Page 60 of Her Redeemed Protector

My core moves hearing it, an honest reaction, just like my words. “I believe you more than anyone, anything.”

“Come to me,” he groans, allowing me to fully straddle him.

I increase the pace, driven by pure need. The friction burns, his engorged member leaving no room for respite. Exactly what I crave.

The rapid spread of heat compels every part of me to feel him. My lips trace the rugged contours of his face. I linger on the scar that mars his cheek, a mark that tells stories deeper than the eye can see, each one etching itself into his skin and into my heart. It’s this scar that draws me closer, craving thetaste of his resilience and the stories of sacrifice hidden beneath. He’s given so much, surviving through sheer will, and he deserves every ounce of care I can muster, every pulse of energy that thrums through me.

Huxley’s hand finds the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair with an inviting firmness. There’s a silent command in his touch, in the pressure of his palm. ‘More,’ it urges. ‘Kiss it all away.’

And I do. I press harder, losing myself in the act, in the need to convey through every kiss what words can never fully articulate—my gratitude, my admiration, my unwavering love for him. Simultaneously, he raises his pelvis, exerting a firm grip on my hips, creating a powerful connection.

“I’m so close,” I moan.

“I’m almost there, Sav.” He acknowledges my urge and his willingness to meet it.

Those words come as his flesh swells, escalating the pain as my walls tighten. The sensation makes me shudder, and his hands transition from holding to clutching, digging into my quivering thighs. My muscles hopelessly contract, mirroring the strength of my arms wrapped around him.

I erupt, with lava-hot blasts and smoldering debris shooting through my body. My moan turns to whimper, confessing the all-consuming agony I’m experiencing. Huxley himself, in the throes of ecstasy, releases a howl. It’s undeniably masculine, and singularly his.

My pleasurable torment goes beyond the sexual and physical. It feels right, even virtuous, because I have shared in his pain. Now, I have the power to bring him pleasure, too.

“Stay like this…” Hux whispers, full circle, as I surrender to his embrace once more.

Each time I slip from his hold, overcome by weakness, he gathers me back. It is in these moments that I steal kissesagainst each of his shrapnel scars, a promise that I have not forgotten his pain or the deeper tales he yearns to share.

Our body remains connected as I rest my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat resonates even more clearly while my body moves, following the ebbs and flows of his breath. It’s a beautiful descent, spiraling me into depths of slumber untouched by dreams, untouched by anything I’ve known before.

22

HUXLEY

The morning air still hums with the residue of adrenaline. While Savannah is at the hospital, bringing a smile to Kayla’s brave face, I’m here at the Red Mark headquarters, tying up the loose ends left by yesterday’s events.

The office is abuzz with whispers of discontent carried on the lips of our badged guests from Bozeman. Red Mark’s discretion regarding the kidnapping has not gone unnoticed, stirring a pot of controversy. Collaboration with law enforcement is a cornerstone of our operations, and our sidestep from protocol this time has ruffled feathers, an irregularity that hasn’t been well-received.

Mark, the leader that he is, stands firmly behind our decision, reinforcing that our actions were taken with the client’s best interests at heart. And when it came down to it, we didn’t entirely shun protocol. We eventually involved the local sheriff and Bozeman PD.

With a sincere apology offered and accepted, the Bozeman PD releases their grip on us.

The man and the boy we encountered in Lakefall Valley have become the faces of the ordeal. The father, a deputy ofthe Blackwater Brutes, confessed to his solo, desperate deed to funnel cash into the gang’s coffers. The evidence? A scatter of newspaper clippings in his home, intended for a ransom note he never managed to send.

As the team is about to disperse, Mark’s phone rings. With a silent motion, he asks us to stay put. The lines on his face deepen as he listens, the room holding its breath. When the call ends, Mark’s reveal sends a ripple through us all. The Blackwater Brutes’ communications have been traced back to a company in Monterey.

“Damn. William Redford?” I say, voicing my suspicion.

“Indeed. Redford’s in custody,” Mark confirms, his tone heavy with implications. “He’s pointing fingers at Fabian, claiming a frame-up. But the money’s path is clear. Our Blackwater deputy was funded by Redford’s account.”

As others leave the room, Mark turns to me, his gaze carrying the weight of concern.

“Do you need to get that checked again?” He nods toward my left arm.

I glance down at my shirt sleeve, barely revealing the whiteness of the bandage. “Nah. The sting’s already faded. It’s just a superficial burn. It’ll heal soon.”

“Take a breather, Hux,” he insists, firmness in his voice. “Three major cases back-to-back, it’s enough to test anyone’s limits. I don’t want you on the brink of madness.”

I nod, recognizing the hard truth of his words. It’s time, I admit to myself. Time to let go of the tension and commit to the date I promised Savannah.

I makemy way to Sav’s house. The decision to arrive unannounced feels right somehow. Tucked in my hand is abouquet of roses—fragrant messengers of the words I can’t always find.

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