Page 40 of Marked to Be Mine (Erased #1)

Maeve

I shut the bathroom door and leaned against it, exhaling tension. Ninety minutes . The promise of decrypting those hard drives sat heavy, but right now, I needed to reclaim myself before diving back into darkness.

Steam filled the small bathroom as I peeled off borrowed clothes, wincing. The mirror revealed a canvas of bruises—purple and yellow. I traced a particularly angry one along my ribs. Brock’s restraint marks had faded to thin blue lines, but the memory hadn’t.

Since arriving at this safehouse, I’d been reduced to quick washcloth baths while sitting on the toilet lid—I had been too weak to stand long. Today, my legs weren’t trembling. The promise of hot water against my skin felt like reclaiming a small piece of normalcy.

Under the shower’s spray, I closed my eyes and let water cascade down my body. The heat stung against raw patches yet soothed deeper aches. I adjusted it hotter, needing to burn away memories of cold tables and colder hands.

My hands moved methodically, working shampoo through hair, then soap across my collarbone, over my breasts. I paused, fingers lingering against my nipple as it hardened. The sensation shot straight between my thighs, unexpected and sharp.

“Fuck,” I whispered, head falling back against tile.

I hadn’t processed what happened between Reaper and me—how the man sent to kill me became the only person I trusted. How his touch cut through fear better than any safety ever could.

The heat awakened something—a ghost of sensation I thought lost in that cold room where I nearly died.

My fingertips traced my collarbone, and suddenly I was back with him, remembering his body against mine.

That first time was desperate—both clinging to something real in a world spinning out of control.

I hadn’t expected to feel desire again so soon. I hadn’t expected to feel anything after what they did to me, either. But here it was—raw and insistent—proof I was still alive despite everything they had tried to take.

My fingers drifted lower, tracing a bruise before sliding between my legs. I was already wet. The realization felt like victory—they had tried to erase me, but my body still remembered how to want. They had failed.

I circled my clit slowly, testing my response.

A soft moan escaped as I pressed harder, establishing a rhythm that sent sparks up my spine.

I quickly sank my teeth into my bottom lip, not wanting to let out any further noise.

With my other hand, I cupped my breast, pinching my nipple.

More tingles rushed through me, consuming me inch by inch .

“God, what is he doing to me?” I whispered into the steam. “One time and I’m already addicted…”

The shower door slid open with a sharp hiss. I jerked back, arms crossing over my chest, heart hammering.

Reaper stood there completely naked, steam curling around his muscled frame.

Almost as if he had somehow read my mind or sensed my desire.

I couldn’t tell. Nor did I care. All I knew was—I needed him.

His eyes raked over me, hungry and deliberate.

His cock was already hard, thick and jutting forward.

“I could hear your heart rate change through the door,” he said, voice low and controlled despite the naked hunger in his eyes. “Your breathing pattern shifted. I knew exactly what you were doing in here.”

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was frozen between shock and overwhelming desire.

“Your heart rate increased. Pupils dilated. You’re aroused looking at me.” His assessment was clinical, yet the intensity in his eyes was anything but detached.

“How can you...” I stammered.

“I can read every signal your body sends,” he continued, stepping toward me. I needed him closer. So much closer. “That flush across your chest… the way your nipples hardened… you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

I swallowed hard, startled by this aspect of his abilities.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, suddenly hesitant. “That I can’t turn it off? That everything I know was meant for.”

“No,” I cut him off, stepping closer. “Use it. See me. All of me. ”

My breath turned shallow as he stepped in, crowding me against the tile. Water streamed over his shoulders, highlighting every scar, every muscle. He was close but not touching me, and it was driving me crazy.

“Your micro-expressions change when you look at my scars,” he observed. “Not disgust. Concern. You want to know the story behind each one.”

“I do. I want to know everything about you. Who you were. Who you’re becoming.”

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, then hope. “I want that too. To be known. By you.”

I reached out, tracing a particularly vicious scar that ran along his ribs. “This one?”

“Knife wound. Lebanon. Three years ago.” He flinched slightly—not from my touch, but the memory. “At least, I think it was Lebanon. They… blur the details sometimes.”

