Page 220 of Fractured Loyalties

My heart kicks hard. The last of my release shakes through me, tangled with dread.

Finally, he eases out, slow enough that my oversensitized body spasms at every drag, making me feel each inch like a burn I can’t escape.

My body spasms at the loss, slick heat running down my thighs. He undoes the belt binding my wrists, the leather sliding free. My arms fall limp, heavy and trembling, but before I can even straighten, he turns me, trapping me against the dresser with his body.

His thumb presses under my chin, tilting my face up. His eyes burn, unwavering. “You’re not leaving me again. Not your apartment. Not your little life you think is safe. You’re staying where I can watch you. Where I can protect you. That’s not up for debate.”

I try to shake my head, but his grip tightens, holding me still. My voice comes out hoarse, fragile. “You don’t get to decide that.”

He leans closer, the scent of sex and leather and sweat wrapping around me. His words are a growl against my mouth. “I just did.”

Chapter 38 – Elias - The Trail

The air in the apartment is heavy with the scent of sex. Sweat. Her perfume. The faint musk of leather still clinging to the belt I dropped by the dresser. The dresser itself is crooked against the wall, its drawers half open, one of Mara’s ripped bra straps caught in the corner like evidence of a crime scene.

She’s gone to the shower. I can hear the water running, steady, a muffled hum through the walls. I should leave her that space, give her a chance to breathe. Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head bent, trying to slow the storm in me.

I’ve broken women on a dresser before, bent them over a bed, tested them until their safewords were torn from their throats. None of it left a mark on me. But the sound of Mara’s voice when she came undone has carved something straight through bone.

She thinks it’s control I want. She’s wrong. It’s devotion. The kind you can’t fake, can’t run from. The kind that ruins a man if he loses it.

The shower cuts off. My head lifts. The sound of her bare feet against the floorboards pulls me out of my thoughts. She appears in the doorway, damp hair clinging to her skin, a towel wrapped around her. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are darker than before, sharper.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, her voice raw from everything we just did.

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve mapped out every move I’m about to make. Like you’ve already decided what happens next.”

I stand. The towel clings to her curves as she crosses the room, chin high like she’s daring me to contradict her. My hand rises, almost without thought, catching her jaw, thumb pressing against the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t decide,” I tell her. “Reality does. And reality is simple: You’re staying here because out there you’re a target.”

Her jaw tenses under my grip. “You think a locked door and your shadow are going to stop what’s coming?”

“No,” I admit. “But they’ll slow it down long enough for me to find who’s pulling the strings.”

Her eyes narrow, skeptical. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

I release her, step back, force myself into the one thing I know how to wield better than anyone else—focus. “By following the trail. Volker. Vale. The Civic that waited across the street from your clinic. Every thread leads somewhere, and I intend to pull them until someone hangs.”

She watches me like she wants to believe me, but trust is a currency she’s not ready to spend. I can live with that. Obedience, I can take. Trust, I’ll earn.

I reach for my jacket on the chair, pulling it over my shoulders. “Stay here. Lydia’s outside. She’ll keep watch. If you so much as hear a noise you don’t like, you call me.”

Her brows pull together. “Where are you going?”

I pause, looking at her towel, her bare legs, the water still dripping from her hair. I want to sayback into you. Instead, I say, “Work.”

“Work?” The word drips with disbelief. “Is that what you call it? Hunting?”

I don’t answer. Because yes—it’s hunting. Always has been.

I cross the room, heading for the door. Her voice stops me. “And what if you don’t come back?”

I turn, eyes locking with hers, letting her see the truth I rarely show anyone. “Then I’ll make sure the last thing I did was protect you.”

Her throat works around a swallow. The towel trembles slightly where her hand grips the edge. But she doesn’t answer. And I don’t wait for her to.