Chapter 20 Closer #2
"So many stories," he murmured, tracing a knife scar across my ribs. "So much survival."
"Stubborn," I corrected.
"That too." His thumb found the brand on my hip, the one that marked me as property. "This hurt?"
"Yes."
"Still hurt?"
I thought about it. The physical pain was long healed, but the mark itself... "Sometimes."
He leaned down and kissed it. Soft. Reverent. Like it was something precious instead of shameful.
"Nathan—"
"Quiet," he reminded me. "No sounds unless I allow them."
I bit my lip, following orders. Following his orders, which felt different than submission. Felt like choice.
His mouth traced patterns across my skin, avoiding the places Gabriel had claimed. Finding new territory. Making new associations. When he finally kissed me properly, I was shaking with need that had nothing to do with conditioning.
"Color?" he asked against my mouth.
"Green. So fucking green."
He smiled, and I felt it more than saw it. "Turn over."
The cuffs made it awkward, but I managed. Face down, ass up, completely vulnerable. The position should have been terrifying. Should have sent me back to training rooms and punishment. But Nathan's hands on my hips were steady. Safe. Present.
"You asked me to take control," he said. "To remind you that your body can follow other orders. So here's an order—feel this. Be present for this. Don't drift away into memory or conditioning. Stay here with me."
The first strike was light. Testing. More sound than impact. My body responded—but not with the trained arousal of Gabriel's games. This was cleaner. Simpler. Sensation without the weight of history.
"Good," Nathan said. "Another?"
"Yes, sir."
He built it slowly. Carefully. Reading my responses and adjusting. Not trying to break me or train me. Just... giving me sensation to focus on. Something immediate and real that belonged to now, not then.
"You're doing so well," he said, rubbing where the skin had warmed. "Being so good for me. My good girl, not his."
"Yours," I agreed, and meant it.
When he finally touched me properly, I was so wet it should have been embarrassing. But shame belonged to the old world. The old rules. Here, in this cheap motel with rain pattering against windows, I could want things. Could ask for things.
"Please," I managed.
"Please what?"
"Need you. Need to feel you."
"Soon." His fingers worked me with the same careful precision he'd used to map my scars. "But first, I want to taste you. Want to know what you're like when you're not performing. Not trying to be perfect. Just feeling."
He uncuffed one hand so I could turn over, then secured it again. The asymmetry should have bothered me—Gabriel had been obsessive about balance, symmetry, perfection. But this was better. More real. More human.
When his mouth found me, I forgot about programming. Forgot about conditioning. Forgot about everything except the present moment and the man taking me apart with reverent determination.
"Let me hear you," he said against my skin. "Want to know how you sound when you're not afraid."
The permission broke something open in me. Sounds I'd trained myself to suppress spilled out—gasps and moans and his name repeated like a prayer. Not a performance. Not trying to be Daddy's good girl. Just... feeling.
When I came, it was with my free hand twisted in his hair and my body arching off the bed. No shame. No fear. Just sensation and release and the knowledge that this pleasure was mine to take.
"Beautiful," Nathan said, kissing his way back up my body. "You're beautiful when you let go."
"Want to taste you too," I managed when my brain came back online. "Please."
He studied my face, then nodded. Uncuffed my other hand but left the metal around my wrists—a reminder of choices made and control given. I pushed him back, taking charge even within the structure we'd established.
He was already hard, had been for a while judging by the wet spot on his boxers. I took my time, returning the favor of careful attention. Learning what made him curse, what made his hands tighten in my hair, what made him say my name like it was holy.
"Fuck," he breathed when I took him deep. "Bunny... Christ..."
I hummed around him, pleased at the reaction. This was wanting to give pleasure because I chose to. Because it made me feel powerful in ways that had nothing to do with conditioning.
"Stop," he said suddenly, pulling me up. "Not like that. Not this time."
I blinked at him, confused. "But—"
"Inside you," he clarified, voice rough. "I need to be inside you. Need you to feel me tomorrow when we're hunting. Remember who you belong to now."
"Yes." The word came out desperate. "Please. Yes."
He kissed me, deep and possessive, and I could taste myself on his tongue. Could taste us, mixed together. Creating something new.
When he pushed inside, we both groaned. It had been weeks since we'd had time for anything gentle. Weeks of quick fucks against walls between hunting trips, of using sex like violence to burn off excess energy. This was different. Slower. More intentional.
"Look at me," he ordered, and I did. Met his eyes as he moved inside me, watched his face as he fought for control. "Who do you belong to?"
"You." No hesitation. "I'm yours."
"Whose orders do you follow?"
"Yours."
"Who's going to be there when we find Gabriel?"
"You." My voice broke on the word. "You'll be there."
"Always," he promised, and I believed him.
We moved together, finding rhythm. Not the perfection Gabriel had demanded but something messier. More real. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing to feel him everywhere.
"Want you to come for me," he said against my neck. "Want to feel you fall apart. Show me how good you can be when you're not afraid."
