Page 53

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

HER WORDS KNOCKED the air out of me.

You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to stop.

God help me, I didn’t want her to stop.

Not now.

Not ever.

My hand tightened on her hip, thumb grazing bare skin just under the hem of her shirt—my shirt. One of the many I’d let her claim. She looked better in it than I ever had. Looked like she belonged in it. In my bed. In my life.

I swallowed hard, jaw clenching as I fought with myself. I should’ve backed off. Should’ve walked out of this room before I crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. But she looked at me like she already knew I was a lost cause. And chose me anyway. Like she saw the storm inside me and wasn’t afraid to get pulled under.

Fuck.

I shifted, moving over her slowly, one hand braced beside her head. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Her breath caught, just once, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. Unblinking. Sure.

“I’ve been tryin’ to do the right thing,” I said, my voice thick, dragging with gravel and need. “Tried to keep this clean. Keep you clean.”

Her fingers found the hem of my shirt and slipped beneath it, dragging up along my ribs. My skin jumped at the contact, the heat of her hand lighting me up from the inside out.

“I’m not afraid of you, Mystic.”

Jesus. Goddamn she wrecked me.

“I’m afraid of me,” I admitted, the words torn from somewhere raw.

Her hand slid higher, fingers threading into my hair, anchoring me to her. “I’m not,” she breathed. “And I want you. All of you.”

I gave up trying to be good. Gave up pretending I had control. I kissed her. Hard. With all the hunger I’d buried, all the need I hadn’t let myself feel. She opened for me with a gasp, her legs parting just enough to cradle me between them. I groaned against her lips, hand slipping beneath her shirt, over the curve of her waist, then higher—slow, reverent.

She arched when I brushed the underside of her breast, her soft sigh feeding something feral in me. I didn’t rush. I wasn’t gonna. I needed to feel her. Every sound. Every shiver. Every damn heartbeat.

Her shirt came off first, my hands pausing to savor the sight of her. Her skin still showed signs of her attack—bruises faded to gold and green—but I saw beauty in every mark. I memorized her all over again, mouth trailing down the column of her throat, over her collarbone, the curve of her breast. I kissed the scar beneath her ribs. She trembled when I did, her fingers tightening in my hair like she needed the connection.

“You’re perfect,” I rasped, pressing a kiss low on her stomach.

“No,” she whispered, voice shaky. “But I’m yours.”

I swallowed hard, pulling her panties down slowly, watching the way her body moved, how she trusted me— me —with this. With her .

I kissed the inside of her thighs, felt her breath stutter above me. Her fingers threaded tighter into my hair, and when I tasted her, she gasped. Quiet, soft. Sweet. My name, breathed out like prayer.

She came undone on my tongue, slow and aching. She didn't cry out—she didn’t need to. I felt it. Felt her body tighten, her thighs tremble, the way she arched as her release rolled through her. And I stayed there, holding her through it. Not just with hands—but with everything I was.

When I finally rose above her again, she pulled me down into another kiss—this one different. Slower. Deeper. Like she was reaching past the scars, past the man the world had broken, and straight into the part I’d tried to keep buried.

We got lost in each other.

When her hands moved over my body, her touch wasn’t timid. She explored me like she wasn’t scared of the damage. Like she wanted all of it. All of me. And when I pressed into her, slow and careful, she let out a broken little sound—half breath, half moan—that hit me harder than any bullet ever could.

She was tight. Warm. Mine. My body locked up trying not to lose it too fast.

I stilled, giving her time to adjust, brushing my lips across her cheek, her jaw, her mouth. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Her nails scratched lightly down my back, her hips rising up in answer. “Don’t stop.”

We moved slow at first, like we had time. Like this wasn’t something that could be ripped away at any second. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper. Her hands roamed every inch of me like she wanted to memorize the way my body felt above hers, against hers, inside hers.

Her voice was soft, broken in the best way—my name slipping past her lips again and again, each time breathier, needier. And I gave it to her. Everything.

She clung to me, lips brushing my shoulder, her tongue tracing one of my scars, and I nearly lost it right then.

“Zeynep,” I choked, voice cracking. “You… you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

“Yes I do,” she whispered. “I’m loving you.”

That was it. The final blow.

We found a rhythm, slow but deep, drawn-out and aching. My hips rocked against hers as I buried my face in her neck again, smelling her, breathing her in like she was the only thing that could keep me alive, and maybe she was.

The air thickened with heat and breath and the kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be filled. Just felt, and when she came again, whispering my name like it was something sacred, I broke. I buried myself deep, pulse crashing as my release tore through me, and I collapsed against her, heart pounding so hard it shook both of us.

I didn’t move right away. Didn’t want to. Just held her, our slick skin pressed tight, her cheek resting over my heart. Our breath slowly syncing. Her body softening under mine, pliant, trusting. Home.

Eventually I rolled to my side, bringing her with me, never letting her go. I tucked her close, her fingers drifting across the burn scars that tracked over my shoulder.

“That was so wonderful,” she whispered, like she didn’t know she’d just stitched something back together inside me.

I didn’t answer right away.

Because wonderful didn’t even begin to touch it. It was sacred. Terrifying. Pure. Something I hadn’t believed I could have anymore. But even in the warmth of it, I felt the cold edge of truth crawling back in. Because I was still drowning in a secret, and I knew the minute she found out—I’d lose this.

Lose her .

So I kissed her hair, wrapped her tighter in my arms, and gave her the only truth I could offer. “It damn sure was.”

