Page 47 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)
STEPHANIE
M y body hums. Completely overstimulated, wrung out, marked, and used in the most devastatingly perfect way.
My thighs are trembling, slick with blood and cum. My wrists ache where the restraints rubbed raw. My skin stings from every cut and bruise and bite. I can still feel him on me. In me.
But it’s the quiet afterward that unnerves me.
Not the silence of shame.
Not the stillness of regret.
No.
It’s him.
The way he holds me.
Like I’m something fragile. Like I didn’t just let him drag a scalpel across my skin and fuck me until I saw stars.
His chest is still rising fast, blood sticky between our bodies. But his arms are wrapped around me like he’s protecting me from something. Maybe him?
And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against my temple, brushing sweat-damp hair away from my face.
I try to say I’m fine, that I don’t need his tenderness now, but the words don’t come.
Instead, I nod. Just once. Barely a movement.
He shifts beneath me, gently easing away from me, and I wince.
“Sorry,” he breathes, like the sound of my pain hurts him more than it hurts me.
The cuts are starting to sting.
Then he’s gone. Just for a second. I hear the faucet run and the rustle of a drawer opening.
And then he’s back like a professional.
Dr. Finn Quinn, again.
He presses a warm, wet cloth between my thighs and begins to clean me thoroughly. I flinch at first, unsure whether I should stop him or thank him or crawl away and lock myself in a supply closet.
But he doesn’t let me move.
“Stay still,” he murmurs, dabbing gently at my inner thigh where a line of dried blood clings to a shallow cut. “You’re okay. You did so well for me.”
His eyes lock with mine.
“I’m proud of you.”
No one’s ever said that to me.
Not after.
Not with meaning.
“You don’t have to,” I say, my voice raw.
“I know.” His gaze meets mine. “But I want to.”
He sterilizes the blade marks with practiced care, cooling antiseptic on warm skin. He bandages the deepest one near my hip and presses his thumb there to hold the gauze in place.
“You’re not used to being looked after,” he says softly, not as a question.
I shake my head, eyes glassy. “No one ever has.”
His jaw flexes. That controlled rage rising again, but not at me this time. For me.
“You should be,” he says. “You fucking deserve it.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, then turns to clean himself, grabbing a sterile cloth from the drawer, pressing it over the cut I gave him like it’s nothing.
Like it’s sacred.
I sit up slowly, reaching for him on instinct. I swipe at the blood on his chest, tracing the line I made with a shaking fingertip.
“I didn’t mean to shake like that; you know I’m usually better than that,” I whisper.
“I did.”
“What?”
“I wanted to shake you. Ruin you. But only if I could put you back together after.”
God help me, I believe him.
Finn Quinn is many things. Disturbed, dominant, and terrifying in his control.
But this?
This quiet devotion?
It’s the most dangerous part of him.
Because I think I could fall in love with it.
And falling for a man like Finn is a death sentence.
So I lean my head on his shoulder, ignoring the voice in my head screaming at me to run.
Just for now, I let myself feel safe in the arms of the man who could destroy me completely.
And maybe already has.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
My head is a mess, and so is my body.
He frowns, checking the time on his Rolex.
“Well, I have a family party to be at,” he pauses, “half an hour ago.”
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”
He chuckles, leaning in and pulling my lip back.
“I’m not even remotely fucking sorry,” he whispers.
“Well, you best get going.” I glance at the door.
He doesn’t move. He just watches me as I get up and start collecting my clothes and putting them on. And then he does the same.
The silence is deafening.
He unlocks the door and looks down the hallway.
“It’s safe, no one will see us,” he confirms.
“Cool.”
He stops and turns to me.
“Right. Come on, out with it.”
“It’s nothing. I just want to go home.”
He steps forward, crowding my space again so I can’t breathe.
“No. You’re not going home. You’re coming to meet your in-laws.”
I blink at him a few times.
“Are you high?”
He takes a deep breath.
“High on you perhaps.”
He slides his fingers into mine, and I look down, catching a glimpse of his left hand. There is no ring there anymore.
Something worse. How the hell did I miss this?
“Finn. What the hell is that?”
I hold it up to inspect it. A thick black band inked across his wedding finger, with a delicate ‘S’ in the middle.
“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is?”
He nods.
“Permanent as fuck, baby. Would you like a matching one?”
I blink at him in disbelief.
“You’re a psycho, Finn. Why?”
He grins and holds my hand in his, staring into my eyes.
“Because somehow, I wanted to show you how serious I am about this marriage. That it isn’t a game. That you fuckin’ own me, love. There’s only one way you’re getting your last name back, and that’s by becoming a widow.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t. He’s made it clear that he wants this. That he wants me.
“I–I won’t be getting a tattoo, but I’ll wear the ones you bought me.”
He grins like this was his plan all along.
“Every day?” he asks.
I huff.
His eyes form slits.
“Stephanie…”
“Fine. Yes. I’ll wear them.”
The ‘for now’ part I leave off. Because right now, I don’t want to argue with him over a divorce. I want more of what he just did to me.
Lots more of that.
“Don’t you think meeting your family is a bit… soon?” I ask as he leads us out into the hallway.
Hand in hand.
“Too soon? You’re already my wife. You’ve met Conan and Hallie already.” He brushes me off.
“I met Conan while in surgery. I haven’t seen Hallie in months!”
He tightens his grip on my hand.
“Do they know you’re married?” I pull on his arm to stop him.
He chuckles, spinning to face me.
“No. It’s now a baby shower and a wedding party.”
I pout, shaking my head.
“You are in-fucking-sane, Finn.”
He grins wickedly.
“People keep saying this to me.” He shakes his head and carries on walking, dragging me with him to his car. Which is neatly parked next to mine.
“I’ll go home and get changed. Where shall I meet you?” I ask.
“I’ll come and collect you, love.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, taking me by surprise. I don’t fight it. I lean into it. Kissing him back with a smile.
His hands cup my face.
“An hour, I have a quick appointment first,” he whispers against my lips.
“Okay.”
I feel like I’m living in a parallel universe.