Page 68 of Fired at the Heart

The past three days blur together in my memory, with only fragments standing out. Raphael’s face above me, his features shadowed with possessive hunger. The moment he sank his teeth into my neck and reclaimed me. The way he whispered my name like a prayer when I begged him not to let me go.

I remember submitting to him completely, giving up the control I’ve clutched onto since he left. I had allowed myself to be vulnerable again with the man who shattered my heart. I should be terrified of how fast I fell back into this with him.

Instead, peace settles over me, like pieces clicking back into place after being misaligned for too long.

Raphael’s arms tighten around me. “You okay?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The truth is, I’m not sure if I’m okay. Not sure what this means for us, for my business, or for his family. All I know is that, with his body curled around mine and his Mark throbbing pleasantly on my neck, I feel more right than I have in years.

When Raphael finally withdraws from my body, a warm flood follows, trickling down my thigh. The loss of him leaves me aching from emptiness after being filled for days. I collapse onto my stomach, too exhausted to care about the mess I lie in.

Behind me, the mattress shifts as Raphael moves, and then his warm hand palms my ass cheek, spreading me open. “Look at you. So loose and sloppy. Begging to be filled again.”

I bury my face deeper into the pillow, heat rising to my cheeks.

“You’re dripping with my cum.” Fingers slide up my crack to my entrance, pushing his cum back inside me.

I jerk at the contact, oversensitive nerves firing warning signals through my brain. “Raph—” I protest, the word catching in my throat as his fingers thrust deeper, circling inside me. “I can’t—it’s too much?—”

“Shh,” he soothes, but the hungry rumble that rises from him raises prickles on my skin.

His fingers withdraw, only to be replaced by the blunt head of his cock at my entrance. He’s hard again, his renewed interest nudging my abused hole.

“No way.” I twist to glare back at him. “Are you serious right now?”

His pupils are blown wide as he stares at my ass, and the possessiveness on his face sends a shiver down my spine.

I push at his hand, trying to create some distance between us. My body feels like one giant, pleasurable ache. “You better not have gotten me pregnant.”

Raphael’s expression shifts, and he pulls me back into his arms instead of continuing. His cock still rests against me, but he doesn’t try to enter me again.

“Don’t worry.” He kisses my shoulder. “I got a vasectomy, remember? After we decided we didn’t want to bring children into our world.”

I turn in his arms to face him, wincing at the twinge of discomfort from my overused muscles. “Those things can fix themselves. When did you last have a checkup?”

Raphael’s silence speaks volumes, and his eyes slide away from mine, focusing somewhere over my shoulder.

“Are you kidding me?” I push at his chest. “You irresponsible asshole! You’ve been pumping me full for three days straight!”

“I’ll get checked right away.” He catches my hands and brings them to his lips. “But it’s been years since the procedure. The chances of spontaneous reversal after this long are practically non-existent.”

“Practically,” I echo, not convinced.

The idea of pregnancy has never been in my life plan. I’ve built my empire on ruthlessness. A baby would complicate everything.

We lie in silence for a few moments, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. There’s a bigger question hovering between us, one I’ve been avoiding since my mind started to clear from the Heat haze.

“About what you said earlier.” I focus on his collarbone. “When you promised to stay with me this time, what did you mean?”

He tenses. “What do you think I meant?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Are you hoping for scheduled meetups? Heat partners with benefits? Weekend getaways when you can escape your family obligations?”

His hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to look at him. “I’m not doing that kind of relationship. When I said I’m not leaving you, I meant it. I’m not leaving. Not for meetings, not for my family, not for anything.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “How would this even work? You’re a Rockford. Your family?—”

“I already spoke to Aaiden,” he interrupts, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “We agreed that the best course of action is for Raphael Rockford to die.”

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