Chapter 12 Voltar
VOLTAR
I’ve known war longer than I’ve known rest.
Pain is a language I speak fluently.
Violence comes to me like breath.
My nights have always been the same—hard, fast, functional. Bodies snared in lust, in survival. Moments that vanish like smoke the second they end. Never soft. Never slow. Never like this.
But now…
Now I’m wrapped in satin sheets and Sable’s legs, her body draped over mine like she belongs here.
Like I do. Her cheek is pressed to my chest, breath rising and falling with mine.
The warmth of her seeps into places I didn’t know were cold.
And I’m not running. I’m not itching for the door. I’m here. Still.
I don’t know what to do with that.
Her fingers drift along my brow, tracing the ridges like they’re something sacred. No hesitation. No disgust. Just… curiosity. Admiration, even.
“You’re staring,” I murmur, voice rough and half-asleep.
Her lips brush my jaw. “You make it hard not to.”
I huff a quiet laugh. She makes me feel huge and careful at once. Like a blade she’s learned to trust.
I shift under her, just enough to see her face. Her eyes are soft, unreadable. The kind of look that undoes me. I’ve seen fear. Hunger. Desperation. But never this. Never tenderness aimed at me.
“What?” I ask, voice lower now.
She hesitates. Then: “I didn’t think I could want someone like this.” Her voice is thick, a little breathless. Honest.
“Someone like me?”
She meets my gaze head-on. “Someone real.”
I’m not sure what to say. No one’s ever called me that before—real. Dangerous, sure. Useful. A monster, more often than not. But real? That’s a new one.
A sound rumbles in my chest. Not quite a growl. Not quite a laugh. Something warm. Animal. Content.
She grins. “You make that noise a lot around me.”
“Means you’re doing something right.”
Her legs tighten around me, and I know we’re not done. Not even close.
I flip her gently, careful not to crush her. My hands bracket her head, elbows resting in the pillow, and she looks up at me like I’m the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
“Lead the way,” I whisper.
She does. And there we go again.
Her hands guide me with the ease of someone who’s learned every inch of me in a single night. And I let her. I let her take control. Let her show me how it can be. How it’s supposed to be.
Our mouths find each other again—slow, fast, then slow again. Like we’re syncing heartbeats. My breath hitches when she bites my bottom lip, gentle and bold. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, dragging me closer, deeper.
There’s no battle here. No conquest. Just rhythm. Just give and take. Just a sweet second time.
I bury my face in her neck, inhale the scent of citrus and skin and something only hers. Her laugh catches in her throat as I kiss the curve of her collarbone, then lower, tasting the curve of her ribs like a man desperate to memorize.
Her hips rise, and I meet her halfway.
We move together like we’ve done this before in another life—clashing and yielding, wild and reverent. I lose myself in the sounds she makes, the way her breath catches, the whisper of my name like it’s something sacred.
She pulls me down until we’re chest to chest, heart to heart.
And in this moment, there’s no armor. No mission. No past. No future.
Only us.
Her hand drifts down my chest, nails skimming over scarred skin, over ridged scales that most people flinch from. She doesn’t. She touches like she knows this is my softest place, and I can barely breathe when her fingers wrap around my cock.
She strokes me slowly, teasing, and I can’t stop the way my hips buck against her hand. My cock throbs in her grip—hot, slick, pulsing with the kind of need I’ve never let anyone see. She holds me like I’m more than a weapon. Like I’m worthy of care.
I can’t take it.
I hook my hand behind her knee and flip her again, this time with a little less gentleness and a little more urgency. She gasps, breathless with laughter, her red hair fanning over the pillow like flame. Her green eyes are dark with heat.
“I want to see your face,” she says.
“You’ll feel everything,” I promise.
And then I’m there, cock brushing against her soaked pussy, and fuck—she’s so wet for me, slick and ready, her thighs trembling where they wrap around my waist. I push in slow, letting her feel every inch of me. Her mouth falls open, fingers digging into my arms.
“Voltar,” she moans, high and breathless.
“I’ve got you,” I pant. “Stars, Sable, you’re so tight. You take me like you were built for it.”
She whimpers, legs locking tighter around me, and I start to move.
Slow, at first. Letting her feel the stretch, the friction, the way my cock slides in and out of her soaked heat. Her pussy grips me like she never wants to let go, and I can feel every twitch, every pulse, like her body is talking back.
“You’re so deep,” she gasps. “So fucking deep—don’t stop.”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” I growl, and kiss her hard.
