Page 36 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

T he belt hit the floor with a hard metallic clink.

He was past restraint now. Way past patience.

But when he looked at her, spread out on the bar, thighs still trembling, hair wild, eyes dazed like she couldn’t remember her own name, something inside him shifted.

Possessive didn’t cover it.

She was half-dressed. Nothing below the waist. Her upper half stole his breath with her torn bra and open flannel clinging to her skin.

One sleeve had slipped off her shoulder, revealing a fresh mark he'd left there earlier.

She looked ruined and radiant. Her lips were parted, eyes dark and glassy, her chest rising and falling too fast.

She looked like surrender and defiance wrapped in fire.

His hands curled into fists for a second. Not because he was angry. Because it was too much. Because she undid something in him, and he didn’t know how to survive it without sinking his body into hers.

He stepped in before she could slide off the bar and lifted her, closing his arms around her back and under her thighs.

She gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. “Christian?—”

“I’ve got you.” His voice sounded raw. “Always.”

She didn’t question it. Didn’t try to fight as he carried her deeper into the tavern. Her body settled into his without hesitation, her cheek brushing against his chest.

The wooden floor creaked loudly from his heavy boots, and his senses stayed sharp.

He was aware of everything—the faint creak of the rafters, the wind cutting through broken panes, the settling pop of old wood.

The danger hadn’t passed. It had just taken a step back to let him forget, for one minute, what they were walking through.

But he wouldn’t forget.

He shifted her in his arms as he neared the heavy table in the far corner. It was scarred and old, gouges along the top, bolted to the floor. Solid. A survivor. It would hold.

He lowered her gently, giving her a second to find her balance. She was unsteady but didn’t fall. Her hands gripped the table edge, her head bowed, breath coming in shallow gasps from her first orgasm of the night.

He wasn’t finished.

He turned her and bent her forward, over the table, with both hands on her hips. Her palms flattened against the wood. Her back arched. That beautiful ass rose into view, bare and flushed. Her legs parted slightly, already inviting him in again.

He stared for a moment. Memorized every inch of her like he wouldn’t get another chance. The flannel had bunched up at her waist. The torn bra had mostly fallen off. She was laid out for him, vulnerable but not weak. Never weak.

He shoved the flannel out of the way and reached down, sliding his hand along her spine as she let out a shaky breath. “Mine,” he muttered.

She turned her head slightly and looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were heavy, still dazed, but focused on him like there was no one else in the world.

“Say it,” he growled.

“Yours,” she whispered, her voice cracked and certain.

That was all he needed.

He gripped her hips, angled himself, and slammed into her in one hard, deep thrust.

She moaned his name, her voice catching, her head falling forward. Her hair spilled across the table in a mess of silk.

The sound she made landed deep in his chest. Not just arousal. Something stronger. Something that dug under his ribs and stayed there.

He locked both hands on her hips and started moving.

Relentless. Not sloppy. Not gentle. Just pure intent.

Every thrust was a promise, a mark, a vow that no one else would ever have this.

No one would see her like this, hear her like this.

Not while he was breathing. The thoughts ran through his head, and he didn’t fight them. Not right now. Later.

She took all of him. Back arched. Hips lifting to meet him. Her breath broke apart, and her body felt slick and furnace hot around his cock.

He leaned in, his chest brushing her back, his lips near her ear. “You’ll stay safe. Say it.”

She gasped, her voice thin. “I will. I promise.”

That undid him in a way nothing else ever had.

He drove deeper, arms wrapping around her, anchoring her against him. He could feel every breath she took. Every tremble. She was real. She was here. A perfect package of beauty, brains, and kindness so pure it stole his breath. Every time.

Each muscle in his body stayed keyed in, his hearing picking up every creak and shift outside the room. The wind had changed again. Something metal rattled on the roof. No danger coming for them. For now.

She clenched around him, her body pulsing hard, and he felt her teeter on the edge.

He didn’t let up. Not now.

Her hands gripped the table hard. She jerked once, her whole body seizing around him. Her orgasm tore through her, raw and shaking, and her cry hit him like shrapnel. Her body clenched around him, so tight he might never get free. Was just fine with that.

Only then did he let go.

He came inside her, a deep sound pulled from his gut. His grip didn’t ease, not until he was spent, still buried in her, chest against her back.

