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Legend carts me through the room like the goddamn outlaw king he is. He kicks open his bedroom door and slams it shut behind us.

And my heart’s never beat faster.

I’m still bound, breathless, and buzzing with pure need.

He stares at me like he’s about to devour me whole. Man, he's breathing like he's been bottling things up forever. I can feel it. This dark, hungry thing inside him has snapped.

"You want to be treated like the rest of the girls?" he growls, circling me like a predator. "Prove you're not made of pearls and pedigree."

I laugh, low and taunting. "Baby, I’m not the one who’s scared."

He closes the distance in two strides, grabs my chin, and tilts my face up. His fingers are rough, calloused, warm. “You think I gave you up ‘cause I didn’t want you? I’ve wanted you since I was thirteen and too dumb to do anything but stare from across the fence line.”

My breath catches.

"But I’m not dumb now," he says. "And I’m done pretending I don’t burn only for you."

He yanks the rope up just enough to spin me, pressing my chest to the wall. My cheek scrapes the old paint, and I moan, not from pain, but from the power thrumming through every inch of me. I’ve never felt so damn alive.

His mouth is at my ear. “You like being tied up, Princess? Then you better remember who tied you.”

I nod, throat tight.

“Say it,” he growls. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I breathe.

“Louder.”

“Legend.”

“That’s right.” He yanks my pants, my panties all the way down around my boots. “You’re not some heiress right now. You’re mine. Just mine.”

His palm lands on my ass, hot and sharp. The sting races through me straight to my pussy.

Another smack.

And then he’s pressing into me, like a storm breaking loose, hard and sure, pinning me to the moment with nothing but his dick and heat. I hear the scrape of leather as he drags his belt loose one-handed, fast like he’s done it a thousand times.

Then his mouth finds my ear, and the filth he whispers makes my knees go weak.

“Complain I’m too gentle? This dick is gonna wreck that tiny cunt of yours this time, Sophie. I hope you’re good and ready.”

I bite my lip and try to reason with him. “I didn’t mean all that.”

“Too fuckin’ late. You got no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he rasps. “How many nights I laid awake in that damn bunk, fists still bloody from takin’ out some bastard, just thinkin’ about you. Sophie Fuckin’ Montgomery. Tying you down, and havin’ my fuckin’ way.”

I gasp at his words as his erection presses against me, slow and deliberate.

“Wantin’ you,” he growls. “Hatin’ myself for it. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop jackin’ off to thought of comin’ in your pretty hair. Makin’ you a mess.”

His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head so his lips brush just under my jaw.

“I’d have crawled through hell for just a taste of you. Now, I’ve tasted your pussy, and I want it even more.”

Every filthy, aching word sears itself into me, and I realize, this isn’t just lust. It’s obsession. It’s all those years of holding back cracking all at once, again.

And I want every shattered piece of it.

“Goddamn you,” he groans, dragging his hand down between my thighs. He shoves two rough fingers up in me. “You were made to be mine, weren’t you?”

I whimper, rocking against his hand. “Born for it.”

That’s all it takes.

He spins me, lifts me, and throws me on the bed like a rag doll. His mouth is on me, everywhere, neck, breasts, stomach, his beard scraping, teeth nipping, hands claiming every inch.

I can’t do a thing with my hands behind my back but take it.

“You run your mouth like a queen, but you’re gonna take me like my property. You understand?” He barks as he heaves off my boots one by one. My pants land in the floor next.

I nod, dizzy. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes go black at that.

Spreading my thighs, he enters me in one powerful thrust. Nothin’ like last time when I still saw stars.

Now, I see fuckin’ whole galaxies.

There’s nothing soft here. No gentle build-up. Just raw, rough, possessive heat. He takes me like he’s trying to brand himself into my bones. Each thrust is a vow, each growl a promise.

Taking it like a champ, I dig my nails into his broad back and bite his shoulder for good measure.

“You still think I’m soft?” he pants.

I shake my head, half-laughing, half-crying. “You’re a Legend.”

“And you,” he says, voice ragged. “Are the only thing that’s ever made me believe I could come out clean on the other side.”

When I come, it’s like lightning, bright, sharp, and seemingly endless.

I don’t have time to recover.

He flips us. He’s not finished.

“Do I need to untie you?” Legend asks, holding his massive cock up, inviting me for a ride.

“No, I can ride a horse with my hands behind my back. I think I can handle a big, bad biker.”

Lifting my leg, I straddle him, sit down real slow. Watch his face as I lower myself on his dick. Rocking back and forth, I feel the pressure mounting again.

Things slow down. Legend reaches under my shirt. We can’t get it off with my hands tied behind my back, but he undoes my bra. Then he’s rubbing his thumbs over my nipples.

Catching my breath, I enjoy the view. Legend laid out beneath me. Dangerously gorgeous.

All mine.

I ride him like the champion horsewoman that I am. Born in the saddle, I trained years for this, after all.

And when he comes with a strangled groan, I realize, I’m riding bare back, raw doggin’ him.

Stupid, but I know deep in my soul. I’m not leaving this man.

He can tie me up.

He can tear me down.

But I’m already his.

Body. Mind. Soul.

Property of Legend.

I feel the heat of his chest blanketing my back, his weight anchoring me to the mattress like he can’t let go yet. Part of me doesn’t want him to.

His rough hands are gentler now, working the knot at my wrists. His fingers graze the sore skin where the rope rubbed me raw, and he mutters something low under his breath.

“I tied it too tight,” he says, like he’s angry at himself for forgetting I’m not made of steel like him.

“You didn’t break me,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, just pulls away enough to lift me into his arms again. No theatrics this time, just quiet care.

Legend carries me through a narrow side door I didn’t even notice before, into a small tiled room with a rusted clawfoot tub and a busted mirror cracked down the middle. Clothes are all over the floor. A half-used bar of soap sits beside a black bottle of bourbon. It’s not romantic. It’s real.

He sets me down on the edge of the tub, turns on the tap, and waits for the water to run hot.

“I can wash myself,” I say, not even convincing myself.

“Not tonight,” he growls. “You took everything I gave you. Let me give this too.”

He drops to his knees in front of me, dips a rag in the steaming water, and begins wiping me down, my wrists first, then the back of my neck, then lower.

His touch is reverent now. Quiet. Like penance.

“I was mad,” he says. “At you. At myself. At the whole damn world. I wasn’t expectin’ you to walk in here and tear it all down.”

“You think I came to play house?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head. “I think you came to remind me what it feels like to want somethin’ I can’t have.”

I cup his face, thumb brushing over the scar near his jaw. “You’ve always had me, Hudson. You were just too proud to reach out and take it.”

His eyes close like that truth hurts worse than a bullet.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mutters.

“No,” I say, pulling him up until our foreheads touch. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

He lifts me into the tub like I’m precious, even after everything. I sink into the warmth, hissing a little as the water kisses every bruise he left. He stays on the floor beside me, silent and still, watching the steam rise between us.

And for a man made of rage and ruin, he looks almost peaceful.

Then he looks at me all serious. “You know, I meant to come in your hair.”

“What’s stopping you?”

I’m out of the tub in a flash.

The night’s not over.