Page 25 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

“If it gets to be too much,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my lips, “if at any point you want to stop, you have your safe word. No explanations. Just say the word.”

A quiet promise that no matter how far we go, I’ll still have control.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“Zip-line.”

He studies me for another beat, and whatever he sees convinces him. His jaw tightens. Then he lifts me, hands sure and strong, carrying me toward the bed.

There’s still fear in the back of my mind. The knowledge of what waits beyond this room. Of who is coming for me. But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, I just want to feel something that’s mine.

That’s all it takes.

Thor crashes into me, mouth fierce and hungry.

His hands are rough and possessive, tangling in my hair, sliding under my shirt, gripping my thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

Then he’s moving, lifting me like I weigh nothing.

My legs wrap around his waist, my core grinding against the thick ridge straining through his jeans.

He doesn’t stop. Just slams the bedroom door open with his foot, the crash echoing behind us.

Then my back hits the wall, and his mouth is on my neck, teeth dragging across skin too sensitive skin.

I gasp, digging my nails into his shoulders as he sucks and bites like he wants to mark me everywhere.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he growls against my throat, beard scraping across my skin. “About how you taste. About how you moan when you fall apart for me.”

“Then make me,” I say, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “Make me feel everything you’ve been holding back.”

He drops me just long enough to yank my shirt over my head. There’s nothing soft in his face, just raw hunger.

His mouth crashes down on my breast, tongue lashing at my nipple before he sucks it deep into his mouth. I cry out, hips shifting as he pulls at the other with his hand, flicking and teasing until I’m panting. My whole body is tight, desperate. I can’t think. I don’t want to.

Then he’s on his knees, hands clamped to my hips, dragging my sweatpants down my legs like they’re in his way, which they are. I kick them aside, standing there in nothing but thin cotton panties. He stares like he’s ready to devour me whole.

“Legs. Apart.”

I obey instantly, and he peels my underwear down slow, intently watching the entire time. There’s no teasing smirk, no gentleness. Just heat. Pure, filthy need.

He leans in, breath hot against my bare skin, “You’re not walking out of this room until I’ve had every inch of you.”

I comply, widening my stance as much as the panties bunched around my ankles allow. Thor’s hands slide up the backs of my calves, then my thighs, until he’s gripping my ass. He pulls me forward until I’m right where he wants me—bare, exposed, and dripping for him.

“Look at this pussy,” he growls. “Already soaked for me. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed someone, needed me, to take care of you properly.”

I nod, barely able to breathe. One hand finds the back of his head, fingers twisting in his hair as his breath ghosts over me.

“Please.”

The first swipe of his tongue makes my knees buckle. He starts slow, long teasing strokes that drive me up the wall—literally and figuratively. I squirm, needing more, but he pins me in place, mouth working me with maddening patience.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he mutters against me. “Messy and needy. Just how I like you.”

When he focuses on my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue, I cry out. My hips jerk, chasing the pressure, and he groans in approval.

“Yeah, that’s it. Grind on my face. Use me.”

“Thor,” I gasp, head hitting the wall behind me. “Please…”

“You gonna come for me?” he growls, his voice rough against my skin. His tongue drags deeper now, slower, deliberate—like he’s savoring every reaction, every twitch of my body beneath his mouth. “Gonna fall apart on my face like a good girl?”

“Yes—God, yes?—”

He slides one thick finger inside me, curling it up just right. My hips jerk, a gasp catching in my throat. Then a second finger joins the first, his hand moving in perfect sync with the rhythm of his tongue, coaxing me closer to the edge with maddening precision.

“You feel that?” he rasps against my flesh. “That little spot right there?” His fingers press again, firm and possessive. “That’s mine.”

The orgasm builds—fast, hot, devastating. And he knows it. He doesn't let up. If anything, he doubles down—fingers thrusting harder, mouth relentless until he sucks my clit between his lips and the world breaks open.

I cry out his name, loud and unfiltered, legs shaking, muscles clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through me like a freight train. He keeps going—riding it out, dragging it higher, longer—until I’m trembling, breathless, barely holding on.

“Fuck,” he growls, licking me one last time, slow and filthy. “You come so fucking hard for me.”

He rises to his feet, towering over me, chest heaving. My eyes snap open, locking onto his.

His face is still soaked with me—slick and shining in the low light—and he doesn’t bother wiping it away. He licks his lips instead, slow and filthy, savoring the taste like it’s a drug he’s just claimed as his own.

“You feel that?” he rasps, voice rough with hunger. “That’s what it means to fucking belong to me.”

I’m wrecked—legs shaking, thighs slick, body boneless from the orgasm he tore out of me—and he loves it. I can see it in the way his cock strains against his jeans, the way his jaw clenches like he’s holding himself back with a thread.

He steps closer, towering above me like a shadow made of heat and fury, eyes dragging down the length of my body.

“Turn around,” he growls. “Hands on the bed. Now.”

“Thor—”

“I said. Now. ”

The command hits low and sharp in my belly. I move instantly, like my body knows better than to argue—turning, bracing myself against the mattress, my legs still unsteady, heart racing like a war drum.

Behind me, I hear the sound of his belt coming undone, the rustle of denim shoved down in haste. Then his palm is on my lower back, pressing me forward, arching me for him.

One hand grips my hip like a vise. The other slides between my legs and groans deep when he feels how soaked I still am.