The admission cost him. I saw it in the tightening around his eyes.

“Your breathing pattern changed. Shorter breaths. You want me to touch you here.” His hand moved suddenly, fingers finding my clit.

The contact pulled a gasping moan from my throat as my hips jerked involuntarily.

I tipped my head back, completely surrendering to his knowing touch. This was where I needed him…

“How did you...” I gasped, stunned by how he found the exact right spot. More pleasure drifted through me, circling from the base of my spine to my limbs.

His lips curved. “I was trained to read bodies before I kill them. Now I use it for something better.” His fingers circled slowly as his other hand pinned my wrists above my head. “Every micro-expression, every flush, every contraction—they tell me what you need. And I’ll give it to you.”

“I can take care of myself,” I challenged, even as my body responded eagerly, betraying me so shamelessly.

The journalist in me refused to yield completely, even now.

I was determined to hold back for as long as I could…

until I was entirely at his mercy, and the ache became unbearable.

Though, it didn’t feel like I was far from that point.

Every breath, every touch, every moment rose me higher to that bliss.

His eyes darkened. “I know you can. You survived without me. But right now”, his voice dropped, “let someone else carry the weight.”

The words hit with unexpected force. The back of my eyes burned. He was right—for so long, I had been on my own. I had learned to take care of myself in every way that counted, but right now…it would be nice to surrender to someone entirely. To let them take care of me.

His mouth found my neck, targeting the most sensitive spot below my ear.

A gasp escaped as heat flooded me, knees weakening.

Slowly, he released my wrists, almost as if he could sense how desperately I yearned for him.

I threw my arms around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair.

My head tilted back instinctively, giving him better access.

His teeth grazed my pulse, sending electric currents through my body.

“The human body is remarkable,” he murmured against my skin, scientific observation mixing with raw hunger as his fingers explored. “How it can respond even after trauma. How it can want…despite everything.”

My breath caught as he curled his fingers upward, finding that perfect spot that made my knees weak. I grasped his shoulders, nails digging into muscle.

“This doesn’t mean I need you,” I managed, a desperate attempt to maintain control. Not when everyone I’d ever needed had disappeared or been taken. The thought of losing yet another person terrified me more than anything else in this world.

His fingers stilled inside me. He looked into my eyes, seeing through my defenses. “No. But you want me.” He pressed deeper, making me whimper. “Say it.”

I bit my lip, fighting even as my body clenched around his fingers.

“Say it, Maeve,” he demanded, his thumb circling my clit with maddening lightness.

“I want you,” I finally whispered. “Fuck, I want you.”

Something flashed in his eyes—triumph, hunger, vulnerability. He backed me against the wall, caging me, one hand beside my head while the other continued between my legs.

“Look at you,” he said, voice hushed. “They told me people were just targets or assets. They never said…” His voice trailed off. “That someone could make me ache for a touch this much.”

His free hand mapped my body, tracing my waist, my breast, pinching my nipple with calculated pressure that pulled a ragged moan from my throat.

“Spread your legs for me.” His command resonated, brooking no argument.

For a heartbeat, I resisted—not because I didn’t want to, but because surrender had always felt dangerous. Journalists maintained a distance and controlled information. We didn’t yield.

But this wasn’t an interview. And I was tired of always being in control.

I complied, shifting my stance wider as water streamed between us. He gave a low growl of approval.

“That’s it, just like that…” he murmured, fingers moving with devastating accuracy.

“So responsive… so fucking wet already.” He pushed deeper, adding another finger, stretching me.

“You’ve been thinking about this too, haven’t you?

Tell me. Ever since our first time together, I’ve been unable to get you out of my head. ”

“Yes,” I admitted, my cheeks burning at the admission. But I didn’t care. God, I didn’t care. “I’ve thought about your hands, your mouth… your cock inside me.”

Something shifted in his expression—genuine surprise. I noticed his hands were trembling against my skin, betraying his perfect control.

He caught me noticing, and his breath caught. “You make my fucking hands shake. No one’s ever done that before.”

His admission hit me harder than any touch. This man, programmed for absolute control, was affected by me in ways he couldn’t suppress .