Chapter 10 Eliza
TEN
Eliza
SURRENDER
Everything that follows is heat.
No—fire.
It rolls over me in waves, sensation after sensation crashing so fast I can’t keep up.
Cooper doesn’t touch—he consumes.
His hands roam like he owns me, like he’s been waiting to tear me apart and finally has permission. His mouth is everywhere—sucking, biting, claiming. Down my throat. Across my breasts.
Lower still.
When he drags his tongue between my thighs and groans like I’m his favorite goddamn meal, my legs shake so hard I nearly sob.
“You’re dripping,” he mutters, voice rough as gravel, eyes blazing between my legs. “Fuck, look at this sweet little pussy. You soaked the sheets for me, baby.”
I can’t answer. Can’t speak. Just moan as he slides two fingers inside me, slow and deliberate, then curls them just right.
“Arch for me,” he growls. “I want that greedy cunt to grind against my face.”
And I do.
I can’t not.
He devours me like a man starved—using his fingers, his tongue, his voice, dragging me up to the edge again and again until I’m pleading, my thighs shaking around his head, my voice wrecked.
“Come on my tongue,” he snarls. “Give it to me, Eliza. Right fucking now.”
I shatter.
Hard.
My cry rips through the room, sharp and desperate and real. My body jerks off the bed, everything tightening around his mouth, his hand, him.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let me float away.
Just kisses my inner thigh, then slides up my body in one lethal, fluid movement—lining himself up, pressing the thick head of his cock against my entrance.
“Look at me.”
My eyes snap open, locking on his.
“You ready for this?”
I nod.
He doesn’t move.
“Use your words, baby. I want to hear it.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
He thrusts in one brutal, perfect stroke that forces the air from my lungs.
I scream.
The stretch, the fullness—it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Goddamn,” he growls. “Tight little hole taking every fucking inch.”
He holds still, breathing hard.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained. Barely controlled.
“More than okay,” I whisper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Not a chance in hell,” he growls.
He starts to move.
Not fast—not yet.
Each thrust is measured, claiming. Deep enough to bruise. Slow enough to torment.
His hands grip my hips, controlling every angle. His mouth drags down my jaw, biting my shoulder.
“Fucking made for me,” he pants. “You feel that? That’s me splitting you open. Filling every goddamn inch.”
I whimper, my nails digging into his back.
“You love this,” he growls. “Being fucked the way you need.”
“Yes,” I sob, already trembling. “Yes—Cooper, please—”
“That’s it,” he rasps, speeding up now. “Beg for it. Beg for your fucking release.”
“Please,” I moan. “Please—I need to come—”
“You don’t need anything unless I say so.”
He grabs my wrists, pins them above my head.
“You come when I let you. Not before.”
His other hand slips between us, thumb circling my clit in perfect, torturous rhythm.
“You’ll take what I give,” he growls. “Every thrust. Every command. Every filthy fucking word.”
My body is a live wire—every nerve lit, strung so tight I’m seconds from detonation.
“I want to watch you fall apart,” he whispers, mouth at my ear. “I want to fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own goddamn name.”
He drives in—harder now—deep, fast, relentless.
The slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the room, punctuated by my moans, my cries, the rough curses falling from his lips.
“That’s my girl,” he snarls as I start to break. “Take what you fucking need.”
It hits me like a detonation.
My back bows off the bed, my body convulsing around him, eyes wide open as I scream his name and come harder than I ever have in my life.
Cooper doesn’t slow.
He fucks me through it.
“I’m not done,” he groans. “Not until I’m buried so deep you forget you were ever anyone else’s.”
Another thrust. Another.
He slams in once more and growls against my throat as he comes—hard—his cock pulsing inside me, his voice breaking on my name like a goddamn prayer.
He collapses on top of me, panting, sweaty, shaking.
I feel wrecked. Stretched. Claimed.
Exactly how I wanted to feel.
Exactly how he promised I would.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, limbs a mess, skin slick with sweat, still gasping.
My body feels wrecked in the best way—every nerve raw, overstimulated, alive.
His arm is heavy across my waist. His breath brushes the crown of my head.
My academic brain tries to reassert itself, clinging to routine—to logic—but it short-circuits the moment I try to analyze what happened. There’s no category for this. No metric.
This wasn’t sex.
It was a seismic event.
“Well,” I say, breathless, my voice barely more than a whisper. “That’s one way to shut me up.”
Cooper’s chest rumbles with a quiet, satisfied laugh. “Most effective method I’ve found so far.”
I roll onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow. He looks different like this—less contained. Hair mussed. Eyes softened. Smug, yes, but also something else.
Relaxed.
Real.
“Cooper,” I start.
But he lifts a hand and places two fingers against my lips.
“Don’t overthink it,” he says.
I nod, but my brain’s already spinning. Part of me needs to ask what this means. If it’s just sex, or if it could be anything else.
But another part of me—the part still humming with orgasmic aftershocks—is content to stay here in his arms. Let the questions wait.
For now, we’re safe.
Not just physically. Emotionally.
Outside, Phoenix is still hunting. Our reality still waits with teeth bared.
But right here, right now, I feel protected in a way no perimeter check or reinforced wall could ever match.
“Seventy-two hours,” I murmur into his chest.
“Maybe ninety-six,” he corrects, tightening his grip like he’s claiming every second.
“Good,” I say, and I mean it with everything I’ve got left.
“Why’s that good?”
“Because that gives you more time to show me all those tactical positions.”
His laugh vibrates against my skin. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What else would you call it?”
