Page 105 of Ruthless

When he came, it wasn't with his usual confident control but with a broken sound that might have been my name, might have been a plea. His body arched beneath me, muscles cording in his neck, tendons standing out in stark relief. His release spilled over his hand and stomach, his cock pulsing against mine. The sight of him vulnerable, broken open, trusting me with his pleasure and his pain pushed me over the edge after him.

My orgasm crashed through me like a wave breaking against rocks, blinding in its intensity. For a moment, the world narrowed to nothing but sensation—the press of his body beneath mine, the slip-slide of our cocks together, the heat of our release mingling between us. I collapsed against him, burying my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and arousal and something uniquely Luka.

For several moments afterward, we didn't move, didn't speak. Just breathed together, his hand still gripping my neck, our foreheads still touching. I could feel him trembling slightly beneath me, aftershocks or emotion, I couldn't tell. His heart thundered against my chest, gradually slowing to match mine.

Finally, he spoke, his voice raw but steady. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" I asked, brushing my thumb across his cheekbone.

"Bring me back," he said simply. "When I'm... lost. When everything's too much."

"That's what connection does," I told him. "It anchors us. Reminds us we're not alone."

He nodded, eyes closing briefly. When they opened again, there was clarity there that had been missing before. Resolution. Purpose. The fog of shock had lifted, replaced by something harder, more determined.

"I'm going to kill him," he said, voice eerily calm. "For what he did to Ana. For what he did to me. I'm going to tear him apart."

I didn't argue. Didn't offer platitudes about justice or legal consequences. Some crimes deserved vengeance, not justice.

"We need to find her first," I said instead.

"Yes." His hand finally released my neck. "But she may never be the Ana I knew. You understand that, right? Whatever he did to her... it may not be reversible."

"Then you'll love whoever she is now," I said. "You'll build something new."

He was quiet for a long moment, considering this. "I don't know if I can."

"You can," I said with absolute certainty. "The same way you learned to care for me, when all you were supposed to do was kill me. You adapt. You rebuild. Love finds a way."

The ice in his eyes didn’t fully thaw, but tiny cracks appeared in his frozen grief.

"We should clean up," I said eventually.

He nodded, but made no move to release me. "Thank you," he said finally. "For the ice. For... bringing me back."

"Always," I promised.

We cleaned up in companionable silence, the rawness of the evening settling into something more manageable, though I noticed Luka's movements remained mechanical, his eyes still occasionally drifting to the middle distance. The tracker blipped on Luka’s phone, a constant reminder of what awaited us.

"We should check in with Jasper tomorrow," Luka said, breaking the silence as he pulled on a clean t-shirt. "See what intel he has on Prometheus's compound. Security systems, guard rotations, points of entry." His voice remained flat, professional, but I could hear the effort it took to maintain that control.

"And we'll need Lo and Diego," I added. "More firepower."

He nodded, some of the tension returning to his shoulders. "We'll need blueprints. Surveillance first, then a tactical plan. No rushing in. Ana's been there twenty-six years. Another few days won't matter if it means doing this right."

I caught his hand, squeezing gently. "One step at a time. Tonight, you need rest."

As we settled into bed, Luka pulled me against him, his chest to my back, arm wrapped securely around my waist. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, against my spine.

"Vincent?" he murmured, voice already heavy with approaching sleep.

"Hmm?"

"We're going to win this," he said simply. "We're going to free her."

I covered his hand with mine where it rested on my stomach. "Yes," I agreed. "We are."

As his breathing deepened into sleep, I remained awake, thinking about Ana. About what twenty-six years of manipulation could do to a person's mind. About whether anyone could truly come back from that kind of psychological destruction.

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