She arches beneath me, meeting every thrust with a cry of pleasure. I watch her—every gasp, every shiver, every desperate clutch of my name.
Her nails rake my back. Her breath stutters. Her voice breaks.
“More,” she begs. “Harder.”
I give it to her.
I fuck her like I’ve never done it before—like this is the first time it’s ever meant something. Our rhythm is raw and filthy, sweat-slick and primal, but there’s something more under it—connection, tether, a damn knowing. She wraps around me like she’s anchoring me to the world.
And I let her.
Her climax hits with a sound I’ll never forget. A sob, a gasp, my name—“Voltar”—like it’s carved out of her soul.
I follow with a roar, my body jerking as I spill inside her, my cock pulsing, filling her with everything I have.
We collapse together, panting, bodies trembling.
And in the quiet after, when her fingers trace circles on my chest and I feel her heart beat against mine, I know—
I’ll never want anyone else like this.
Not in this lifetime.
Not ever.
Afterwards, Sable’s cheek is pressed against my chest like we were made to fit this way.
The room is dark, except for the faint blue spill of citylight bleeding through the window blinds.
It streaks across her bare shoulder, making her freckles look like stars scattered in constellations only I know the names of.
She sighs, soft and content. Her fingers are slow, idle, tracing the scar over my second heart in a pattern so delicate it makes my throat go tight. Her nails barely graze me, but it’s enough. Enough to make me ache in a way no blade or bullet ever managed.
“How’d you get this one?” she murmurs. Her voice is thick with sleep and warmth, like honey left too long in the sun.
I glance down. The scar’s an old one. Pale. Nearly invisible now, but still there, slashing across my chest like a reminder of my worst instincts and best stories.
“That?” I drawl, stretching one arm behind my head. “Bar bet. Hover bike. Shark tank. Zero common sense.”
She lifts her head slowly and blinks up at me. “You’re full of it.”
I give her a lazy grin. “Dead serious.”
“You jumped a hover bike over a shark tank?”
“Well. Tried to.”
She stares, mouth parting in astonishment. Then she laughs—a bright, breathy sound that punches me right in the ribs. Her whole body shakes against mine, and I feel it everywhere, even in the places her skin doesn’t touch.
“Stars, you’re an idiot,” she says fondly, laying her head back down.
“Mm. Wasn’t my finest hour.”
“Did you at least win the bet?”
I smirk. “Technically? No. I blacked out mid-air. Came to two days later in a bacta tank with six busted ribs and a very smug medic.”
She snorts again, her breath fanning across my chest. “Gods, I wish I’d seen that.”
“Trust me,” I mutter. “It was not my most graceful moment.”
She’s quiet after that, her fingers still drawing lazy patterns over my skin. Her touch shifts, softer now. Almost hesitant. Then her voice comes again—quieter this time, like it costs something to ask.
“Will they really come for me again?”
Everything inside me stills. The humor drains out of the room like air sucked from a sealed chamber. My arms wrap around her automatically, drawing her tighter. She fits so damn perfectly it makes my chest ache.
“Yes,” I say, voice low and honest. “They will.”
She doesn’t tense. Not fully. But I feel the shift in her body—the way her breath stutters, the tiniest tremor in her hand. She tries to hide it, brave as hell, but I know what fear feels like under the skin.
“And if they do?” she whispers.
I tilt her chin up gently with one finger until her eyes meet mine. “Let them,” I growl. “I’ll be ready.”
Her lips part like she’s about to say something, then stop. I see it in her eyes first—something fragile flickering there, then hardening. Becoming belief.
“You mean that,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“I’ve never meant anything more,” I tell her.
She stares at me for a long moment, then lays her head back on my chest. “I believe you.”
I exhale, long and quiet. My hand moves through her curls slowly, untangling knots I find there. She lets out a soft sound—not quite a purr, not quite a sigh.
“Voltar?” she says after a minute.
“Mm?”
“Do you ever get scared?”
I go still. That one takes me off guard.
“Yeah,” I admit. “But not of them. Not anymore.”
“Then what?”
I hesitate. Then I say it. “This.”
She looks up again, brow furrowed. “Me?”
“No,” I say. “Wanting you this much. Needing this. It’s new. And new things… new things break easy.”
She presses a kiss just above my scar. “Then don’t drop it.”
I smile into the dark. “Never.”
She wraps herself tighter around me, her leg sliding between mine, her breath warming the skin just above my heart. And I realize something then—something quiet and terrifying and beautiful.
This is the only war I ever want to lose.
And I’ll fight every goddamn day to keep it.