Page 45 of Knuckles & Knives

“Because I was afraid you’d see it as manipulation, another person with hidden agendas trying to use your feelings against you.” He shifts closer, close enough that I can smell his familiar scent—leather and motor oil. No cologne on him. “And because part of me was terrified that you’d remember the scared nineteen-year-old street fighter and realize that’s still who I am underneath all the attitude and reputation.”

“Axel, look at me.” I reach out, cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. “That scared nineteen-year-old became the man who’s never lost a fight at the Obsidian.”

“You—”

“That fight doesn’t count,” I murmur. “You became the man who walks into danger without hesitation if it means protecting the people he cares about. Who sees through every mask I wear and loves me anyway.”

“Brujita…”

“You think I care that you started as Vincent Blackwood’s charity case? That you fought your way up from nothing?” I lean in until our foreheads press together, breath mingling, hearts pounding in sync. “Axel, that makes me love you more, not less.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. His sharp inhale against my mouth is audible.

“You love me?” His voice cracks, stripped bare. Vulnerable in a way that shreds me open.

Shit.

“I love all of you. The scared kid who picked up my boxing glove. The street fighter who clawed his way to respectability. The Ghost who’s haunted my steps, always there when I needed you most. I love the man who’s been protecting me before I even knew I was in danger.”

I run my thumb along his cheekbone. His hands tremble as they rise to cover mine. That tremor ignites something primal in me.

Then he snaps.

His mouth crashes against mine with explosive hunger. No teasing. No holding back. It’s years of tension detonating between us, a kiss that bruises and brands. His tongue fucks into my mouth with claiming intensity, like he’s making sure I never forget who he is.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you were seventeen,” he groans against my lips.

“I’m not seventeen anymore.” I bite his bottom lip, hard enough to make him grunt. “Show me what you dreamed about when we were older.”

He lets out a savage growl and sweeps dusty papers off a nearby crate with one arm. I’m hauled onto it with the other, my thighs spreading instinctively to let him slot between them.

His fingers curl around my jaw as he drinks me in. “You’re sure? Because once I start, I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve tasted every inch of you. Not until you’re screaming my name so loud it echoes through these fucking archives.”

“Then don’t stop.” I yank him down and devour him, pouring every ounce of need into the kiss. “Wreck me, Axel.”

That’s all the permission he needs.

He tears my shirt over my head, his eyes devouring every new inch of skin like a man starved. His shirt vanishes next. Skin to skin, the heat between us surges until it’s molten.

“God, look at you,” he rasps, dragging his tongue over the swell of my breast. “You’re mine. You always fucking were.”

His mouth descends with purpose, biting, sucking, claiming. He latches onto my nipple, tongue flicking mercilessly until I cry out. Then he moves lower, kissing down my stomach with reverent aggression, leaving bruises and heat and a trail of fire.

“Axel—” I pant, fisting his hair as he drops to his knees.

“Shh. Let me worship you.”

He rips my pants down with a single fluid motion and buries his face between my thighs like he’s drowning himself in me. His tongue is everywhere—hungry, relentless, masterful.

He devours me.

There’s no finesse. Just hunger. Just years of pent-up need unleashed all at once.

“F-fuck,” I gasp, my head falling back. “Right there… Axel…”

He growls, sucking hard as two fingers slide deep inside me, curling until I shatter around them. My scream ricochets off the stone walls as I fall apart, my orgasm violent and blinding.

But he’s not done.