His hand found where we were joined, adding pressure that made me see stars. But it wasn't just the physical sensation that pushed me over. It was the permission. The safety. The knowledge that I could fall apart and he'd catch the pieces.
I came with his name on my lips and my nails in his shoulders, marking him like he was marking me. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning my name like a prayer.
"Inside," I gasped as he started to pull away. "Want... want you to finish inside. Want to remember I'm yours."
"Fuck." But he did, pushing deep one more time as he came. Claiming me in ways that had nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with choice.
We stayed tangled together afterward, breathing hard. The rain had picked up, drumming against the windows like impatient fingers. Tomorrow we'd be in Boston. Tomorrow the hunt would continue. But tonight...
"Better?" Nathan asked, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I took inventory. The shaking had stopped. The crawling sensation under my skin had quieted. My body felt like mine again—well-used and satisfied and present.
"Better," I confirmed. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." He shifted, pulling out carefully. I made a small sound at the loss, and he kissed me again. "We take care of each other. That's what this is."
This. Whatever we were. Hunt partners. Fuck buddies. Two broken people using each other to stay functional. It didn't matter what we called it. What mattered was that it worked.
"Shower," he decided. "Then food. Then we plan."
"Then Boston."
"Then Boston," he agreed.
I let him lead me back to the bathroom, different than before. The mirrors still showed a stranger, but now she looked... settled. Still sharp. Still dangerous. But present in her own skin.
We showered together, washing away sweat and come and the lingering ghosts of conditioning. Nathan shampooed my hair with the same careful attention he'd used to make me come, and something in the gentle domesticity of it made my chest tight.
"I might not survive this," I said suddenly. "Finding Gabriel. Ending it. I might not come out the other side."
His hands stilled in my hair. "You will."
"You don't know that."
"No," he admitted. "But I know you. And you're too stubborn to let him win. Even in death."
I turned to face him, water running between us. "And if I do survive? What then? What happens to a weapon without a war?"
"You find a new purpose." He cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Or you learn to be something besides a weapon. Either way, you'll figure it out."
"Will you be there? After?"
The question hung between us, heavy with implications neither of us were ready to address. What were we without the hunt? Without the shared mission? Without violence as foreplay?
"If you want me to be," he said finally.
"I do." The admission felt dangerous. Like handing him ammunition. But we were past playing it safe. "Whatever this is... I want to see what it looks like without Gabriel's shadow."
"Then we'll find out together."
He kissed me again, sealing the promise. It wasn't love—we were both too damaged for that word, even if he had already said it, I knew the truth. But it was something. Partnership. Understanding. A mutual recognition that we were better broken together than broken alone.
We finished showering and dressed in comfortable clothes. Nathan ordered Chinese from the place next door while I spread our intelligence on the bed. Three properties in Boston. Three possible locations where Gabriel might be rebuilding his empire.
"We hit them in order of likelihood," I said, tracing routes on the map. "Quick reconnaissance first. Confirm presence before engagement."
"And if he's there?"
I looked up at him. "Then I show him what his pet became."
Nathan handed me a container of lo mein. "Eat first. Kill tomorrow."
Such a simple philosophy, but it worked. I forced down food, tasting nothing but needing the fuel. Tomorrow would require energy. Focus. The ability to push past whatever conditioning tried to surface.
"You know it'll be worse when we're close," I said. "My responses. The programming. Being in the same room with him..."
"I know."
"I might not be able to fight it. Might respond to him instead of you."
"Then I'll remind you who you belong to now." His voice was steady. Certain. "Whatever it takes, I'll bring you back."
I believed him. Had to believe him. The alternative—losing myself to Gabriel's programming again—was unbearable.
We spent the next hour reviewing plans, backup strategies, contingencies. Professional work that helped settle my nerves. This was what we were good at. The hunt. The preparation. The careful violence of our trade.
By the time we crawled into bed, the rain had become a storm. Lightning illuminated the room in stark flashes, throwing our shadows on water-stained walls.
"Sleep," Nathan ordered, pulling me against him. "Long day tomorrow."
But I couldn't. Not yet. "What if we're wrong? What if the trail's cold and he's already gone?"
"Then we keep hunting."
"What if we never find him?"
"We will."
"What if—"
"Bunny." He turned me to face him. "Stop. Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll handle it. Together. Now sleep."
I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. Gunpowder and cheap soap and something uniquely Nathan. Not home—I didn't know what home meant anymore—but safe. As safe as people like us could be.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For earlier. For understanding what I needed."
"Always." His arms tightened around me. "Whatever you need to keep going. To stay yours instead of his."
Mine instead of his. Such a simple concept that had taken so much blood to achieve. But lying there in Nathan's arms, feeling his come still sticky between my thighs, I finally believed it might be true.
Tomorrow we'd hunt. Tomorrow I'd face the monster who'd made me.
But tonight, I was just Bunny. Broken but breathing. Damaged but not defeated.
And for now, that was enough.