Page 90 of The Silent War

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing my jaw. “Letting Daddy take care of you.”

His hands smoothed down my sides, tracing every curve like he had to relearn me. He opened my thighs wider with his palms, coaxing me apart.

“Stay open for me,” he whispered, voice thick. “That’s it. Let me see you.”

My breath catching as he filled me inch by inch. Bastion kissed my cheek, my neck, his praise warm against my skin. “That’s my girl.“

My legs tightening around his hips. He pressed deeper,groaning as my body clutched at him. “Fuck… baby. You’re taking me so well. ”

His pace stayed steady at first, every stroke deep but controlled. His eyes drank me in, reverent and wrecked. His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone.

“Look at me. That’s it… don’t hide. I want to see every sound you make for me.”

Each movement driving me closer.

My back arched. The rhythm grew rougher, until my whole body trembled beneath him.

“I love you,” he whispered against my mouth.“I missed you baby. Every fucking day.”

I kissed him back, tears stinging my eyes. His lips brushed down my jaw, my neck, desperate and gentle, marking me with softness.

When he finally pulled free, he didn’t let me go. Bastion slid his arms beneath me and lifted me off the bed, carrying me against his chest.

“Mine,” he murmured, kissing my hair. “Always.”

And as he carried me through open door, I heard the shower running—Luca waiting.

Lucas had his arms open, as Bastion placed me into him like an offering, and Luca caught me instantly, his arms wrapped around me.

The hot water rushing down him before me.

I tucked my head instinctively under his throat. He kissed the top of my head, my temple. “Easy, angel,” he murmured against my hair. “Daddy’s got you.”

His hands smoothed down my back, memorizing me. Every inch he touched felt branded, permanent. He pressed another kiss beneath my ear, reverent. “Missed you. Missed the weight of you here. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

“You feel like home,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

His breath caught. He pulled me tighter. “Say it again.”

“You feel like home.”

He groaned, rough like my words were enough to undo him. His mouth found mine then, unhurried but consuming. He kissed me like he was starving—like he needed to own every part of me he’d been denied.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed my ear. “Tonight’s not about taking. It’s about giving you back what we stole. Slow. Gentle. You’ll only remember worship.”

He turned me carefully until my palms pressed against the tiles, the water running over my shoulders. His chest then pushed against my back, his breath hot at my neck. One arm wrapped across my stomach, the other spreading my hip.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He guided himself to me, pressing carefully until his dick slid in me. His mouth pressed to my shoulder, grounding me. “That’s it, baby. Just me. Just us. Safe.”

He eased deeper, groaning low as I opened for him. “Still so tight,” he rasped. “Like the first time, every time. My perfect girl.”

I whimpered, hips shifting against him. His hand clamped my hip tighter. “Slow,” he whispered. “I want to feel every second of this.”

And he did. Each stroke was deliberate, reverent, his hips dragging against me in a pace that was worship disguised as possession. The water hit the tile, masking our noises, but his groans broke through.