Page 42 of Knuckles & Knives

“I killed them because they were planning to torture someone I care about.” His expression grows serious. “Because whatever else happens between us, I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not my family, not their hired killers, not anyone.”

The declaration should sound possessive, controlling. Instead, it feels like a promise, a vow made by a man who’s finally decided to stop living his life according to other people’s rules.

“Show me,” I whisper, echoing the words I’d spoken to Dom just hours ago.

“Show you what?”

“Show me what it feels like to choose this. To choose you, despite everything that says I shouldn’t.”

Kieran’s response is to sweep me into his arms, carrying me toward what I assume is his private quarters with the kind of strength that reminds me exactly how dangerous he can be. But his touch is gentle, reverent, like he’s carrying something precious rather than claiming a prize.

His bedroom continues the theme of understated luxury—king-sized bed with silk sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city lights, furniture that probably costs more than most people’s cars. But all of that fades into background noise when he sets me down beside the bed and looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and dark, his hands settling on my hips instead of my shoulders now, possessive and hungry. “Because once we do this, Raven, I won’t be able to pretend. You’ll be mine. I’ll be yours, and I won’t hold anything back.”

The echo of Dom’s earlier words flashes in my mind, but this feels different. Dom was gravity pulling me home. Kieran is the storm—dangerous, electric, capable of wrecking everything in his path.

And I want to be wrecked.

“I’m sure,” I say, slipping my hands beneath his shirt to feel the ridges of his abs. “But you need to understand something, Kieran. I’m not just choosing you. I’m choosing all of you—Dom, Marcus, Axel. If we cross this line, you’re not getting me exclusively.”

His hands tighten on my hips. There’s a flicker of something primal in his eyes, something that says he wants to own me entirely, but he reins it in. Barely.

“I know,” he murmurs, jaw tight. “And I’ve made my peace with it. Sharing you is torture, but not having you would kill me.”

He seizes my mouth in a kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. This isn’t soft or teasing. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding surrender. I give it willingly.

He strips me slowly, but there’s nothing patient about the heat in his touch. Each piece of clothing is removed with purpose, his lips following, trailing fire down my throat, over the swell of my breasts, the dip of my waist. By the time he drops to his knees and kisses the inside of my thigh, I’m shaking.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmurs, his voice ragged. “Of tasting you. Of making you fall apart on my tongue.”

“Kieran—” I gasp, but then I can’t say anything at all.

His mouth is hot, skilled, relentless. He devours me like he’s starving, like he’s making up for every minute he didn’t have me. My hands fist in his hair, hips arching into his mouth, and I’m gone, spiraling into a climax so sharp and fast it steals every coherent thought from my head.

And he doesn’t stop.

He licks me through the aftershocks until I’m pleading, until I’m begging, until I yank him up by the shoulders and bite his lip just to make him move faster.

“Fuck me,” I breathe, nails digging into his back. “Now. I want you inside me. I need it.”

He grins, savage and unrepentant. “Say it again.”

“I. Want. You.”

“Say my name.”

“Kieran.” I’m trembling. “Please.”

He thrusts into me in one hard, perfect motion, and I cry out—part pleasure, part desperation. He’s thick, deep, filling me so completely it borders on pain, but I welcome it. I need it. My walls clench him like they never want to let him go.

“Goddamn,” he groans. ““You taste like rebellion… like something I was never supposed to have, but always wanted anyway.”

He drives into me with punishing rhythm, each thrust sending shockwaves through me, each moan torn from my throat raw and unfiltered. His mouth finds my throat, my collarbone, my breasts—licking, sucking, biting.

He owns me in that moment. Mind, body, and soul.

And I let him.