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"So fucking eager to please," he says, pumping his hips even deeper inside me.

"You can barely fit all of me, but you're so brave as you keep these thighs open for me.

I have to shove myself inside you with every thrust, but that's how you like it, isn't it?

You like that I'm a little too big for you. "

His body is pure power, and I'm the one he unleashes it on. It's the best thing I ever experienced in my life.

He gives to me, and I take.

"So fucking tight," he says. "I should be gentle with you, but I have no self-control when it comes to you. You feel like you were made just for me."

I arch my back for him, breathless as he reaches down to wrap his mouth around one of my nipples. He cups my breast in his big hand as he sucks.

"Oh, my God," I say.

My fingers are lost in his hair. I tug on the strands, needing more of him. Just needing more.

"God doesn't have anything to do with this, Emma," he says. "Say my name when every inch of my cock is buried inside you."

I start moving my hips in tune with his thrusts, meeting him halfway. I'm hungry for something I never had. All I know is that he's the only one who can give it to me.

My toes curl when his thrusts turn brutal in nature. He's more beast than man now. He's unraveling, and it's a sight to behold.

He leans down to whisper filthy things in my ear.

"It's so fucking wrong, but you're allowed to like it, baby girl," he says. "You're allowed to cream all over my cock before I empty myself inside you."

"Klaus." His name is a prayer and a curse.

He makes me feel things no man has ever made me feel. But at the same time, I don't know if he'll keep my heart safe.

Just as I think that, he kisses my lips. Stealing my breath away, stealing all my thoughts away, stealing my heart. It thumps so hard in my ribcage.

" All. Fucking. Mine ," he growls, punctuating each word with a rough thrust of his hips. "Mine to fuck. Mine to feed. Mine to take care of."

"All yours," I say, letting him take me to the edge.

He lifts his head to look into my eyes. I swear I catch something flit over his face. It's more than tenderness, it's more than attraction.

"Come for me, Emma," he says.

It's like I've been waiting for his order. I shatter into a million pieces. I feel like a cosmic being made of pure energy. And this man is stretching the limits of what's possible.

I feel everything all at once.

"Good girl," he says, burying himself deep inside me. "Now keep these pretty thighs open and take my come."

His cock gets even bigger inside me. It feels like he's going to split me in half as he crams himself deeper and deeper with every thrust.

The tendons of his neck strain against his skin. His jaw is slack as he pumps harder than before. I feel his hot seed against my walls as he fills me up.

"Fuck, baby girl," he says. "You feel so good taking my come. Your little pussy is so greedy for it."

He continues fucking me even as he fills me up.

We're making a mess all over his sheets. The scent of his musk mixed with mine becomes my favorite perfume.

Nothing in my life has ever felt more right than this.

He hits the spot deep inside me. Another wave of pleasure seizes me, the tide taking me under. But I'm not scared because I know I'm safe in his arms.

He kisses me harder than before. He kisses me like he needs me in his life.

"You're the best thing to ever happen to me, Emma," he says. "Being with you makes me feel like life is actually worth living."

"Don't," I whisper, blinking hard as emotions dislodge from deep inside me. "Don't say those things to me when I know you're going to act like this was nothing by the time morning comes."

He freezes when he sees the tears forming in my eyes. When they roll down my cheeks, he wipes them away with a gentleness I didn't know he was capable of.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It's just...I'm not used to this."

"Well, I'm not used to it either," I say.

Being attracted to a person is one thing. But being attracted to them on every level is something else altogether. I don't know what to make of it. I don't know what the protocol is here.

"Don't think about it, then," he says, cradling my head like I'm a baby. "And please don't cry for me. I'm not worthy of those tears."

His gentleness only makes me cry harder. I let him hold me until I'm all cried out.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be sorry," he replies.

I look at his face. I see that he's scared too. He has demons in his head that the world doesn't know about.

"Can I ask you something?" I say.

His eyes find mine. He nods.

I hesitate for a moment. This could go one of two ways. But there's only one way to find out.

"Why are you repulsed by physical touch?" I ask.

As I expected, he freezes at the question. He didn't expect that I would ask him this.

"When Rosalie hugged you in the garden, you turned green," I say. "But it doesn't have anything to do with Rosalie, does it?"

He closes his eyes. Seconds pass. He's quiet for so long that I think he fell asleep.

"Things happened in the war." He speaks these words into the night.

Some intuition tells me to remain quiet.

"I was in Afghanistan," he says. "I was a sergeant with ten soldiers in my squad. They were my brothers. We shared a life together. They trusted me. But when they needed me the most, I wasn't there for them. I failed them."

I want to hold him. I want to tell him that whatever happened, it couldn't have possibly been his fault.

But I remain quiet and give him the space to share his story on his own terms.

"When you're in enemy territory, everything can change in an instant," he says. "Your whole world can turn upside down in the fraction of a second.All you can hope for is that you're prepared for it when it happens."

Gingerly, I place my hand over his chest. I find his heart racing.

I have a feeling he's never shared this story with anyone before tonight.

"What happened?" I ask him.

"We were ambushed in the middle of the night," he says. "All of us were taken as captives. We were supposed to be used for ransom, but when things didn't go as planned, they began the torture."

It feels like a horror movie unfolding before me. I don't want to look, but at the same time, I can't look away.

"It lasted for weeks. Months," he says. "All of us were in that cramped cell, left with nothing but our thoughts. Most were killed, some took their own lives. All of us broke. And when one of us passed away, they didn't take the bodies out. We were forced to watch as the men we knew and loved..."

He trails off.

My heart aches for everything he went through.

"I was the only one who survived," he says. "I made it out, but I might as well have..."

"Don't say it," I whisper.

I search his face. He's here with me, but at the same time, he's somewhere else. His mind is lost in the past.

"Do you really believe that it's your fault?" I ask him.

"It is my fault," he says. "I was responsible for their lives. I was supposed to protect them and prevent something like that from happening in the first place."

"You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened," I say. "It's not healthy."

When his gaze shifts to look at me, I melt completely. I forget the words I was going to say. The pain that haunts his head is reflected in his eyes now.

He's letting me see how broken he is.

"What you went through is horrific," I say. "But it wasn't your fault, Klaus."

"If I could go back in time, I would do so many things differently," he says. "I would make sure that my squad was better protected against the enemy militants. I would have been more vigilant in the night."

"That's a dangerous game to play, Klaus." I dig my fingertips into his cheekbones, making sure he keeps those troubled eyes on me. "Don't keep revisiting that time in your life. Don't play 'what-if' with what already happened."

"I can't help it," he says. "I go right back into that cramped, dark cell every time someone touches me. I don't have control over it."

I have no words of comfort to offer him. So I just hold him.

"Except with you," he says. "Everything is different with you, and I don't know why."

Seeing this vulnerable side of him does things to my heart.

"I feel the same way," I whisper. "Being around you makes me feel at peace for some reason."

"That's not a good thing, Emma," he says, looking up at the ceiling.

"That's not up to you to decide," I reply.

His mind is trying to pull away from me, but his arm is branded tightly around my waist. He holds me like he needs me. His fingers press into my skin like he's never going to let go of me.

"Your turn," he says, turning to look at me.

"Hmm?"

"A secret for a secret," he says.

"What do you want to know about me?" I ask, playing with his beard.

"Tell me about the man who stalked you."