Page 117 of Claimed

I grabbed his hair. “Then hurt me.”

His lips crashed against mine as he pounded me into the bed. He yanked me, the sheets burning my back. He lifted my leg onto his muscled shoulder, the position giving him deeper access. He drilled me like that for a while. The merciless thrusting turned me on. Made me as wild as him.

Growling, he flipped me on all fours. His knees knocked mine apart. He gripped my hair and pulled, forcing me to arch. Then his cock stabbed into me. He fucked me like a depraved animal, my hair in his fist. His other hand cupped my breast. At some point, he lowered himself over me. His chest pressed into my back as I flattened on the bed. My legs spread wide, I let him use my body.

His groans became more bestial, his kisses more feral. And then his teeth sank into my neck. They pinched, the sting like a pleasure jolt to my pussy. His cock was a column pummeling my tight channel. I came as he did, exploding into a million stars. He buried his face in my neck and groaned. He spilled heat inside me, still thrusting. He kissed the raw wound from his bite.

A while later, I lay in Achille’s arms. I traced his big, satisfied grin. The journey to this moment wasn’t just about overcoming darkness. We’d both built something beautiful from the ashes of my grief. With every challenge, we grew closer, our love deepening in so many ways. He was the man I loved. My partner, my best friend, my confidant, the person with whom I wanted to share all life’s moments.

My throat thickened. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”

His response was a kiss.

EPILOGUE

ACHILLE

Every year, we visited the cabin. It took me a while to get used to the idea. Started as a grim reminder of the lives I’d ended, but Violet saw it differently. She always said it was where we really started. Damn if she wasn’t right. Now it was our slice of heaven amidst the chaos. Holidays, summer breaks, we were here, making memories. I rebuilt the cabin to make rooms for the kids. Violet pushed to keep the aesthetic rustic, and I couldn’t argue. Something about this place grounded me.

Our little one, Daisy, just hit the eighteen-month mark. A sweetheart compared to her brother, who kept us on our toes. Daisy was a daddy’s girl. We couldn’t go anywhere without her begging me to be picked up. She toddled across the wooden porch, her laughter mingling with the birdsong. Out here, surrounded by the rugged beauty of the mountains, I found peace that I thought was off the table for a guy like me.

Violet came up beside me, slipping her hand into mine. “We’ve done good, haven’t we?”

I gave her cheek an affectionate pinch, my gaze shifting to Jack, who watered the plants in the vegetable garden where the shed used to stand. Jack had grown into a rambunctious boy who loved all the sports.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting it with strokes of pink and orange. Violet’s head fell against my shoulder. We watched in silence, the world bathed in a soft glow.

Later, when the kids were put to bed and the fire burned down to embers, Violet and I sat alone on the porch, the sky ablaze with stars. I could almost hear the echo of my old self. I’d left behind the dirty work that defined my career. Still running the show, but from a distance. Leadership was more about strategy than muscle.

I turned to Violet. “Sing for me.”

She smiled and launched into a happy melody. I let my eyes shut, soaking in her voice. I’d asked her for a song. Violet wrote an entire album about me. One track popped off on social media, next thing I knew, she was signing a record deal. I built her a studio for our anniversary. Nowadays, she recorded music, figured out how to handle her growing fan base, and planned tours around the South.

But even with her fame, she never lost sight of what mattered most—us. She sang to the kids every night, the same tunes that now lulled thousands to sleep through speakers. Whenever she’d turn that voice on me, it was like the first time all over again.

“We’ll need to add another room to that studio of yours soon,” I murmured, thinking of Daisy’s budding interest in banging on the piano keys and Jack’s shy attempts at singing.

Violet chuckled. “I think you’re right. Maybe we should record a family album.”

“What’ll I do? Bang on a tambourine?”

“Baby, I tried to teach you the keyboard. It didn’t go well.”

“I can play an instrument.”

She scrunched up her nose. “The washboard, maybe? You can scrape spoons on it.”

I laughed hard.

This was the life I hadn’t dared dream of, now mine. No matter what, we’d face it together, with music as our guide, and a legacy built not on my past, but on our future.

And that was more than enough.

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