Page 68 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

We never spoke as we left the bakery.

We walked side by side, the air between us thick with everything unspoken, every step measured but certain.

Neither of us said a word when I canceled the moving van.

I didn’t need it anymore.

He stayed beside me, steady and sure, his hand tangled with mine as we moved through the streets, through the weight of old choices and unopened futures.

Now, we stand at the threshold of a house that isn’t quite a home anymore, at least, not yet. The apartment feels hollow and stripped down, with boxes still stacked along the walls.

But this isn’t about the boxes.

It never was.

He doesn’t let go of my hand.

Inside, the air is soft and still, holding the weight of everything we’ve dragged here.

I close the door behind us, turning the lock with a soft click.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

I can still feel the warmth of his hand wrapped around mine.

When I finally glance up at him, the look in his eyes is intense.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

I lead him through the apartment, weaving around the towers of packed boxes.

We move toward the back room, the one place left untouched by all the sorting and packing.

My pulse is steady, my body humming with purpose.

We step into the bedroom, the last sanctuary untouched by plans to leave.

I stop at the doorway, turning toward him. “Stay,” I say, the word soft but unyielding.

His breath catches faintly.

But he steps in with no hesitation.

I close the door behind us.

The moment the latch clicks, something shifts.

We stand there in shadows cast long by the soft light spilling through the blinds, the stillness stretching thick between us.

I can feel every heartbeat, every draw of air. “No more running,” I say, my voice calm but absolute.

He watches me, his gaze steady and burning.

Then he crosses the room in slow, measured steps.

His hands find my face, rough and tender at once.

And when his mouth meets mine, it isn’t soft.

It’s deep.

It’s fierce.

It’s the beginning of everything we didn’t let ourselves want for a long time.

And neither of us plans to stop.

His mouth crushes against mine, hot and urgent, all restraint gone.

There’s no hesitation left.

He presses me back until my spine meets the wall, his body pinning mine in place, firm and deliberate.

The kiss is deep and messy—tongue against tongue, breath against breath.

His hands roam without apology, sliding down my sides and gripping my hips with bruising force.

I gasp into him, but it only spurs him on.

I feel him hard against me, thick and ready, his arousal grinding through his clothes as he ruts against my thigh, letting me feel exactly how badly he wants this.

How badly he wants me.

“You want to run now?” he rasps against my mouth, his voice rough with hunger.

I bite his lower lip, hard enough to draw a hiss. “Never again,” I whisper.

He groans, raw and dark, lifting me in one smooth, brutal motion.

I wrap my legs around him, my back pressed tight against the wall, his hands under my thighs, his fingers digging into flesh.

I can feel every thick, hard inch of him between my legs, grinding right where I need him, making me ache.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I want you,” I pant.

It isn’t soft.

It isn’t careful.

It’s raw.

Desperate.

He carries me to the bed, tossing me down onto the mattress with a seductive grin.

I pull my shirt over my head, unashamed.

His gaze darkens, hungry.

He watches me, his chest heaving, as I slide my hands down to the button of my pants.

But he stops me.

“No,” he growls. “That’s mine.”

He peels them off slowly, dragging the fabric down my legs, his hands rough, his fingertips leaving trails of heat.

I shiver beneath his touch.

He doesn’t rush.

He takes his time.

Exposing me.

Claiming me.

His mouth follows the path of his hands, peppering hot kisses down my thighs, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin just above my knee.

I moan softly, my body arching toward him.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

Then his mouth trails back up, stopping at my cunt.

He takes a moment, staring at me, his breath hot against my soaked skin, teasing me with anticipation. I feel the weight of his gaze and the hunger in his eyes.

Then he dives in, his tongue stroking slow circles over my clit, tasting me and savoring every wet, aching part.

I let out a sharp, helpless moan, my hips bucking instinctively against his face.

He doesn’t let me escape.

He lets out a deep, satisfied growl that vibrates right through me, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. The sound is rough and primal, and it makes me even wetter.

His hands are merciless, gripping my hips and spreading me wider for him. His fingers dig in, holding me down firmly as he devours me, every lick deep, dark, and sinful.

“Fuck,” I cry out, my voice cracking as the sensation overwhelms me.

I can barely breathe.

My fingers twist in the sheets, white-knuckled, as I grind against his mouth, desperate for more.

I can’t stop the sounds pouring from me—whimpers, gasps, and broken cries.

He groans against me, clearly loving the way I fall apart for him.

The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue sliding against me fill the room, mingling with my panting, my soft cries growing louder with every second.

“Alec,” I gasp, my body trembling, the pressure inside me coiling tighter and tighter.

He growls again, the deep rumble sparking another sharp wave of pleasure that makes my vision blur.

“Come for me,” he orders, his voice dark and commanding, his mouth never leaving me.

