred skin that tells a story I don’t need explained.
“You don’t get gentle right now,” I say. “You get honest.”
His hands tighten reflexively, then loosen.
“Say when,” he says.
That’s when I know. I don’t answer with words. I kiss him harder, dragging my nails down his back until he swears into my mouth. I rock my hips again, slow and intentional, and his composure finally cracks.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Raven...”
“Still here,” I say. “Still choosing this.”
That’s all the permission either of us needs.
We strip each other quickly, touching and kissing every available inch of skin as we go.
It’s not frantic or rushed, it’s just ..
. inevitable. The press of my skin against his sends sparks of arousal through me and my nipples pebble against the hair on his chest and I can’t hold back the sounds that fall from my lips.
His hands hold me closely as he takes a nipple into his mouth. My pussy contracts at the sensation and I moan loudly. Heat escalates inside me until the room feels too small to hold it.
I push him back onto the bed and climb over him again, straddling his hips, taking my time like I know exactly how much it’s killing him. I slowly sink down on his erection, loving the stretch of being filled by him. When I have him fully inside me, I lean forward on my hands and stare at him.
“You look wrecked,” I tell him hoarsely.
“Because you have no fucking mercy,” he replies.
I grin. “Liar.”
His hands slide up my thighs, thumbs pressing into skin like he’s anchoring himself. “Can I move now?”
“Yes.”
He lifts his hips, spearing into me and making my eyes roll back in my head. The pleasure is indescribable. Pressure builds swiftly in my body and I know that he is going to wreck me.
He growls when my pussy flutters along his length and I can’t help but smile.
The world narrows to breath and movement and the sharp, satisfying friction of want finally being answered. The way he curses my name, the way my body responds, the way neither of us pretends this is anything other than the sex we’ve been circling for too long says everything.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not brutal.
It’s necessary.
I move how I want. He meets me where I am. When I swear, he laughs. When he loses control, I tighten my grip and keep him there.
“Fuck, Raven...”
“Yeah,” I snap. “Right there ... don’t stop...”
The bed creaks. The room fills with heat and sound and the kind of urgency that doesn’t ask permission anymore. This isn’t about power. It’s about release.
When I come, I come hard and drag him over the edge with me. His hands grip my hips harshly and hold me in place as my breath falters and tears out of me, the world collapsing inward until there’s nothing but sensation and cursing and the sharp relief of finally letting go.
After, we stay tangled. No speeches. No apologies.
Just breath evening out and the quiet hum of the compound beyond the walls reminding us the world didn’t stop just because we did.
Savage presses his forehead to my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I smile faintly. “That was not gentle.”
“Good.”
“I’m still standing, figuratively.”
“I know,” he says.
His hand drifts absently along my back, not possessive, just present.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” I say quietly.
“No,” he agrees. “But it helps.”
I roll onto my side, facing him. “It doesn’t mean tomorrow’s easier.”
“No.”
“And it doesn’t mean you get to decide for me.”
His gaze sharpens. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good answer.”
We lie there in the dark, heat slowly fading, bodies still close without needing to prove anything. This wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a claim. It was a choice.
And for tonight, that’s enough.