Chapter 14 #2
"Kruk!" She jerks back, eyes going wide as the fire catches and starts eating through the paper. "What are you doing?"
"Terminating the existing agreement." I watch the contract curl and blacken, burning fast and hot. She drops it into the ice bucket when the flames get too close to her fingers. It hisses. Smoke swirls between us, smelling like burnt paper and melted ink.
She stares at the remains. At me. "Why?"
"Because the terms are no longer accurate.
" I step closer. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin, to see the way her pulse hammers in the hollow of her throat.
"You hired me to protect you from your ex-boyfriend.
To play a role. To complete a mission with defined parameters and a fixed endpoint. "
"Yes." Her voice comes out rough.
"The mission has changed." I lift my hand, trace my thumb along her jaw, feel the way she leans into the touch like she's starving for it. "I do not want to be your fake anything. I do not want a contract with an expiration date."
Her breath catches. "What do you want?"
"Indefinite exclusivity." Words are easier than I expected. Precise and clear, the way I like things. "You. Permanently. No more pretending. No more temporary arrangements."
She stares at me like I just spoke a language she doesn't understand, eyes huge and wet and shining in the low light. "Are you... is this a proposal?"
"This is a tactical alliance with romantic and sexual exclusivity clauses." I pause. "Also yes."
A sound escapes her. Half laugh, half sob. She covers her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking.
I freeze. Scan her face for distress indicators. "You are crying. Did I miscalculate? I can adjust the terms—"
"Shut up." She drops her hand. Tears streak down her cheeks but she's smiling, wide and incredulous and so bright it makes my chest ache. "You giant ridiculous romantic disaster of an orc, shut up."
Then she shoves me.
I'm not expecting it. Take a step back on pure instinct, and another when she advances, and then the backs of my knees hit the heart-shaped bed and I go down.
The mattress absorbs my weight with a soft whoosh. I land flat on my back, staring up at her. She follows me down, climbing onto the bed, straddling my hips, hands braced on my chest.
"New terms," she says. Voice shaking. "You don't get to make speeches like that and then wait for me to respond with something coherent. That's not fair. You broke my brain."
"Unintentional." I settle my hands on her thighs. Feel her warmth through the sheer fabric of her dress. "Do you accept?"
"Accept what? The proposal? The alliance? The indefinite—" She breaks off. Shakes her head. More tears fall but she's still smiling. "Yes. All of it. Whatever you want to call it, yes."
Relief hits like a concussion. I pull her down, rolling us in one smooth motion so she's beneath me, caged in by my arms and my weight and the breadth of my shoulders blocking out everything else.
She gasps, a sharp, startled sound that shivers through the narrow space between us.
Her back arches instinctively, pressing up into me like she's trying to eliminate every millimeter of distance, to fuse herself against the solid weight of my body pinning her to the mattress.
The movement shifts her hips beneath mine, creates friction that makes my brain short-circuit for a dangerous second before tactical discipline reasserts itself.
Her hands come up, trembling slightly as they find my face.
Palms flatten against my jaw, fingers spreading across the tribal ink that marks my cheekbones.
Warm. Soft. Anchoring me in a way that has nothing to do with physical strength and everything to do with the way she touches me, like I'm something precious instead of something weapon-grade.
She pulls, not hard but insistent, bringing my head down until our foreheads meet. The contact grounds something wild that's been running loose ever since she said yes.
"I love you," she whispers. "I'm in love with you. The real you, not the fake fiancé or the bodyguard or whatever other role you thought you were playing. You. Kruk. The orc who fixes cakes and threatens exes and treats wedding receptions like hostile territory."
The words land like arrows. Precise. Devastating. Perfectly aimed at every weak point in my armor I didn't know existed until she found them.
"Colletta." Her name tastes like a vow. Like something sacred I'm not supposed to touch but can't stop reaching for anyway.
"Say it back." She tightens her grip on my face. "Or don't. I don't need—"
"I love you. From the moment you hired me. From the first time you laughed at something I said without fear. You are the mission I did not know I was looking for."
Her expression crumples, features shifting through a dozen emotions in the space of a heartbeat, surprise, joy, something that looks dangerously close to tears.
Beautiful. Completely wrecked. Undone in the best possible way.
"That's the most Kruk thing you've ever said," she manages, voice breaking on a laugh that sounds wet and overwhelmed.
"Comparing me to a mission. Making a declaration of love sound like a tactical briefing. "
I study her face, cataloging every detail. The shine in her eyes. The tremor in her bottom lip. The flush spread across her cheeks. "Is that acceptable?" I ask, because I need to be certain. Need confirmation that I haven't miscalculated this critical moment. "Have I expressed this correctly?"
"It's perfect." She pulls me down. Kisses me hard, messy, graceless and real and better than anything I've felt in my entire violent life. "Now shut up and sign the treaty."
