Page 46 of Breeding Justice

I was barely coming down from my peak when I felt him start to tense behind me. His breathing grew more ragged, his thrustsmore erratic. The realization that he was close sent a renewed rush of heat through me. I wanted to feel him lose control, to give in to the same primal need that had consumed me.

I tightened around him, squeezing with all my might, trying to milk every last bit of his impending release. "Come for me, Zane," I whispered, my voice a broken plea. "Fill me."

With a guttural roar, he drove in one last time, as deep as he could go. His body shook with the force of his orgasm, the hot rush of his cum flooding into me. He held me there, locked in place, as wave after wave of his release crashed over us both.

The room was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the faint patter of rain against the window.

Zane slowly pulled out, and I felt an immediate emptiness where he'd been. I collapsed onto the bed, my body a limp rag doll, utterly spent.

The warmth of his cum trickled down my thighs, mixing with my own wetness. I didn't move, didn't speak. My mind was a kaleidoscope of emotions, each fragment more vibrant and piercing than the last. The anger and fear that had gnawed at me all day were momentarily silenced, drowned in the aftermath of our violent passion.

“I love you,” I said. “Promise me you won’t get shot again.”

He laughed. “Okay,” he said. “If you promise to stop putting yourself in dangerous situations, okay?”

That time, we both laughed.

It was the kind of haze one would expect in a movie, where our lives seemed like a scene shot in hyper-realism and meant to linger - a snapshot of pure intensity. Zane eventually softened against me, every line of tension easing into softness and vulnerability. We were both stripped bare, in every sense.

"I mean it," I whispered, feeling the rawness in my throat from my earlier screams. "I need you."

He rolled to lie beside me, pulling me into his chest so tightly that it felt almost like he feared I would disappear if he loosened his grip. His scent wrapped around me, sweat and heat and something that was distinctly him. It was as intoxicating as his touch had been.

"Hey," he murmured softly into my hair. "You know you're the most important thing in the world to me, right? I can't lose you."

“I know, Zane,” I said. “I can’t lose you either. Never. Okay?”

He nodded, but he said nothing else. There was nothing else to say. I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t lose any of them.

I definitely couldn’t lose my son.

So if I had to kill Vito De Luca myself…I sure as fuck was going to do it.

Chapter Nineteen: Bash

We had survived. Barely. And I had no idea for how long.

The living room of the Naples safehouse felt like a war zone in the aftermath of a prolonged siege. Empty coffee cups and crumpled papers lay scattered across the sagging couch and mismatched chairs. A single overhead bulb cast a dim, flickering glow, its light carving out restless shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the stale scent of smoke and sweat.

We were all there. Battered. Bruised. Alive.

Justice sat on the couch, looking pale. Zane had helped her earlier, and he’d said she was going to be okay. If Zane said it, I believed him—but I wished it worked instantly. I hated seeing her struggle. Hell, I hated it so much when she was injured. Watching her grit her teeth and fight through the pain made me sick to my stomach in a way few things ever could.

But despite that, there was some peace of mind now. Hassan and Zane had pulled through and brought SJ back safe. They’d risked everything to protect my little boy and they had done it. I had been right to trust them, and there was something grounding about that.

I sat on the couch, the worn fabric sagging under my weight, and glanced at the baby monitor on the coffee table. SJ’s steady breathing filled the room with a soft, rhythmic hum. For a moment, I let myself exhale, grateful he was safe.

"He's going to be fine, you know," Zane said, breaking the silence. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Tall and lean, with a bandage peeking out from under his shirt as a reminder of his own bullet wound, he looked as worn out as the rest of us. "You don’t need to keep checking every five minutes."

I nodded, not wanting to argue. It wasn’t just SJ I was worried about—it was all of us. "Thanks for getting him out," I said, my voice gruff. "I know it wasn’t easy."

Hassan, sitting in one of the chairs with his muscular arms resting on his knees, shrugged. "We do what we have to," he said simply. His intense eyes met mine, and there was an unspoken understanding in his gaze. He knew what it was like to have family in danger.

I really didn’t want to dwell on SJ being in danger when the very idea of it made me sick to my stomach. We had things to do. We couldn’t keep running.

I cleared my throat. "We need to talk about our next move."

Skylar, who had been pacing the room like a caged animal, stopped in his tracks and smirked. "Let me guess. It involves a lot of guns and very little thinking."

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