Page 298 of Fractured Allegiance

The world narrows to the slick slide of him inside me, the build of ecstasy that's almost too much to bear. He flips us suddenly, pulling me on top, his hands guiding my hips as I ride him—grinding down hard, circling my hips to feel every inch of him.

I lean forward, my breasts brushing his chest, and capture his mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as I bounce on him faster.

His fingers dig into my ass, spreading me, one thumb teasing at my back entrance, adding a new layer of sensation that makes me gasp.

The coil snaps—I come undone first, my orgasm crashing over me in shuddering waves, walls pulsing around him, milking him.

He follows moments later, thrusting up deep one last time, spilling inside me with a roar, his body tensing and trembling beneath mine.

And when the world tips over the edge, when sound and light fold into nothing but pulse, I forget what it means to be separate from him.

After, the air hums with salt and silence. My skin sticks to his, slick with sweat and release. His pulse hammers against mine, steady and rough. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, and for a moment we just breathe—the living kind, the grateful kind.

“Still think I’ll walk away?” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

I trace the outline of his lips with my thumb. “I think you already did. Just not from me.”

He laughs softly, a sound that’s almost relief. “Maybe you’re right.”

We stay tangled in the sheets, the ocean drumming below, the scent of rain seeping through the open window. The world can burn again tomorrow. For now, it’s only us—the ruin, the quiet, and the strange kind of peace we built from everything that tried to destroy us.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is a thread between us. “Ready to disappear again?”

I tilt my face toward his. “Only if it’s with you.”

Outside, the sea keeps its secrets.

Inside, I keep mine.

Allegiance isn’t given. It’s taken.

And I chose him.

He exhales against my skin, warm enough to chase off the sea air sneaking through the window. “Good.”

His eyes are darker now, but not in the way they were months ago. This isn’t hunger sharpened by blood or fear. It’s hunger anchored by choice.

My hands slide up his chest, fingers catching on the fabric of his shirt before finding the heat underneath. His heart thuds steady against my palm. It’s the only sound in the room besides the sea and the fire.

“We could stay like this,” I murmur. “Never leave.”

“We could,” he says. His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, then higher, a path of heat up my arm. “But you don’t hide, Lydia. You burn. You’re still thinking about the Bureau. Aren’t you?”

I smile against his shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You’re holding a card,” he says. “I can feel it.”

“Good,” I whisper. “Because when they come, we’ll be ready.”

His fingers tighten on my hip, not possessive but steady. “Then let them come.”

We stay like that, tangled on the bed, the fire burning low, the ocean singing against the cliffs. The last traces of war fade from our skin. What’s left isn’t purity. It’s not redemption. It’s a choice.

And for the first time in my life, it feels like mine.