Page 85 of Fallen Empire
He lost it. Primal need surged through him, unraveling every thread of restraint. Years of pent-up frustration. Years of wanting me while I clung to others just to protect my heart. It all came undone.
His rhythm faltered, hips snapping forward with a desperation that bordered on manic. He buried himself so deep I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—only feel. His hand wrapped around my throat, not choking, butclaiming. Possessive.
He looked down at me like he was about to brand his name into my soul.
“You’re gonna cum for me again,” he growled, thumb dragging down between us to circle my clit with just enough pressure to make me whimper. “One more. Right now. All over my fucking cock.”
And I did.
I shattered—on command, in his hands, as if he owned me. Because the truth was… he did.
My body clamped around him, pulsing and trembling as my climax exploded through every nerve ending. A scream caught in my throat as white-hot pleasure burned through me, and his moan followed—deep, guttural, primal—as he drove into me one final time and came with a violent tremble, his release spilling deep while his name spilled from my lips like a vow.
He was right.
There was no going back from this.
And as he collapsed on top of me, bodies tangled in sweat and sex and every emotion we’d tried to outrun, I realized one thing.
Whatever darkness waited inside Pandora’s box… it would be nothing compared to the hell I’d endure if I lost this.
He didn’t move for a long time. Just stayed there, his chest pressed to mine, both of us panting, hearts racing like we’d just run through hell and back.
Finally, he shifted, pressing a kiss to my temple before pulling out and gently lifting me into his arms. He carried me like I was made of glass, even after what we’d just done.
“I thought you wanted pasta,” he muttered as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot.
I smirked, still dazed and limp in his arms. “That was better than pasta.”
He chuckled—deep, satisfied, smug. “I’ll still order some. You need to eat, and I don’t think you’re walking anytime soon.”
He adjusted me on the bed with the same care he’d once used to handle explosives, then disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the faucet run, then the soft pad of his footsteps as he returned. He leaned down, and I felt the warm glide of a washcloth over my skin—gentle, reverent, like I was something sacred.
“Chinese or Italian?” he asked.
I didn’t answer right away.
I was too busy watching him—watchingus—finally become something more than just broken people pretending we were fine.
Chapter 19
Savannah
I woke to the low murmur of voices near the foot of my bed, one calm and professional, the other tense but familiar.
Jaxson.
My lashes fluttered open just as the nurse was jotting something on her clipboard. Jaxson stood beside her, arms crossed over his chest, that ever-present furrow between his brows deepening with every word the nurse said.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I murmured, my voice raspier than I expected.
His head whipped around, and just like that, the tension cracked. “Hey,” he said, moving to my side in two long strides. “You needed it.”
I tried to sit up, but my body protested. Everything ached in that dull, post-trauma kind of way—like my muscles were still waking up from whatever horrors they’d carried.
The nurse smiled. “We were just discussing your discharge options.”
Discharge. Already?