The table creaked under their weight. Her body sagged, breath uneven, arms trembling. He stayed inside her, forehead pressed to the back of her neck, heart still hammering like he could smell danger coming. Because it was.

And he’d do anything, obliterate any line, to keep her safe.

Some people respected him, and some people feared him.

Not one of them had any idea what he could do, what he would do, to protect someone he loved.

He slowly withdrew from her, nearly seeing stars when her internal walls gripped him on the way out.

Love?

As was his nature, he accepted the thought because it held truth. Most men in love became softer. Kinder. Easier. That wasn’t in his nature. Protecting and defending was. Even if he had to be the ice-cold weapon they’d trained.

So be it.

After a long-ass day working as a consultant to the AWT, Christian finally relaxed when he walked into the tavern, the previous evening still with him.

He’d taken Amka three more times during the night at his place, where he much preferred she stay the entire day.

She had, of course, argued with him until he brought her into town.

He’d had Ace waiting, and he’d been on Amka duty all day.

Christian hoped they’d found time to plan their enterprises while he and Dutch had canvassed most of the area with pictures of the two unknown and now eyeless victims. He’d done his best to describe the third victim who had disappeared, but finally, he stepped into town to see Dutch and Brock sitting with Ace by the fireplace.

Nixi was bustling around, handing out drinks.

Everything in him went stone cold, and then immediately warmed, when Amka walked through the door from the kitchen, delivering plates of burgers to people talking into their phones at a long table.

Why didn’t they just talk to each other?

Christian clocked everyone’s position in under a second and noted Eli Warner’s widow sitting at a table, talking with one of those influencers.

The blond guy. Steve somebody.

Christian lifted an eyebrow and looked over at Dutch, who shrugged. Interesting. Christian gave Steve a look, and the man paled slightly. Good. Only an asshole would take advantage of the vulnerable widow. Christian kicked back a chair once he reached the table. “I got nothing all day.”

“Ditto.” Dutch scrubbed both hands down his well-worn face. “Nobody recognized the two victims. I had three pukers.”

“I had one lady pass out,” Christian grumbled, “Maybe we should have an artist render pictures of what they looked like before they had their eyes gouged out.”

Dutch nodded thoughtfully. “You know, that ain't a bad idea.”

Brock snorted. “You guys couldn’t think of that to start with?”

Ace rolled his eyes, which were shockingly clear. “Amka was safe all day. I saw no threats, although that Steve guy over there flirted with her a few times, and the stupid insurance adjuster kept bugging her until I snapped at the woman. She stormed out.”

“Thanks,” Christian said. He’d have to get the scoop on that later. He jerked his head toward the two at the table. “Please tell me that poor widow isn’t giving an?—”

“She is,” Dutch grunted. “I told the social media jackass to leave her alone, but she said she didn’t mind giving an interview.

I think she’s pretty lonely. She doesn’t seem to have any other family back home, from what I got when I interviewed her, and considering her husband was just brutally murdered and had his eyes cut out, I didn’t argue with her. ”

Brock sighed. “We’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she gets to Anchorage when the body goes.”

Christian couldn’t imagine losing more people he cared about. His gaze drifted to Amka, where she joked with a couple of fishermen by the pool table and then took their empty dishes back into the kitchen.

She looked over her shoulder, saw him, and winked.

He sat back, stunned.

She had to be sore. He hadn’t gone easy on her last night, and frankly, it had been the best night of his entire life. She still had enough sass in her to challenge him. Publicly. Damn, he liked that.

“Did she just wink at you?” Ace put down his coffee mug.

Heat shockingly filtered into Christian’s face. “No.”

“Yes, she did,” Brock said, cutting him a look. “What’s up?”

He’d never lied to his brothers, and he was done lying to himself. “She’s under my protection,” Christian said. “I’m not good for her long term, or for being close to her, but nobody harms her. Ever.”

Silence fell like somebody had dropped a thirty-pound boulder in the middle of their table. All three men were usually phenomenal at hiding their expressions. Not right now. Shock covered their faces. Christian felt an odd, grim sense of pleasure at that.

“Well, all right,” Brock said. “Just so you know, I think that you are good for her, but you’ll have to figure that out yourself.”