And as I held her, breath still uneven, heart still raw, I prayed I would never have to let go.

***

I WOKE UP to the feeling of her. Soft. Warm. Curled against me like she belonged there. Like she always had.

For a second, I just laid there. Breathing her in. Letting the weight of her in my arms burn away all the shit clawing at the edges of my mind.

But it wasn’t enough.

Would never be enough.

Need hit me hard—hot and brutal—the second I shifted and felt her body press closer me. The way she fit against me, bare skin sliding against mine, lit the fuse that was still glowing since last night.

I moved before I could talk myself out of it. My hand sliding up her thigh, over the curve of her hip, finding the dip of her waist and pulling her tighter against me.

She stirred, a soft sound escaping her throat—a sleepy, broken little whimper that went straight to my cock, and fuck, I wasn’t gonna be gentle this time. Couldn’t.

Not when everything inside me was clawing to claim her in a way that no one could ever take away. Not when I needed to feel her come apart around me again—this time because she wanted it rough, because she trusted me enough to take it.

I kissed the back of her neck, slow at first, dragging my mouth over her skin, breathing her in like she was oxygen and I was starving for it. Her body arched into mine, silent invitation, and I answered it with a low growl that rumbled straight from my chest.

"Zeynep," I muttered against her skin, my voice rough and wrecked with the weight of everything I felt.

She tried to turn toward me, but I pinned her down with my body, holding her there, chest to back, hips grinding slow and deliberate against her ass.

"Stay just like that," I rasped, my hand sliding between her thighs, finding her slick and ready, and fuck me, if that didn’t make me lose whatever was left of my control.

She gasped, hips pushing back against me, and I swore under my breath, lining myself up and sinking into her in one long, slow thrust that left us both shaking.

She cried out, her fingers scrambling for something to hold on to, and I caught her wrist, pinning it above her head, locking her to me with nothing but my hand and my body.

"That’s it," I growled, thrusting deeper, harder, until the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, raw and primal and fucking perfect. "Take it, sweetheart. Take all of me."

She did. God, she did.

She took every rough thrust, every broken sound ripped from my throat, every shattered promise in the way my body claimed hers. And when she shattered again, trembling and gasping my name like it was the only thing she remembered, I followed her over the edge, burying myself so deep inside her it felt like I could finally breathe again.

I collapsed against her, still holding her pinned beneath me, our bodies slick with sweat, hearts hammering against each other like fists against a locked door.

For a long time, I didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

Just stayed buried inside her, breathing hard, my body still wrapped around hers like some part of me thought if I let go, she’d vanish. I wasn’t gentle about it. Wasn’t soft.

I held her there, skin to skin, heart to heart, and for the first time in a lifetime of fuckups and broken promises, I knew exactly what the hell I wanted.

Her.

Only her.

***

THE SUN brOKE into the room like it owned the place, quiet, warm, and just honest enough to piss me off.

I blinked against it, groggy as hell, my body relaxed in all the right ways. Her scent clung to the sheets. To me. Something like citrus and sex—Zeynep.

And fuck, I’d never forget it.

She was curled into my chest, legs tangled with mine, hand resting over my ribs like I’d invited her into my body and she’d just stayed.

And goddamn, I wanted her to stay.

But I couldn’t breathe.

Not really. Not the kind that fills your lungs—not when you know the lie’s still hanging over your head.

Last night had stripped me down to the bone. I’d let her in, every broken piece.

In the quiet of the dark, it had felt like enough.

But daylight?

Daylight didn’t lie. It peeled back all the softness and left nothing but truth behind.

I stared at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the world waking up outside. One of the boys revving an engine. A shout down the hall. The smell of coffee just starting to brew in the kitchen.

I should’ve felt at peace. Should’ve felt whole. Instead, my chest was a vice.

She shifted against me, humming softly like she hadn’t quite made it to the surface of her dreams. Her fingers flexed once against my side before she nestled even closer.

And fuck me, that did it.

I slid out of bed slowly, like a man diffusing a bomb. Her body moved without thought, reaching for the space I’d left behind, but I pulled the blanket gently back over her.

I stood there a second too long, watching her sleep like a coward who didn’t deserve any of this.

Then I grabbed my jeans and shirt, tugged them on with a few muttered curses. My hands were shaking.

Just a little.

Just enough to remind me I wasn’t in control of this anymore.

Her voice stopped me at the door—soft, raspy, half-asleep. “Mystic?”

Just one word, and it cut deeper than anything the military ever threw at me.

“What’s wrong?”

I turned. Her eyes were half-lidded, confusion flickering in their depths.

I kept my voice even. Controlled. “Devil needs me. Club business.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Just the kind I could stomach.

She sat up slightly, the sheet falling around her waist, looking so fucking beautiful I didn’t know how I would survive this. “This early?”

“Yeah.” I looked away before I could drown again. “Shouldn’t be long.”

She nodded slowly, but I saw it in her face, that flicker of something. Disappointment. Hurt. Maybe even doubt. She was smart. She knew when someone was running.

But she didn’t push.

“I’ll be here,” she said softly.

I gave her a nod. One that felt like goodbye—even if I didn’t mean it to.

But the truth was… it might be.

Then I turned and walked out the door.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t let myself.

Because if I did…I’d never leave.

And I needed space to think. To breathe. To figure out how the hell I was going to tell her that the man she gave herself to last night…was a fraud. She wasn’t asking yet. But she would, and when she did…

I better be ready to lose her.