“Say it,” he ordered, his fingers tightening with mine.
“Everything. Always.”
He shoved hard into me. It wasn’t gentle and slow. This was hard, unrelenting, determined, just like he was.
And I met his every movement.
The smack of heated skin echoed in the room as he pumped harder into me. My thighs trembled, and he thrust faster and faster.
“Oh God. Oh God. Vic. Vic,” I gasped, and every single muscle cramped and tightened. The eruption of pleasure gripped me, and I screamed with pleasure.
Vic slammed his lips onto mine, silencing me as he thrust several more times before he groaned into my mouth, his body flexing and shaking.
I closed my eyes and sagged into the mattress. Vic released my hands, and he lifted his body for a moment as he pulled out. He then got up, and padded across the room to the bathroom, where he likely got rid of the condom.
When he came back, he lay down on his back beside me and pulled me into his arms. I rested my head on his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart. He kissed the top of my head and slowly ran his fingertips up and down my arm as I traced the scar across his abdomen.
“What’s this from?” I asked.
“Knife.” His hand slid down my back, and over my butt, and back up again.
I tilted my head to peer up at him, but his eyes were closed. I kissed the circular scar on his chest. Before I could ask, he said, “Gunshot.”
My heart skipped a beat and my stomach plummeted. This was the reality of his life, and I couldn’t forget that. Every time he left, there was always the possibility that the knife wound or gunshot would be the last one.
He cupped my chin, thumb grazing my lower lip. “Macayla,” he said in a deep, raspy voice. I met his eyes. “I can’t promise you I’ll walk away from a mission unharmed. But if there is still breath in me, I swear to you that I’ll always come back to you and Jackson.”
Tears pooled in my eyes and spilled over the rims.
Tonight, Vic had made me his. But somehow, lying in his arms, it felt as if I’d always belonged to him.
Macayla
I rolled over, expecting to find Vic, but I was met with ruffled sheets and a cold, empty mattress. I sat up, bringing the sheet with me. I had no idea what time it was, but it was still dark outside. I quickly checked my cell to make sure there were no messages from Addie and that Jackson was okay.
My muscles were sore, and they were sore because Vic hadn’t always been gentle. He was rough and intense, and I was feeling the aftereffects. And I liked it. I liked that all day I’d walk around with my muscles aching, a reminder of what he did to me.
The wind roared and snow hit the windowpane like pellets. I scooted out of bed, taking the sheet with me. I could hear the shower going, and padded across the room to knock on the bathroom door.
When there was no answer, I opened it and peeked inside.
I didn’t care how sore or achy my body was, I wanted sex in the shower with Vic. Shit, I wanted sex with him on the kitchen counter. And against the wall. And anywhere else he’d take me.
Because sex with Vic was gentle and sweet—and rough and intense.
It was everything.
I dropped the sheet at the door and walked to the shower. I opened the shower door and stopped.
I should’ve noticed that there was no steam in the air. That the mirror wasn’t fogged, nor was the glass shower.
But I didn’t. It wasn’t until I opened the shower door and saw him shivering that I realized.
A sob wrenched from my throat, and I charged into the shower. The cold blast of pellets hit my skin and I sucked in air. Oh my God. How long had he been standing in here?
“Vic. What are you doing?” I tried to reach the taps, but his body blocked me.
His head was bowed and his hands were pressed against the wall on either side of the taps. The water was pounding down on him, and his lips were blue, and his skin ice-cold.