Chapter Fourteen Eason Storm
The second her breathing shifted, I knew she was awake. Her body stayed still, like she was trying to fool me. Like she didn’t know by now that I could feel every damn thing about her.
She wasn’t in that dusty-ass duplex she clung to like it made her safe. She wasn’t wrapped in all that fake-ass independence she swore kept her protected. She was in my bed. In my penthouse. Under my roof. And she wasn’t going anywhere.
Her hand moved first, straight to her stomach. Like she needed confirmation this shit was real. That the baby tying her to me — in blood, in bone, in breath — was still there, growing inside her.
Good. I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to wake up every damn day reminded that there was no escaping me now.
Slowly, her head turned. And when her eyes finally found me, I smirked, sipping from the black mug in my hand.
“Morning, Muffin.”
Her jaw tightened immediately at the nickname, that stubborn-ass fire lighting up her face. She was already pissed, already gearing up for a fight. Like she ain’t already know how this shit was gonna end.
“What the fuck, Eason,” she snapped, her voice low and sharp, thick with frustration.
I arched a brow lazily, setting my mug down on the nightstand without breaking eye contact. Then I dragged my gaze slow and deliberate over her whole frame — from her wild hair, to her bare thighs peeking out from under my t-shirt, to the small swell of her stomach.
Even pissed. Even rumpled and worn the fuck out from everything. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid my eyes on.
I leaned back against the headboard, arms spread out like a king surveying what was already his.
“This how you talk to the man that saved your stubborn ass last night?” I asked, my voice a low, dangerous tease.
Her nostrils flared. Good. Let her fight. It’d make her surrender that much sweeter.
“You look so fucking good when you’re mad.” My voice dropped, lazy and thick, filled with amusement I didn’t even try to hide.
She rolled her eyes hard enough to damn near strain something and threw the sheets off her body, movements sharp and violent.
Swung her legs over the edge of the bed like she was about to storm out.
But the second her feet hit the cold floor, she hesitated like she contemplated running.
I let my smirk deepen, but I didn’t move. Didn’t rush her. Just watched.
“Don’t waste your energy.” I said, calm and cool like I wasn’t two seconds away from pinning her ass back down. “The doors are locked. Your shit is already here. And you?”
I let my gaze deliberately drop — slow, heavy — down to the slight swell of her stomach, then dragged it back up to her furious eyes.
“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
She snorted, sharp and bitter. “Like hell I am.”
I chuckled, low and dark, standing up to my full height. Unfolding myself from the bed like the threat I knew I was.
“Nah, Muffin,” I corrected, voice dipping into something dangerous.
“You were in hell.”
I stepped closer, until the heat between our bodies sparked and crackled.
“Now you’re home.”
Her eyes burned like wildfire as she glared up at me, defiance radiating off her tiny frame.
“You’re fucking insane,” she spat.
I grinned, slow and merciless. “You been knew that.”
Xalori tried to push past me, her movements sharp and angry, but I didn’t budge. Didn’t need to. I stepped in her way, body like a fucking wall, forcing her to deal with me whether she wanted to or not.
Gripping her chin with two fingers, I tilted her face up to mine, slow and deliberate, making sure she saw every ounce of what I felt.
“I told you,” I murmured, voice dropping low, deadly. “Ain’t no more running.”
Her eyes flashed, wet and furious.
“I hate you,” she whispered, the words hitting the space between us like a weak shot that couldn’t land.
I grinned wide — slow, dangerous, wicked.
“That’s cute.”
Before she could jerk away, before she could think she had any fucking control left, I slid my hand to the back of her neck, fingers threading through the damp curls at the base of her skull, dragging her body flush against mine.
“You always do that shit.” I muttered, my breath hot against her lips, my forehead pressing against hers, caging her in so she had no choice but to breathe me in.
“Do what?” She breathed, the fight draining from her voice even as her hands curled into fists against my chest.
I chuckled low, the sound rumbling between us.
“You weaponize your anger, Muffin.”
I brushed my nose against hers, slow, possessive. “You push. You fight. You throw that hate at me, thinking it’s gonna scare me off.”
I tilted my head slightly, letting my mouth ghost over hers without kissing her.
“But all you’re doing is making me hungrier for you.”
Her breath hitched, her body trembling ever so slightly against mine. I grinned wider, my voice dark and rough when I spoke again.
“You hate me, Muffin?” I whispered. “Good. That means you feel me.”
Her breath was ragged, chest rising and falling fast like she was trying to get herself together, trying to force back everything I was pulling out of her. But I wasn’t letting her. Not this time. Not ever again.
I slid my hand up her throat, fingers wrapping there with just enough pressure to make her feel me — to remind her that I could feel every damn lie she tried to tell, even the ones she whispered to herself.
“But let me make something real clear, Muffin.” I rasped, my thumb stroking the side of her neck, slow, deliberate, cruel in how gentle it was. “I already took what’s mine.”
I dipped my head lower, my forehead pressing against hers, locking her down without force — just weight. Just presence.
Just making sure she felt me. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every ounce of the war she’d already fucking lost.
“You can hate me, scream at me, swear up and down you don’t want this,” I murmured, voice dropping to something dark and final, “but your body already chose. Your soul already chose. You’re mine, Muffin.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, a broken sound catching in her throat like she hated how bad she needed me.
I brushed my nose along hers, slow and tender like a man worshiping his fucking altar.
“Stop fighting it,” I whispered against her lips. “Stop fighting me.”
And when her fists loosened and her body sagged into mine, just a little, I knew. Knew she was right there. Knew she was cracking in all the right places for me to slip inside and wreck her from the inside out.
She stayed silent. Breathing hard like every molecule of air between us was poison and she couldn’t decide if she needed it or needed me more.
I gave the front of her gown another slow tug, the fabric tightening against her body, teasing the seams until it was ready to tear if she even breathed wrong.
“Say it, Muffin,” I rasped, my voice a lethal caress against her ear. “Say you don’t need me, and I’ll walk the fuck away.”
Her lips trembled. She tried. God, she fucking tried. But all that came out was a broken whimper that had my dick throbbing and my chest tightening at the same damn time.
That was it. That was all I needed. The fight was gone. Only raw truth left behind.
A savage grin cut across my face as I yanked her against me, one hand sliding around her throat again, the other gripping her hip like I was ready to snap her in half if she even thought about pulling away.
“You ain’t never gonna get rid of me, Muffin.” I murmured against her trembling lips.
“I’m the air you fucking breathe now.”
And before she could even think about denying it again, I crushed my mouth to hers—brutal, claiming, drowning her in everything she was too scared to ask for.
She gasped into the kiss, and that was all the opening I needed. I devoured her. Tasted her. And owned her.
And when her hands fisted in my shirt instead of pushing me away, when her body molded to mine like it had no fucking choice, I knew she was mine.
Body. Mind. And Soul.
Forever.