Page 67 of Controlled Burn
“You have no idea what this is doing to me,” he ground out, voice so rough it almost hurt.
“Then show me.”
He did.
He slammed her back against the red brick, lips crashing into hers, biting, devouring, like he was trying to swallow her whole. His hands weren’t gentle—he gripped her jaw, fingers digging in, desperate to feel bone, flesh, proof she was real. He yanked her shirt up, baring her, the fabric tearing with a sharp, ugly rip. His hands were everywhere—palming her breast, thumb circlinguntil her nipple peaked, pinching hard enough to draw a gasp and then a moan. She arched into him, begging without words.
“You fucking knew,” he rasped, mouth dragging hot down her neck, teeth scraping her skin. “Every time you looked at me like that—every time you bent over in the bay, every time you smiled at another guy.”
She laughed, breathless. Bit his lip, drew blood, tasted copper. “You like it,” she taunted.
He spun her, slammed her down over the utility box so hard it rattled, one hand at her nape, pressing her until she was breathless. Her ass pushed back, legs splayed, panties dragged roughly over her thighs. His hands trembled with how much he wanted to break her open, mark her, ruin her for anyone else.
He shoved her pants down—fast, brutal. Panties yanked aside, cool air biting at her skin. His fingers slid into her—two, deep, hard, curling up inside until her hips bucked against the metal, a sharp cry muffled by her own fist in her mouth.
“Jesus,” he growled, “so fucking wet for me. Filthy girl.”
“Only for you,” she bit out, voice raw, desperate. “I want it. I want you to use me.”
He pulled his fingers free, smeared slick across her ass, belt buckle clinking as he fumbled with his pants, too clumsy with need to be smooth. He didn’t care. Didn’t want gentle. Wanted the scrape, the burn, the mess of it.
She turned her head, cheek flush to the cold metal. “Do it. Now. Don’t hold back.”
He pushed into her in one savage thrust, no condom, no pause—just skin on skin, the slap and stretch and raw, burning slide that made her keen, made him choke out a curse. He slammed into her again, harder, hips pistoning, hands gripping her so tight he’d leave bruises. Each thrust drove the box an inch across the rooftop, gravel biting her knees, skin scraping and stinging.
“Take it,” he hissed, one hand still in her hair, yanking her upright so her back arched and he could see her face twisted in pleasure-pain. “Take everything I give you.”
“Harder,” she begged, tears smearing down her cheeks, lips bitten raw.
He fucked her like he meant to break her—like if he went hard enough, fast enough, it might hurt less when it ended. Every thrust threatened to split her open, every slap of skin echoed between their bodies and the open sky. The city lights blurred, the air thick with sweat and sex and desperation.
“You’re mine,” he snarled in her ear, the possessive edge in his voice so sharp it cut. “No one gets to see you like this. No one gets to hear you scream but me.”
She sobbed, clawed at his forearm, thighs shaking as she started to come apart. “Make me forget everything but you. Make me forget my name.”
He did.
He tangled his hand in her hair, yanked her back, and used her body like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Her orgasm hit her sharp and bright, ripped from her throat, echoing into the night. He followed, hips jerking, every muscle locked, pulse thundering as he emptied inside her.
When it was done, she went limp against him, his arm banded tight around her waist, sweat cooling, both of them marked by teeth, by bruises, by everything they weren’t supposed to want.
Maddox
They didn’t speak for a long time. Just sat on the rooftop, backs to the utility box, skin scraped and stinging, breaths coming ragged and shallow. Her scent clung to him, musk and salt and sweetness, a brand he’d never wash away.
Below, the world spun on. Radios. Sirens. Laughter. Orders shouted through the night. None of it touched them.
Dean stared up at the sky, chest tight, hands still shaking—not from the high, but from the terror of what came next. This was more than sex, more than rebellion. It was self-destruction by inches. It was a line neither of them could uncross.
His wife would smell her on him if she cared enough to notice. HR would tear him apart if they ever found out. The chief would turn his back, and Talia would be left holding the shrapnel.
“If we get caught…” he managed, voice splintered.
Talia didn’t look away. “Then we deal with it. I won’t let them bury you alone.”
He almost laughed. “They’ll believe you were the one seduced. The problem.”
She smiled, bloody and proud. “Let them. I’d run into this fire again.”
