Page 42 of Marked to Be Mine (Erased #1)

The raw honesty stole my breath, and I couldn’t fight it any longer, either. His hands pulled me up with careful strength. I could see the struggle for control written in his body—the clenched jaw, heaving chest, trembling hands .

“Turn around,” he instructed. When I hesitated, he added, “It’s easier on your body this way. Puts less strain on your injuries.”

Even with desire riding him hard, he was calculating how to protect me. His care for my weakened body, even while pursuing pleasure, showed what Oblivion failed to erase.

He turned me to face the wall, one large hand on my lower back while the other guided my hands to the tile. The pressure of his palm sent shivers through me, my body responding to his silent command. The repositioning made me gasp—not from fear but from how deliberately he arranged my body.

“Steady,” he murmured, voice rough with desire.

Hot water cascaded down as he pressed against me from behind, his chest against my shoulder blades, his thick cock nestled against my ass. The feel of him—so hard, so ready—sent another rush of heat through me. His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples.

“I never thought I could want like this,” he confessed near my ear, his cock sliding against me with deliberate restraint. “They never let us want anything except mission completion. And with you…I feel it all.”

I pushed back instinctively, wanting more. His cock slid along the cleft of my ass, leaving pre-cum that mingled with water.

One hand left my breast, traveling down to my hip. He hesitated, fingers detecting faint tremors still running through me .

“You’re still shaking,” he observed, concern underneath. His lips brushed my neck, too tender for our position. “We should get you into bed.”

“No,” I said firmly, my hand covering his. “I need this. I need you.”

I felt his forehead press against my shoulder blade, a moment of vulnerability. This wasn’t just sex—it was reclamation. Me, taking back my body from Brock. Him, choosing connection over isolation.

He positioned himself at my entrance, the thick head pressing insistently. Despite how wet I was, he was filling me in ways that made my breath catch.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hand cupping my face with tenderness. “I won’t hurt you.”

I took a deep breath. My body yielded gradually, accommodating his size as a sweet ache spread through my core.

A sound escaped him like nothing I’d heard before—something between a groan and a gasp, as if he was experiencing something entirely new. “You feel…” he started, then stopped, unable to find words in his assassin’s vocabulary for his feelings.

When he was fully inside me, we both froze, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against my neck. “I didn’t know it could be like this. That anything could feel like this.”

I shivered at his words, the raw honesty sending tremors down my spine. This intensity should have scared me, but I found myself arching closer, craving more of this dangerous connection.

“And you’re mine,” I whispered, the declaration as much promise as claim. His hips jerked in response, driving deeper as a shudder ran through him.

“Yours,” he echoed, sounding foreign on his tongue, like he’d never belonged before. “No one else’s.”

He moved with calculated restraint, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back. Each thrust was perfectly calibrated—as if he’d memorized exactly what my body needed.

Water cascaded over us, creating a sensual barrier between us and the world. Our breathing echoed against tiles, punctuated by wet skin against skin as his pace increased.

A deep thrust hit something that made me cry out—a sharp sound I barely recognized as mine. Reaper’s eyes flashed with satisfaction.

“Let me hear how good I make you feel,” he demanded, repeating the same angle.

This time, I didn’t hold back, a raw moan tearing from my throat as pleasure radiated through my body. I was suddenly aware how vocal I was—far more uninhibited than during our first time—but I couldn’t control it. Each thrust drew sounds I didn’t know I could make.

“That’s it,” he approved, breathing ragged as his pace intensified. “Don’t hold back.”

“You make me forget,” I gasped, confession torn from deep. “Everything but this. You. ”

His rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, my words affecting him more than physical sensation. When he resumed, there was something different, more raw emotion.

My inhibitions dissolved under relentless pleasure. When he shifted slightly, changing the angle so his cock dragged against my front wall, something primal took over.

“Harder,” I demanded, surprising myself. “Right there.”

Dark satisfaction crossed his features. “Whatever you need, I’ll give you,” he promised, voice a dangerous rumble.

He adjusted his stance and increased force, driving exactly where I needed him the most. Each thrust now hit that perfect spot, sending shockwaves through my body.

The bathroom filled with sounds—my desperate cries, his controlled grunts, the rhythmic impact of bodies.

I felt his eyes on my face, tracking more than pleasure. Even as my body arched, his gaze noticed the tremor in my thighs unrelated to arousal. He caught the subtle falter in my breathing—heavier than it should be.

“Hold on tight,” he commanded, hands adjusting beneath my ass.

Before I could respond, he pivoted, maintaining our connection but changing the angle. My back left the cold tile as he took two steps, bracing me against the corner. The new position took all the weight off my trembling legs while driving him impossibly deeper.

“Oh God,” I gasped as he filled me completely, the new angle hitting places I didn’t know could feel so good .

“I can feel your pulse around my cock,” he said, voice tinged with wonder. “Every heartbeat. Proof you’re alive. That we both are.”

There was something reverent in his observation—scientific exactness transformed by desire. His ability to read my body became intimate—the ultimate connection. A reminder we’d both survived what should have killed us.

The words combined with him bottoming out inside me sent electricity along my nerves.

