Chapter 23 #2
Then something in him breaks, like a dam finally giving way after years of pressure.
His mouth crashes into mine, and there’s nothing gentle about it. It’s teeth and tongue and raw, desperate hunger—not for sex, but for release. For absolution. For someone to hold all the broken pieces of him and not flinch.
I don’t flinch.
I grab his shoulders and pull him closer, meeting his intensity with my own. When his hands tear at my clothes, I help him. When he lifts me and pins me against the wall, I wrap my legs around him and hold on.
“Tell me to stop,” he gasps against my throat, his voice wrecked. “Tell me this is too much.”
“Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
He yanks my knit skirt down, then pushes my panties aside to enter me in one hard thrust. I cry out—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming rightness of it. This is what he needs. What we both need. Not careful lovemaking, but this raw, primal claiming.
He moves like a man possessed, driving into me with a force that shoves me up the wall with every thrust. And I take it. Take all of it. Take his rage and his fear and his five years of darkness and meet it with my own.
“Harder,” I gasp against his ear. “Give me all of it.”
He groans—a sound torn from somewhere deep—and obeys. One hand fists in my hair, the other grips my hip hard enough to bruise. The pleasure and the pain blur together into something transcendent.
“Izzy.” My name is like a prayer. “God, Izzy.”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, even as my body hurtles toward release. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
He does.
I feel the moment he stops holding back. Stops trying to control the beast and just surrenders to it completely, trusting me to survive the storm.
We shatter together.
The orgasm rips through me, and I hear myself scream his name as he roars mine, his whole body shuddering as he pours everything—the rage, the grief, the darkness, all of it—into me.
We stay there for a long time, pinned against the wall, breathing hard. His face is buried in my neck. His shoulders are shaking.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s crying.
“Hey.” I stroke his hair, his back, anywhere I can reach. “Hey. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled, broken. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. For everything.
“Shh.” I tilt his face up, make him look at me. His eyes are red, wet, devastated. “You don’t have to apologize. Not for this. Not for any of it.”
“I could have hurt you.”
“But you didn’t.” I kiss his forehead, his cheeks, the salt tracks of his tears. “You didn’t. And you won’t. Because the beast isn’t separate from you, Gabe. It’s not some monster waiting to break free. It’s just you. The parts of you that learned to survive. And I love those parts too.”
He stares at me like I’ve just handed him something precious. Something he never expected to hold.
He kisses me then. Soft and achingly tender after what we just did. And I taste his tears and his relief and something that feels like hope.
We make it to the bathroom, and he cleans us both up with hands that have finally stopped shaking.
“You’re okay?” he asks quietly. “Really?”
“I’m perfect. That was hot as hell and exactly what we both needed.” I catch his hand, then press a kiss to his split knuckles. “You don’t have to fight alone anymore. You have me. You’ll always have me.”
Something settles in his expression. As if some weight he’s been carrying since he crawled out of that burning cabin has finally started to lift.
He leads me to bed, and as I lie in the circle of his arms and let sleep draw me under, I finally let myself believe for the first time since he’s come back from the dead that we’ll really, truly make it.
I’m sipping coffee when his phone buzzes on the counter, and whatever he sees when he reads the text makes him go still. He snatches it up, presses a speed dial button, and says, “You’re sure? No, don’t do anything yet. I want to be there.”
I set down the mug I’m holding. “What is it?”
Gabriel ends the call, his expression caught between disbelief and something darker. Like hunger mixed with fury. “They found one of the men from Aspen. Carl Dekker.”
My heart stutters. “Dekker’s dead. My investigators almost nailed him years ago. Then, before we could verify he had anything to do with you, he slipped away, and then got himself dead.”
Gabe’s mouth twists. “Apparently, it didn’t stick.”
Gabe’s already moving. “He got picked up in Reno two weeks ago. Bar fight. Ran his prints and got a hit. Guess he got sloppy,” Gabe adds as he shrugs on his jacket. “Leo’s people grabbed him last night. He’s being held outside the city.”
“And the one he worked with? Webb?”
“Still in the wind. But I bet Dekker knows where he is.” His expression grows darker, and I watch as he transforms from the man who made me breakfast into something harder. More dangerous.
“I’m coming with you.”
“The hell you are.”
“Do not play that game.” My words are slow and measured. “I spent years looking for these men. I hired the investigators, I followed the leads, I hit the dead ends. You don’t get to cut me out now.”
“This isn’t going to be pretty.”
“And you don’t get to play babysitter just because you’re the big, strong man.” I close the distance between us, forcing him to look at me. “These men tortured you. They stole you from me. I deserve some goddamn answers. And, dammit, I hope it’s not pretty. I want a goddamn front row seat.”
I watch his face. The resistance doesn’t disappear, but it softens around the edges.
“It’s dangerous.”
“Yeah? Well, guess what. So is loving you, but I’m standing right here. I’m going,” I say again. “Just say okay.”
A moment passes. Then another. And just when I think we’re going to really have it out, he nods. “Okay. We do this together.”