Page 113 of Bonds of Obsession

She shatters instantly, screaming as her orgasm rips through her. Her pussy clamps down on me like a vice, and the sight of her coming apart while my blood wells up under her fresh mark is more than enough to push me over the edge with her.

“Fuck!” I grip her hips bruisingly tight, driving up into her as I empty myself inside her. The pleasure is blinding, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before. Maybe it’s the endorphins from the pain, or maybe it’s knowing that I’m permanently marked as hers now.

Either way, I never want it to end.

She collapses onto my chest, and the fresh tattoo stings like a motherfucker where her skin touches it. I don’t care. I want the pain. I want the reminder of what just happened. For the first time in my life, I’ve chosen to be marked, to let someone claim me as theirs.

And fuck if I don’t love every second of it.

“You did so good, siren,” I murmur into her hair, running my hand down her sweat-slicked back. “Taking my cock while you marked me. I knew you could do it.” My chest feels tight with emotions I can barely name. “No one’s ever owned me before. I’ve never wanted them to. Until now. Until you.”

She lifts her head suddenly, wincing as she realizes she was pressing against the fresh ink. “Oh shit, sorry.” She looks downat my chest, her face scrunching up. “God, look at those lines. They’re all shaky and uneven. I’ve never done such sloppy work.”

I glance down at the tattoo. The ring design isn’t technically perfect—some of the lines waver where she was fighting against the pleasure of my cock inside her. But that only makes it better and more meaningful for me.

“It’s fucking perfect,” I tell her, meaning every word. “That ink tells the story of exactly how it happened. Of how desperate we both were.” I catch her chin, making her meet my eyes. “And it’s from you, which means I’ll treasure every imperfect line until the day I die.”

Her eyes go soft at that, and for a moment I see something in them that makes my heart stutter. Something that looks a hell of a lot like a feeling I’m not sure I know how to reciprocate.

35

QUINN

I blink awake,feeling like I’ve just been hit by a fucking bus. Every part of my body feels numb and heavy, and it takes way too much energy to turn my head toward the window.

Judging by the angle and the intensity of the sunlight, it’s well past morning.

How long have I been asleep? And where the fuck am I?

It takes another few seconds for the memories to come rushing back. I’m in Imogen’s penthouse, but not in the master bedroom. I’m in one of the smaller rooms.

Killian’s.

His arms are still wrapped around my naked body, and his skin is still warm against mine. His fresh tattoo is stark against his chest. It’s the first piece of ink he’s ever allowed on his body. My work.

Guilt claws at my insides as I realize how long I must have slept. After the fire, after losing everything, after disbanding Enigma, the last thing I should be doing is sleeping. I should be fighting back. Making moves. Doing something, anything, to unfuck this situation.

But my body betrayed me. The exhaustion of the past few days finally caught up. Between the Dark Lotus Syndicatebullshit, barely sleeping while we planned Celine’s rescue, and then Ambrose burning my whole fucking life to the ground, my eyelids had grown so heavy after tattooing Killian that I couldn’t fight it anymore.

I shift carefully in Killian’s arms, not wanting to wake him. My gaze catches on his new tattoo again. The lines aren’t perfect—my hands weren’t exactly steady while riding his cock. But somehow that makes it mean even more. He wanted my mark on him so badly that he couldn’t wait, couldn’t separate the act of claiming from the act of fucking.

My chest tightens. These men, they’re all I have left now. My gang is gone, my home is gone, my father’s memory has been reduced to ashes. But I still have them. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Ambrose—or anyone else—take them from me too.

I must have drifted off to sleep, because when I open my eyes again, I’m alone in the big, comfortable bed. I’m tempted to stay in here for the rest of the day. To just skip eating, drinking, and bathing and just sleep for at least another twelve hours.

Honestly, I’m pretty sure my men would let me, as impractical as it would be. But there are things to do and shit to discuss, and putting it all off won’t make any of it go away.

I roll out of bed slowly and grab the plush bathrobe hanging just inside the bathroom before padding out into the hallway and then toward the kitchen. Everything in Imogen’s place is luxurious and expensive, from the marble countertops to the high-end appliances that look like they’ve barely been used. It’s a far cry from my comfortable but lived-in house. My house that’s been reduced to nothing but a charred frame and rubble.

All three of my men are in the kitchen, talking in low voices. They must have caught some sleep too, because they’re all shirtless, wearing only sweats that hang low on their hips. Killian has the cat cradled in one arm while he makes coffee with the other, and the sight does something strange to my chest. It’shard to believe this deadly, ruthless man could be so gentle with this small, sweet creature.

I pause in the doorway, my breath catching as I look at them. With their shirts off, I can easily see the marks I’ve left on each of them. My ring tattooed over Atlas’s heart, standing out against his other ink. The one on Nico’s chest, the first mark I ever gave any of them. And now Killian’s fresh tattoo, the lines still raised and red.

These dangerous, beautiful men. These killers who can be so gentle with me, who would burn the world down to keep me safe. Who let me mark them as mine, permanently and forever.

A year ago, I would’ve laughed if someone told me I’d end up here. That the men I’d vowed to destroy would end up being my salvation. That I’d end up giving them pieces of myself I didn’t even know I had left to give.

But here we are.

---