I kissed her again instead of answering. Deeper this time. Thorough. My hands find the zipper of her dress, sliding it down with more care than I use for anything else, like she's explosive material that requires delicate handling.
She pulls at my jacket. I help her, shrug and throw it aside. The tie goes next. Then the buttons of my shirt, her fingers fumbling slightly, impatient and eager and making small frustrated sounds when the fabric doesn't cooperate.
I catch her wrists mid-fumble. Pin them gently but firmly above her head with one hand, pressing them into the pillow. The change in position makes her pause, makes her breath hitch in that way that tells me everything I need to know.
She goes completely still beneath me. Her body tenses for just a moment before releasing into something softer, more yielding.
She looks up at me with those dark eyes, pupils blown wide, lips parted and swollen from kissing.
Her chest heaves with each breath, rising and falling rapidly against mine.
The handcuffs sit on the nightstand where I placed them earlier. Visible. Available. A question I've been waiting to ask.
"The handcuffs, do you want them?"
Her throat works visibly as she swallows. I watch the movement, fascinated by the vulnerability of it, by the trust already evident in how she hasn't tried to pull her wrists free from my grip.
"Yes." The word comes out rough. Certain. No hesitation despite the way her pulse races beneath my fingers.
I need to be clear. Need her to understand the terms of engagement. "Tell me if it becomes too much. At any point. I will stop immediately."
"I will." She nods against the pillow, then adds more softly, almost desperately, "I trust you, Kruk."
Those words hit harder than any weapon ever has.
I release her wrists long enough to retrieve the cuffs from the table. The metal gleams in the lamplight. I test the mechanism once more, ensuring everything works smoothly, no sharp edges or faulty locks.
Colletta watches. Trembling slightly. Not from fear. I know fear. This is anticipation.
I return to the bed. She offers her wrists without prompting, holding them together above her head. The trust implicit in the gesture makes my pulse kick harder.
I secure the cuffs. Not too tight. Enough that she can feel the restraint, the weight of the metal, the knowledge that she can't free herself without my help.
Her breathing goes ragged. She tests the hold experimentally, pulling against the cuffs. They hold firm.
"Okay?" I ask, my voice dropping lower. I need to hear her confirm it. Need verbal confirmation that this is what she wants, that the restraints aren't causing discomfort, that her mind is still aligned with her body's reactions.
"More than okay." Her voice comes out breathless, thin and reedy in a way that makes the heat coil low in my gut.
Wrecked already and I've barely touched her beyond securing the cuffs, beyond letting my hands ghost over her skin while I fastened the metal around her wrists.
The knowledge that such minimal contact has reduced her to this state, trembling, panting, pupils blown wide, sends satisfaction surging through my chest. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I don't plan to. Not when she's looking at me like that, vulnerability and desire warring across her features. Not when every instinct I possess is screaming at me to claim, to protect, to make absolutely certain she understands exactly who she belongs to.
I finish removing her dress. Peel it slowly, exposing skin inch by inch. She shivers when the air hits her. Arches when my hands follow the path of the fabric, mapping the curve of her waist, the dip of her ribs, the soft swell of her breasts.
The strawberries sit forgotten on the table beside the bed, the bowl slightly askew from where I'd set it down earlier.
I retrieve one anyway, selecting it carefully, perfectly ripe, deep red, the kind that promises sweetness with just the right amount of tartness.
Bring it to her lips, watching as her eyes track the movement, as her breath catches in anticipation.
"Open."
She obeys without hesitation, without question.
Parts those soft lips and takes a bite when I press the fruit forward.
Juice runs down her chin immediately, a crimson trail that catches the dim light filtering through the curtains, and I catch it with my thumb before it can drip onto her throat.
Bring it to my own mouth, sucking the sticky sweetness from my skin while maintaining eye contact, watching her pupils dilate further.
Sweet. Sharp. Perfect. Just like her, unpredictable combinations that somehow work together flawlessly.
I eat the rest of the strawberry slowly, deliberately, letting her watch as I chew and swallow.
Then I kiss her, slow and deep and thorough, sharing the taste between us until neither of us can tell where one ends and the other begins.
Until the flavor mingles with the salt of her skin and the unique taste that is distinctly Colletta, coffee and chaos and something indefinably hers.
Until she's whimpering into my mouth, straining against the handcuffs that keep her exactly where I want her.
This is not a contract. Not a mission. Not a temporary alliance with an expiration date stamped somewhere in fine print.
This is a treaty. Permanent. Binding. Sealed with strawberries and handcuffs and the trust that only comes when someone sees every violent, broken, dangerous piece of you and decides you're worth keeping anyway.
"Mine," I murmured against her throat.
"Yours," she agrees. "Always."
I believe her.