Page 56 of Hero Worship

"Yes," he hissed, pushing back for more. "Please, fuck, just—hurt me. Make me yours."

I lined up and pushed in without further prep, the burn of the stretch drawing a broken sound from his throat. His body resisted for just a moment before yielding completely, taking me to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"Jesus fuck," he choked out. His fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking dare stop."

I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back as I set a punishing pace. Each thrust drove him further into the mattress,drew those desperate sounds from his throat that went straight to my cock. His body clenched around me with every pull of his hair, every bite I left on his shoulders.

“You’re gonna feel me for days," I promised roughly, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. "Every time you move. Every time you breathe."

His only response was a broken moan and a whole body shiver. I reached around to find his cock rock hard and leaking, proving how much he needed this. Needed the pain. Needed to be claimed.

"Touch yourself," I ordered, maintaining my brutal pace.

His hand flew to his cock, jerking it roughly in time with my thrusts. The desperate edge to his movements told me he was close. Good.

"Fuck," he gasped, body starting to shake. "I'm gonna—"

He came with a strangled cry, body convulsing around me as his release painted the sheets. The rhythmic clenching of his muscles dragged me over the edge with him. I ground deep as I filled him, marking him from the inside just like he'd begged r.

We collapsed in a heap of sweat and claiming marks, both trembling with aftershocks.

"You good?" I murmured against his hair, cataloging the marks I'd left. Bruises bloomed across his throat, bite marks decorated his shoulders, and fingerprint bruises wrapped around his hips. He'd definitely be feeling this at the party tonight.

"Perfect," he slurred, already half-asleep. "Exactly what I needed."

I traced one particularly dark mark on his throat, satisfaction curling in my gut at how visible it would be. Let Roche see. Let them all see what happened when someone tried to take what was mine.

We had hours before we needed to start getting ready for tonight. Hours I intended to spend marking every inch of him. After all, if we were going to play bait for a killer, might as well make sure everyone knew exactly who he belonged to.

Starting with him.

The pounding on ourhotel room door had me reaching for my gun before I was fully awake. Twenty years of field experience kicked in as I assessed potential threats, already mapping exit routes even as Xander stirred beside me.

"Xander Laskin, I swear to god if you don't open this door—"

"Fuck." Xander bolted upright, scrambling for his phone. The sudden movement made him wince, and possessive satisfaction curled in my gut at the reminder of how thoroughly I'd marked him. "Shit shit shit."

The phone lit up with a barrage of notifications as he turned it on. The stream of missed calls and messages from Xavier scrolled endlessly.

"Wait." Something clicked in my brain. "Is that... is that actually Xavier's voice?"

"No way," Xander muttered, pressing his ear to the door. "He's in Ohio. He can't be—"

"I can still hear you, asshole," Xavier called out. "And yes, I flew six thousand miles because my sibling can’t pick up his damn phone. Now open the damn door before I break it down!"

“You FLEW TO PARIS?” Xander's voice cracked on the last word. “Are you insane?”

"What part of 'open the door' are you not understanding?" Xavier demanded.

Xander grabbed my discarded shirt from the floor, the fabric doing little to hide the bruises I'd left across his skin. He shot me a panicked look as we both started yanking on rumpled clothes. "He actually flew to fucking Paris. Papa is going to kill me."

"Check the peephole first," I ordered, though at this point there was no doubt who was on the other side of that door.

Xander had barely cracked the door open before Xavier shouldered his way in. I assessed him automatically—unarmed, rumpled clothes that spoke of a long flight, the slightly manic look of someone running on nothing but caffeine and determination.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Xander demanded. "You can't just… Wait, did you seriously get on an international flight just because I wasn't answering my phone?"

Xavier opened his mouth to respond, then actually looked at his sibling for the first time. His eyes went wide as he cataloged the obvious marks on Xander's throat. "Jesus CHRIST! What the fuck happened to your neck? You look like you got mauled by a vampire! "

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