I was impaled completely on his cock, stretched around his thickness.

The vulnerability of the position—held at his mercy, supported by his strength—should have frightened me.

Instead, it fractured something inside, breaking my last barriers.

“More,” I demanded, digging nails into his shoulders. “Harder.”

Feral satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. He adjusted his stance and began a rougher rhythm while maintaining absolute control. His hands supported my weight effortlessly, lifting and lowering me onto his cock.

“Just like that,” I moaned as he drove upward. “Don’t stop.”

Water cascaded over us as he fucked me with relentless intensity, never letting me take my own weight. His complete control unlocked a wildness I didn’t know I possessed.

“There you are,” he murmured with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

The command unlocked something primal. I abandoned all restraint, becoming wild and demanding. My hips moved frantically, grinding to meet each thrust.

“I can feel you getting close,” he said, voice strained as his rhythm became urgent. “Come with me this time. I need to feel you come around my cock.”

His words cracked with genuine need—not just physical release but emotional connection. For a man taught that bodies were targets, experiencing mutual pleasure must have been revolutionary.

The rawness in his voice pushed me over the edge. I was falling, inner muscles clenching rhythmically around him as pleasure crashed through in violent waves.

“You’re mine,” he growled, movements frantic as he approached climax. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I gasped through waves of pleasure. “And you’re mine.”

My claim hit him like a shock. His eyes found mine with startled intensity. For one moment, I saw everything—the man beneath conditioning, the soul they couldn’t erase.

“Yours,” he echoed, voice breaking. “Completely yours.”

My claim triggered something final in him—his rhythm faltered, his powerful body shuddering.

I felt the moment he lost control—his cock swelled thicker before pulsing inside me, hot spurts filling me as he groaned against my neck.

Each throb prolonged my own pleasure, my muscles squeezing around him.

Throughout our release, his arms kept me completely secure, muscles straining with the dual effort of pleasure and protection. Water washed over our joined bodies as we pulsed together, breathing synchronized.

When the final tremors subsided, he raised his head to meet my gaze.

For a moment, we simply stared, something passing between us transcending physical intensity.

I saw surprise in his eyes—not at the pleasure, but the depth of feeling.

For a man trained to read every physical tell, he seemed stunned by what he saw in my face—complete acceptance, not just of pleasure, but of him, all of him.

And in that unguarded moment, I allowed him to see my complete acceptance of our connection, despite all risks. I didn’t hide anymore—not my fears, desires, or the terrifying depth of what I felt. For the first time since Xavier disappeared, I surrendered completely to someone else.

Reaper’s expression shifted, control giving way to wonder. His hand cradled my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with gentleness contradicting everything he was made to be. When he spoke, his voice held none of the calculated cold I expected.

“Maeve,” he said, just my name, but filled with everything he didn’t have words for. In that word, I heard his promise—that he’d help find Xavier, shield me from Brock, fight Oblivion until his last breath.

Reaper took my lips in a soul-searing kiss, both gentle and possessive as he effortlessly shut off the shower and carried me to bed. Water trailed down our bodies, soaking sheets, but neither cared. His strength made me feel weightless, yet anchored in ways I never thought possible .

The mattress dipped as he lay me down, following to lie beside me rather than on top of me, conscious of my recovering strength. His fingers traced patterns across my skin, cataloguing each bruise and mark carefully.

“Ninety minutes,” I reminded him, though I made no move to get up. “We should start on those hard drives.”

“Ten more minutes,” he countered, pressing his lips to my temple. “Your body needs this pause. Heart rate still elevated, micro-tremors in your extremities. Let your system stabilize.”

I smiled against his chest. Even in this, he couldn’t help analyzing and assessing. But now those skills served to protect rather than destroy.

“How long have you been able to defy your conditioning?” I asked softly, fingers tracing the faint outline of his erased tattoo.

His body tensed slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “I don’t know. It’s been…building. Small moments of resistance. Questions I shouldn’t have had.” His hand found mine, threading our fingers together. “But with you, it’s different. Stronger. Like you’re a key unlocking parts they buried.”

I stayed quiet for a long moment, letting the thoughts settle in my mind.

What he had gone through… it wasn’t easy.

I had seen it at the very beginning—the pain, the struggle, the way it tore him apart piece by piece.

But he made it through. He found a way to fight back. That meant it wasn’t impossible.

And if it wasn’t impossible for him… then maybe it wasn’t impossible for Xavier, even if it seemed against all odds. Aside from Reaper, he was one of the strongest people I had ever known .

My thoughts wandered to him. Was he already fighting the programming in his own way? Quietly pushing back against the commands? Questioning things beneath the surface, where no one could see?

A part of me hoped so, even if it seemed unlikely.

“We’re going to find Xavier,” I whispered, making it a statement not a question. “And we’re going to burn Oblivion to the ground.”

His arms tightened around me, a promise without words. These stolen moments had given us something they never expected—a reason to fight beyond survival. With these moments of connection, we’d reclaimed what Oblivion tried to take—our humanity, agency, ability to choose connection over isolation.

In that defiance lay the strength we’d need for what came next.