I shatter under his tongue, my climax ripping through me in violent, uncontrollable waves.

I scream his name, my entire body convulsing as he keeps licking me through it and coaxing every last shudder from me.

He doesn’t stop until I’m completely undone, spent, and breathless beneath him.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth glistens with my wetness, his eyes dark and heavy with satisfaction, his chest heaving from the effort.

And I know, in that moment, he loves breaking me like this.

He kisses me again, letting me taste myself on his lips. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough and possessive.

“Then take me,” I challenge, breathless and shaking.

He strips out of his clothes, every movement sharp and urgent.

I watch, ravenous, as his body is revealed—all lean muscle and raw strength, every inch of him hard and ready.

He crawls over me, his cock thick and heavy against my thigh.

“Beg for it,” he growls.

“Please,” I whisper, unable to resist.

“Louder,” he demands, teasing me, the head of his cock rubbing against my slick folds.

“Please, Alec,” I cry out. “Fuck me. I need you.”

His control snaps.

He thrusts into me, hard and deep, filling me completely in one brutal stroke.

We both cry out.

He sets a relentless pace, pounding into me with every ounce of pent-up hunger.

The bed rocks beneath us, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, loud and filthy.

“You feel this?” he snarls, his breath hot and ragged near my ear. “You feel how fucking perfect you are for me? How tight you grip me?”

“Yes,” I cry out, my nails clawing down his back, leaving angry red lines as my body arches beneath him.

He growls at the sting, his hips snapping harder, faster, and deeper, making the bed frame slam against the wall in a brutal rhythm.

His hand finds my throat, firm and possessive, not to choke but to hold me in place, keeping me beneath him, keeping me his.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice gravelly with lust as he pistons into me, dragging loud, wet moans from my throat.

“Yours,” I sob, my legs locking around his waist, my heels digging into the backs of his thighs to pull him deeper and harder.

Every thrust punches the air from my lungs, driving me higher and tighter, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming.

“Fuck,” he hisses, watching every tremble and ripple of my body as he pounds into me. “You take me so good.”

I whimper beneath him, my body quivering uncontrollably, the coil inside me tightening with every brutal thrust.

Our moans, his deep grunts, and my ragged cries merge in the air, thick and breathless.

He drives even deeper and harder, the pace brutal and relentless.

“Come with me,” he orders, his voice feral, his eyes locked on mine as his hand tightens just enough to make my head swim.

The pressure explodes inside me, blinding and savage.

I shatter around him, screaming his name as my body convulses, locking tight around his cock.

He roars as he follows, his body jerking against mine and filling me with every last pulse, his release hot and consuming.

We collapse together, our bodies tangled, drenched in sweat, and trembling from the intensity.

Our breath is loud and heavy, mixing in the dark, both of us wrecked, undone, and completely spent.

And in that raw, breathless aftermath, neither of us lets go.

We just hold on, exactly where we both belong.

There are no words left.

Just us.

Exactly where we both belong.

And neither of us plans to let go.

The air still feels thick, heavy with the weight of everything we just gave away.

I lie there with him, tangled in sheets and sweat, the faint scent of sex clinging to our skin.

Our breaths gradually begin to even out, but my heart keeps pounding, not just from the release, but from the lull that makes every heartbeat louder.

He doesn’t speak, his chest rising and falling against mine in a steady rhythm.

I tilt my head slightly, watching the shadows play across his face. The hard lines of him have softened here, stripped bare in every way.

His hand grazes down my spine, soft now, soothing. A lingering touch, tender and steady, as though he’s memorizing every inch of me.

I shiver at the contact, though there’s no chill in the room.

“You’re not leaving,” he says, his voice rough and low, but there’s no demand in it now.

Just certainty.

I hum softly, not ready to answer. Instead, I run my fingertips along his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my touch.

It comforts me more than I expect.

“I wasn’t sure I’d survive this,” I murmur, my voice soft, not quite trembling but close.

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t offer empty reassurances.

He simply tightens his arm around me, pulling me closer until there’s no space left.

“You don’t have to survive it alone,” he says softly, and there’s a rawness in his voice that I’ve never heard before.

My throat tightens.

I press a kiss to his skin, right above his heart, and linger there longer than I should. “We shouldn’t make promises just yet,” I whisper against his skin.

His hand tangles in my hair, gently tipping my face up to meet his gaze.

“I’m not making promises,” he replies, his eyes locked on mine, dark but steady. “I’m making choices.”

The words sink deep, wrapping around something fragile inside me.

I don’t reply.

I simply hold him tighter.

And for once, I don’t feel the need to run.

We let the quiet stretch, neither of us willing to disturb it.

Somehow, in this tangled, bruised space, it doesn’t feel like an ending.

It feels like the start of something neither of us can name yet.

But we both feel it.

And neither of us is ready to let it go.