Page 50 of Breeding Justice

“Stop,” she said, her hand sliding up to cup my jaw. “Hassan. Stop.”

The way she said my name made something inside me still, the storm of fear and anger subsiding for a moment. I didn’t let go of her wrist, my thumb brushing the faint line of her pulse. It was steady but fast, matching my own.

“Hassan,” she said again, quieter this time, her breath warm against my cheek.

I didn’t respond, not with words. Instead, I leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. When she didn’t, my lips brushed hers, soft and tentative. Her breath caught, and then she kissed me back, her hands curling into the fabric of my shirt.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—at least not at first. But the moment her fingers slid into my hair, pulling me closer, something inside me snapped.

I shifted, pulling her into my lap as carefully as I could, mindful of her injury. Her legs straddled me, her warmth pressing against me through the thin layers of fabric that separated us. Her touch was both grounding and electrifying, as if she needed to feel every inch of me to reassure herself that I was real.

“You should be resting,” I murmured against her lips, my voice low and uneven.

“I’ll rest after you fuck me,” she said. “Not before. I need you.”

I groaned softly, my hands sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, mapping the curves of her waist. Her skin was warm, soft, and so painfully familiar. It felt like years since I’d touched her like this, though I knew it hadn’t been that long.

Her hips shifted against mine, and I bit back a curse, my hands gripping her tighter. “Justice…”

“I need you,” she whispered, her lips brushing against my ear. “Right now.”

I paused, every muscle in my body taut with the conflicting desires to take her as she wanted and to protect her from herself. From us.

"Justice," I started, but she cut me off with another kiss, this one more urgent, more insistent. Her hands were everywhere—my chest, my neck, my hair—each touch a plea.

Her hands roamed my chest, then down to my waistband, and I sucked in a breath as she tugged at the fabric. My body responded instinctively, a surge of heat rushing through me, but my mind remained conflicted.

She pulled back, just far enough for me to see the sheer intensity in her eyes. "Please," she said, and there was a vulnerability in her voice that broke me. "I need you inside of me.”

Her words shattered the last bit of resistance I had. I captured her lips again, harder this time, my hands slipping under her shirt and lifting it over her head. She helped, eager, tossing the fabric aside with a flick of her wrist. The sight of her, topless and unashamed, made my heart race faster than a hail of bullets.

I kissed down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the thrum of life in her veins. Her hands went back to my waistband, fumbling with the drawstring of my sweatpants. When she finally loosened it, she slid her hand inside, and I gasped against her collarbone.

"Fuck," I muttered, my hips bucking involuntarily into her touch. Every nerve in my body was screaming for more, for all of her.

But then she winced, just slightly, as she shifted in my lap. It was enough to pull me back to reality.

"You're hurt," I said, trying to catch my breath. "We can't—"

"We can," she insisted, cutting me off. "I'll be careful. You’ll be careful.”

Her grip around my cock tightened and her kisses got more insistent, her breath hot and erratic. My mind was a battlefield, with duty and desire clashing in a brutal, unyielding war. I wanted to protect her, to hold her back from what could hurt her—but damn it, I wanted her just as fiercely.

"Justice," I breathed, trying one last time to reason, to slow us down, but the sound of her name on my lips only made her more determined. She kissed me deeper, her tongue dancing with mine, and any words I had were lost.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, pulling away from me for a second. “Because if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I studied her face, searching for some sign that she was pushing herself too hard,that this was more about soothing her fear than genuine desire. But all I saw was need—raw and unfiltered—mirroring my own.

"Do you?" I asked, turning the question back on her.

Her eyes flickered with something—hesitation, perhaps—but she shook her head slowly. "No. But I need to know that you want this too."

That struck me. Of course I wanted this; I always wanted her.

"I want you," I said finally, honestly. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she said, though we both knew it was a promise she couldn't keep.

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