“Hot sex.” He grins. “But if you think I’m good for only one round, you’ve got another thing coming.”
I blink. The words trip something automatic in my brain.
“Technically,” I murmur, still breathless, “it’s ‘another think coming.’ It’s a misheard idiom—an eggcorn. The original phrase— ‘If you think that, you’ve got another think coming’ dates back to the early 1900s, not ‘thing.’ Though the modern misusage has gained—”
His gaze sharpens. Slow. Lethal.
“Eliza.” His voice is low. Rough. Laced with danger. “If you don’t shut that pretty little mouth right now, I’m going to shove my cock in it and fuck you silent.”
The words slice through the air like a blade.
I freeze.
My mouth stops mid-syllable. My brain, always racing, skids and crashes.
Did he just—
“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes locked on mine. “You like that, don’t you?”
I stare at him, speechless. My skin flushes, my thighs instinctively clenching.
“Yeah,” he breathes, dark delight flickering in his eyes. “You’re looking at me like I just ripped the thought right out of your dirtiest little fantasy.”
I go completely still. Just stare at him. Mortified.
He shifts, rolling me flat, moving over me, still hard, still hungry.
“You gonna play innocent now?” he growls, sliding a hand between my thighs. “After coming all over my cock like that? After crying out my name like you were begging me to ruin you again?”
His fingers find me—slick, throbbing. I jolt.
“You think I don’t know what’s going on in that brilliant little brain of yours?” He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You want it. Not the dirty talk. Not the dominance.” He drags his fingers over my clit—slow. Unforgiving. “You want to be taken. To be on your knees, choking on my cock.”
My breath catches.
He sees it.
Heat flares like I’ve been struck by a live wire.
His eyes narrow with the satisfaction of a man who just detonated a charge and liked the explosion. “Yeah, that turns you the fuck on,” he murmurs, moving in closer. “I hit on one of your filthy little fantasies.”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Not a single word.
“Now that’s a first,” he growls. “Professor Motor Mouth, rendered speechless by the thought of choking on my cock.”
God.
He’s in my head.
He’s inside the fantasy I’ve never said out loud.
The Roman gladiator. The conqueror. The brute who doesn’t ask—he takes. Puts me on my knees and feeds me every inch of him because he can. Because I want him to.
Cooper brushes my hair off my face with an almost gentle touch. But his next words are anything but soft.
“If you thought round one was the end of it, sweetheart—” his voice drops, dark and rough, “—you’ve got something else to think about.
I’m not done. I’m going to tear you apart.
Ruin you. Again. And again. You’re going to come on my face, on my cock, on my fingers.
Until you can’t even remember how to form a single goddamn word. ”
He kisses me, but it’s not a kiss.
It’s a claim. All tongue and hunger, heat and control.
When he finally pulls back, his breath fans hot against my lips.
“And when you’re finally spent—when you’re limp and wrecked and twitching—I want you to look me in the eye and tell me exactly what went through that brilliant little linguist brain of yours when I told you I was going to fuck your mouth. ”
His fingers slide between my thighs, and I jerk at the sudden jolt of pleasure. He chuckles darkly as his fingers begin to move.
It’s not gentle. It’s not teasing. It’s pressure—blunt, precise, claiming.
My hips buck instinctively, breath catching hard in my chest.
He watches me. Silent. Sharp. That infuriatingly smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Speechless again.”
His fingers work deeper, parting me. Finding exactly where I need him and pressing, stroking, pushing me toward the edge like he owns my body.
Like he already knows how it breaks.
My spine bows off the bed. Hands scrabble for something—anything—to hold on to.
I can’t. I can’t stop it. It’s too much. Too fast.
My thighs tremble, clenching around his wrist as a sob of pleasure rips from my throat.
“That’s it,” he growls, fingers relentless. “Come for me. Soak my hand, Eliza.”
And I do.
Hard.
Shaking.
Lips parted around a sound I don’t even recognize as my own.
Before I can recover, he grabs my hips. Flips me onto my stomach like I weigh nothing.
My cheek hits the mattress. A heartbeat later—
CRACK.
His hand lands on my ass, sharp and commanding. The sting ricochets through me, raw and electric.
I gasp, heat blooming across my skin.
“Good girl,” he growls, voice dark with satisfaction. “But we’re not done.”
His palm presses between my shoulder blades. Heavy. Possessive. Controlling.
I go still. Breath caught.
“My turn.” He kneels behind me, shoves my thighs wide, and drags the thick head of his cock through my slick folds—slow, deliberate, filthy.
No warning.
He drives into me in one rough, ruthless thrust.
I cry out—more shock than pain—my hands fisting the sheets as he fills me completely.
His hand curls into my hair, yanks me back just enough to bare my throat.
“Looks like my little linguist likes it rough.” His breath is hot at my ear. “Feel it. Feel me fucking you. Taking you. Using you. Until you can’t fucking walk.”
He thrusts again—hard. Deep. Right into the spot that makes me see stars.
And again.
And again.
Relentless.
Claiming.
Exactly the way I always imagined it would feel to be taken by a man who doesn’t ask—who just knows.
The sound of skin slapping skin, the sting of his hand tangled in my hair, the obscene stretch of him inside me—it’s all too much.
Too perfect.
My vision blurs as I shatter again, my body convulsing around him, his name tearing from my throat.
Cooper follows with a broken growl, grinding into me as he comes, his hand fisted in my hair, his body locked tight against mine.
We collapse in a tangle of limbs, gasping. Spent. Ruined.
And still—I know round three is coming.
Because the man behind me hasn’t begun to be done.