Page 32 of Under His Protection

His mouth-fucks me as he thrusts his cock so deep inside that I’m about to faint. His fire, his wildness, makes me push myself over the limit.

“Come with me,” I beg him, “I can’t hold myself anymore.”

I dig my nails into his bare skin, scratching him, making him bleed, which only makes him fuck me harder. He’s banging me against the couch, my back arching, my hips grinding against him, as I scream out his name. The world narrows, and a panting of colors and sensations swirls around me.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, his eyes fixed on my body. “Such a tight pussy, Ava, and it’s all mine.”

The words send a jolt of pleasure through me, pushing me over the edge. I explode, a fiery eruption of sensation that leaves me trembling and breathless. I can feel him emptying himself inside me, his cum filling me, his hand around my throat, squeezing me breathless, and then he lets go with a grunt.

As I wrap myself around his perfect length, he falls on top of me, his body heavy, possessive, owning me.

Does this man, this enigma, own me? The thought is both terrifying and intoxicating. A slow, wicked grin stretches across his face, his eyes gleaming with a primal satisfaction. He leans down, and his lips brush against my forehead, a fleeting touch.

I am a captive in a silken web. I lie nestled against him, the steady rhythm of his breath a lullaby against my ear. I am his. But as I trace the lines of his face, a shadow of doubt creeps into my newfound bliss. What does it mean to belong to a man like Alexander Bourne fully and eternally?

We’re tangled together, two souls trying to find a moment of peace in a world that’s gone to hell. But the fight’s not over yet. We’re still here. We’re still breathing.

The city outside my window is a symphony of blinking lights, a chaotic ballet of neon, and a thousand windows, each holding a story—maybe even one a little bit like mine. But tonight, my world shrinks to the space between these four walls, a tangled mess of sheets and half-truths.

Alexander's still-warm body next to me is a weight I crave, a familiar comfort in the face of the creeping chill. The air is thick with the smell of rain, a metallic tang that makes me think of the first whispers of change, of endings and beginnings, of a season shifting. I wonder what kind of chapter this will be.

Alexander’s phone's shrill buzz cuts through the silence like a jarring alarm clock, waking him up. His hand snakes out before the phone even hits his ear, grabbing it. His grip is tight, and his features harden as he listens.

“Isaac?” he says, “Yes— I see— What?”

Listening in on the conversation in my slumber is not much use, and moments later, he hangs up the phone.

“It’s Isaac,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Something’s wrong at the harbor. I have to go.”

He looks at me, a flicker of something raw in his eyes. It’s the look of a man who’s been to hell and back.

“Do you have to go?”

“I need to, Ava,” he says. “I have to help Isaac. I can’t not be there for him — I —I failed to protect Mendel.”

Is it that dangerous?

The look in his eyes makes it clear that the memory still haunts him. My breath catches a tight knot forming in my chest. I clench my fists, my body yearning to hold him close, keep him safe, and be his anchor. But he’s already pulling away. His hand brushes my cheek, a brief, fleeting touch that leaves me wanting more.

“Be careful,” I say, holding on to him for a moment, “please.”

He leans down, his lips brushing mine in a quick, desperate kiss. A whisper of a goodbye. And then he’s gone, swallowed by the night.

I watch him disappear, my heart sinking, my hand instinctively reaching for the spot on the pillow where his head lay moments ago.

I’m alone again, but this time, it feels different. We’ve shared a truth, a truth that’s pulled us closer. All I know is that I’ll be waiting for him.

Chapter 12

The Cage

The cold tile floor greets my bare feet as I step out of bed. It’s still night. My fingers trace the indentation on the pillow where his head had rested a few hours ago. The scent of him, wild and untamed, still fills the room. The soft glow of the city lights through the window highlights the dust motes dancing in the air. I really have to clean this place.

My throat feels like sandpaper. I stumble to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water from the counter. The cool liquid is a welcome relief against the dry, scratchy feeling in my throat. I turn, my eyes darting around the room, searching for a sense of normalcy, but a sudden sound shatters the silence. A creak from the hallway, a muffled scuffle, and my heart jolts to life.

My senses are on high alert. The glass of water in my hand feels cold and heavy, and my grip tightens. I step back, my apartment suddenly feeling too small, the walls closing in.

Then, the sound again. A footfall, a thud, and a heavy door slams shut. The silence is broken, replaced by a cold tension. My muscles tense, and my breath is shallow. I glance around, frantically searching for an escape, a weapon, anything. But there’s nothing. My haven, my safe space, suddenly feels like a trap.

---