Page 49 of The Brotherhood

Slowly, he lifted his gaze, locking onto hers.

Her breath shuddered. “Please,” she whispered again, voice raw. “Make love to me.”

For a split second, everything stopped. The water. The heat. The world outside this moment.

He stared at her, something undeniable burning behind his eyes.

His mouth covered hers before she could breathe, devouring, claiming, consuming. She barely registered the way his hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly.

All she knew was him. His heat. His power. The way he filled the space between them like he was made for it. And then he filled her.

A broken cry flew from her lips as he buried himself deep, pressing her back against the slick tiles, holding her in place as he stole her breath, her thoughts, her everything.

His forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged. His hips moved, slow at first—deep, thorough, like he was memorizing every inch of her.

Poppy clung hard, tightening around him, her fingers tangling in his soaked hair. She found his lips and drank him in, whispering his name, over and over, like she was afraid he’d disappear.

Handy’s forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged, his muscles trembling with restraint and a measured reverence. He was holding back. She felt it in every careful thrust, in the way his fingers flexed against her hips like he was containing something dangerous. And he was. She could feel it. The barely leashed power beneath his skin. The tension coiled in his muscles, thickening, tightening, like a storm preparing to break.

But she didn’t want his restraint. She never had.

Her arms wound around his neck, her body arching into his, urging, pleading. She forced out the words in a whisper… “Don’t hold back.”

His body locked before a violent tremor ripped through him.

The leash snapped and a deep, guttural snarl rumbled from his chest as his hands tightened on her thighs, yanking her down against him.

Poppy’s breath vanished as the controlled rhythm dissolved into pure, reckless force.

He slammed into her, brutal, unrelenting, the wet slap of skin drowned only by the ragged growls tearing from his throat.

Her head hit the tile, a sharp cry breaking from her lips. In shock. In ecstasy. A heat spread through her veins like fire, searing through every nerve, pulsing, igniting. Her breath hitched, her nails bit into his shoulders. Adrenaline. It had to be. It surged through her like a shockwave, like a drug straight to the bloodstream. Her body didn’t just take him, it rose to meet him. Where she should have been overwhelmed, shattered—she wasn’t. Because he was giving her something more. His body wasn’t just built to dominate her. It was built to make sure she could take everything he gave without breaking.

And God, he was surely putting it to the test. His rhythm was primal. Savage. His muscles flexed and bunched, his entire body driven by pure, animalistic need. The slick heat of the water made every movement filthier, sharper. His breath ragged and wild, his mouth everywhere at once—her throat, her shoulder, her lips, kissing, biting, claiming.

Her muscles tightened as her pulse roared. She clawed at his back, pulling him closer. More. She wanted more. More of him, of this monster she’d brought into existence. Her body wasn’t just taking him, it was syncing with him. She could feel him inside her, beyond the physical, beyond the pleasure—like something in his body was reaching into hers. Binding and changing.

Poppy let out a choked moan, her vision going white. A roar ripped from his chest, his rhythm turning into desperate, merciless slams, his entire frame shuddering as he buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, the very pinnacle and peak, where everything ceased to be for immeasurable seconds.

Then stillness.

Neither of them moved as the pounding water and frantic, uneven gasps filled the small space. Poppy’s entire body began to tremble, her legs still locked around him.

His forehead pressed against the tile beside her head, his breath ragged, body shaking. Spent. Wrung out. Yet still wrapped around her, holding her so tight she could feel his heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Slowly, his grip loosened.

His arms slipped lower, gathering her against his chest and tucking her into him like she was something fragile. His mouth pressed to her temple, her cheek, her jaw—soft and lingering.

His hoarse whisper broke the silence. “Are you okay?”

Poppy barely managed to breathe. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Because she wasn’t okay. She was changed. And she would let him change her again. And again. And again. Until there was nothing left of her that didn’t belong to him.

“I love you,” she forced from her burning lungs. “I love you, Meo Eterno.”

****

8-Bit dialed Cat as he headed out the Hack House.

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