“You’re dripping for me,” he growls, dragging his fingers through the mess he made. “Haven’t even fucked you yet, and this pussy’s already begging.”

I gasp as he pushes two fingers inside me again, slow, deep, curling them in a way that makes my knees tremble. Then he pulls them out and shoves them in his mouth—sucking them clean with a low, satisfied grunt.

“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” he mutters. “And I’m not done with you.”

He fists his cock behind me, dragging the head through my slick folds, slow and teasing—until he’s perfectly lined up.

And then he thrusts into me in one brutal, claiming stroke.

I cry out, arching forward, hands clutching the sheets, but he doesn’t let up. His hands lock around my hips, dragging me back into every savage thrust like he’s trying to fuck the memory of every other man out of my body.

“You’re mine,” he snarls, fucking me harder, deeper, his hips slamming against my ass. “This pussy’s mine. This fucking body—every inch of it—belongs to me. ”

And when I come again—loud, shaking, nearly collapsing—he growls behind me like a man unhinged.

Because it’s not just about sex.

It’s about ownership.

And he’s not letting go.

My climax crashes through me like a fucking explosion—raw, blinding, violent. I sob his name into the mattress, legs trembling, body convulsing around his cock.

But Thor doesn’t stop.

He won’t stop.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice wrecked behind me. “Coming on my cock like it was made for you.”

His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to bruise, dragging me back into him again and again until my knees threaten to give out.

“You think I’m gonna let you walk around with this pussy untouched? After the way you begged for my mouth?” He leans over me, chest pressed to my back, breath hot against my ear. “I own this.”

He pounds into me harder, deeper—each stroke more punishing than the last, like he’s trying to brand himself inside me. The filthy sounds of skin on skin echo through the room, mixed with my breathless moans and the feral noises tearing from his throat.

“You feel that?” he snarls. “That’s how you’ll know who you fucking belong to. You’re not coming back from this. No one else is gonna touch you. No one else is gonna fuck you like this.”

I try to respond, but I can’t. My voice is gone—wrecked from screaming his name, from the pleasure choking every breath.

He straightens just enough to watch himself slide in and out of me, one hand gripping my ass, the other fisting my hair and yanking my head back until I’m arched for him, fully exposed.

“I’m gonna come so deep inside you, you’ll feel me for days. ” His voice is a snarl. Unhinged. “I’m gonna fuck you so full of me you’ll forget every name but mine.”

His pace stutters. Grows ragged.

He’s close.

He slams into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his hips jerk, cock pulsing deep inside me.

A broken growl rips from his throat—my name twisted into something rough and sacred—as he spills inside me, claiming me in the most primal, possessive way a man can . He stays there, chest pressed to my back, breath hot against my neck, one hand gripping my hip like a tether.

We don’t move.

Can’t.

The only sound in the room is our ragged breathing and the faint creak of the mattress beneath us.

Slowly, his grip softens. He pulls out carefully, a low growl in his throat like he’s reluctant to leave me, even for a second. I collapse into the bed, boneless and trembling, my body still humming from everything he just gave me—and took from me.

A moment passes, then the mattress dips beside me again.

Thor stretches out next to me, his warmth instantly blanketing mine. One heavy arm drapes over my waist, possessive even in the quiet. His face finds its way into my hair, and for a long beat, we just breathe.

Slow. Uneven. Real.

“That wasn’t exactly how I planned this conversation going,” he murmurs.

His thumb traces slow, lazy circles on my hip—gentle now, like the violence in him has burned off, but the need to keep me close hasn’t gone anywhere.

And even though my body’s still wrecked, my heart cracks wide open at the presence of him beside me.

Because for all the brutal ways he claims me—It’s moments like this that truly ruin me.

“Are you complaining?” I turn my head to look at him. His expression has shifted, something softer now. Calmer.

“Fuck no.” A faint smile curves his lips.

Then a dull thud breaks the silence, followed by a faint, muffled sound. My body stiffens. Reality slams back into place. The man Terrance sent after me is downstairs. And he's not alone.

Thor feels the change in me instantly. He lets out a low, dark sound, “Guess we’re about to find out just how soundproof the basement really is.”

My stomach knots. The bliss of the last few minutes evaporates, replaced by a storm of dread.

“What are they doing to him?”

“Probably just getting started.” Thor’s tone is casual, almost bored, “V’s got a vivid imagination. Ratchet’s methodical. Between the two of them, he’ll talk.”

Another thud. Then a sharp sound—maybe a shout, maybe a plea. I shiver, even though Thor’s body is still wrapped around mine radiating heat like a furnace.

“You don’t have to listen to this,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow to study me. “We can leave the room.”

“No.” The word comes out steady. Stronger than I expected. “I need to hear what they find out.”

I’ve lived too long with fear as my shadow. If this is the price of taking my life back, I’ll pay it.

“You sure?” he asks. “It won’t be pretty.”

“Nothing about this is.”

Another scream echoes from the basement. Raw. Panicked. Muffled by walls that suddenly feel too thin. I don’t flinch. I don’t look away.

Thor watches me for a beat, then nods and settles back beside me. His hand finds mine, rough fingers lacing through mine.

We lay in silence, skin slick, breath slowing.

The man who once owned my fear is screaming beneath our feet.

And for the first time in years, I feel like I’m holding the power.