Page 28 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

It wasn’t just the sight of her. It was her surrender, layered against the defiance in her chin, the steel in her gaze.

That contrast undid him. The ability it took to offer herself like this, when everything in her had been taught to flinch or fight, was staggering.

Then there was the quiet vulnerability she didn’t try to hide.

That, somehow, wrecked him all the more.

He took his time exploring her with his hands, mapping the curve of her waist, the inside of her thigh, the soft dip beneath her ribs, always cautious of her wound. His fingers lingered over her lace-covered breasts, teasing the peaks through the delicate fabric until her hips shifted beneath him.

He stripped her unhurriedly, biting the edge of her bra strap before sliding it down her arm.

Then the other. Her breath came faster now, and when he reached behind to unclasp it, he did it with one hand and a growl that barely touched the appetite in his eyes.

The bra slipped away and his mouth descended, claiming one taut nipple, then the other, as his hand pressed between her legs.

She was soaked, slick and hot against his hand, her body pulsing with need. He groaned against her skin, the sound guttural, barely restrained. The scent of her hit him like a punch to the gut, sharp and intoxicating.

Then his mouth trailed kisses down to her stomach, along the line of her hip, the sensitive skin just beneath her navel, careful to stay well away from her wound.

He groaned once more, this time against her heat, then lowered his mouth and tasted her like he’d been starving for it.

He shifted, his lips moving to brush the inside of her thigh, each press firmer than the last, dragging heat with it.

Her hips twitched before she caught herself, a gasp escaping her lips as he nudged her knees wider.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then another, closer to where she ached, letting his breath tease her just to the edge. His mouth hovered for a moment, letting the tension build, until her hips lifted again and he couldn’t hold back.

The panties came off next. He hooked his thumbs in the lace and dragged them down with aching gradualness, trailing his knuckles along her legs as he did.

The fabric whispered down her, catching at her knees before he eased it free and tossed it aside.

He kissed his way down one leg, over her knee, across her calf, then back up the other, like he needed to chart her by mouth.

When he settled between her legs, he did it with the full weight of a man who had no intention of rushing.

He gripped her hips with his hands, thumbs brushing possessive circles into her skin.

Her breath trembled, her thighs tightening beneath his hold.

She was already shaking and he hadn’t even touched her where she needed it most. That knowledge shattered him.

He kissed the inside of her thigh again. Then dragged his tongue higher.

Her moan was instant.

His control cracked.

Deliberate. Dominant. And in that moment, absolutely hers.

Not because he’d given up authority —but because he chose to use every inch of it to please her.

To claim her in the one way she could remain strong.

Every movement, every stroke of his tongue, every growled breath against her skin said the same thing.

She was his, untouchable, unbreakable, unstoppable.

And he was hers, too. Fiercely. Entirely. Without restraint.

He used his mouth with devastating focus, tongue sliding over her clit in long, delicious strokes that made her fists tighten in the sheets. Her moans filled the air, her body trembling under the pleasure he gave without asking for a single thing in return.

Every press of his lips was a vow: You’re safe. You’re mine. I’ll rebuild you from this.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak. Just used his mouth, his tongue, his hands, breaking her apart, undoing her with a devotion that bordered on violence in its intensity.

Elise didn’t cry.

Not when she came. Not when he kissed her, pressing his mouth to her core until her voice broke on his name.

She didn’t cry because this wasn’t about loss.

It was the birth of something new, something unexpected.

The rise of something steadier beneath the wreckage.

The sharp clarity of knowing she’d survived and still had the ability to want.

To claim herself back, piece by piece, breath by breath.

Of her body. Of her choice. Of the strength she still held, even while trembling.

Cade eased back, just enough to see her face.

To check the flush on her cheeks, the flicker in her lashes, the faint tremble still echoing in her breath.

He didn’t speak. Just leaned in and kissed her forehead, then brushed the backs of his fingers along the curve of her face.

A silent benediction. She turned into his touch and held it there.

Only then did they shift carefully into something that resembled rest.

They stayed tangled together for a long while, her breath leveling out, Cade’s hand brushing lazy strokes along her arm.

Her cheek pressed against his chest, connecting to the steady thrum of his heartbeat like a tether.

He kissed her hair again, slower this time, as if memorizing the scent of her.

One of her fingers traced the faint line of his rib, and she winced slightly when she shifted, her wound reminding them both it was still there.

He moved instantly, adjusting her body so she rested more on her good side, careful not to jostle her stitches.

His palm found her hip again, grounding her.

The silence between them thickened with everything they didn’t have to say.

But neither of them drifted. Sleep wasn’t the point. Proximity was.

“I keep thinking about the voice,” she murmured. “About how fast I knew. How deep it ran.”

Cade tilted his head. “You think you’ve heard Marcello before?”

Elise nodded. “I don’t know when or where, but yes. It didn’t feel like the first time. It felt like... recognition.”

A knock on the door made them both tense.

Cade eased away and pulled on jeans before cracking it open. Viktor stood there, stone-faced.

“We’ve got a breach,” he said.

Cade stepped into the hall. “What kind?”

Viktor lowered his voice. “I found something buried in the estate server. I’m guessing it’s one of Marcello’s—Marco’s—old access flags. It pinged tonight. He’s in the system. Watching us.”

Cade swore under his breath. “Do you know where the signal originated?”

“Somewhere inside the perimeter. But that’s not the worst of it.”

Cade waited.

Viktor glanced at the closed door behind them. “My override codes were used. How, I don’t know.”

Cade’s eyes turned to ice.

“We’ve got another mole,” Viktor finished.

Cade didn’t look back. “Lock everything down. No exceptions. Re-verify every staff credential, every security feed, every damn biometric scan. I want the gates locked, the cameras triple-checked, and your access codes reset until we know who gave Marcello the backdoor. No one gets in or out without a full identity sweep.”

Viktor nodded once and disappeared into the hall.

Cade shut the door behind him, locked it, jaw set. Elise had already sat up, the sheet held across her chest, eyes wary.

“What is it?” she asked.

He crossed to her in two strides. “Marcello was in the system. He tracked our movements, hallway cams, entry logs, status updates. Not anything private, but enough to know where we were, and when. Everything tracked.” His voice dropped, eyes locked on hers.

“And he wasn’t alone. Someone gave him access. ”

She didn’t flinch. Just stared straight into his eyes.

“Then let’s end this,” she said.