Page 82 of Controlled Burn
She didn’t want comfort. She wanted control taken—burned into her skin. And Dean?Maddox? He knew exactly how to do it.
But the worst of it—the part that haunted her—wasn’t what had been done to her.
It was what she’d wanted.
Talia – Aftermath
She didn’t sleep.
She lay in her bunk, tangled in stiff sheets, staring up at the ceiling tiles like they could offer answers. Her body still hummed with him. Every nerve was wired, every breath too shallow. Her throat ached, raw in a way she didn’t regret.
But it wasn’t the act that haunted her.
It was the way he left.
No word. No touch. No acknowledgment.
Just the hollow slam of the locker door and the echo of his footsteps.
She told herself it didn’t matter—that this was what she wanted: something fierce, something reckless. A collision of two broken stars that set each other aflame.
But beneath the afterglow was an iron blade of dread.
If anyone found out…
They wouldn’t blame him. He was the captain—armored in respect and authority. A decorated hero; a married man beyond reproach.
They’d blame her.
The rookie. The new girl with pink lip gloss and too much fire in her eyes. The daughter of a legend who should’ve known better than to play with matches.
They’d call her a liability. A spark that threatened to burn the whole place down.
He might escape with a reprimand. She’d lose her footing—and perhaps her station—branded as the girl who brought a fallen captain to his knees.
And still…
She wanted him.
Her thighs clenched as she replayed every moment in her mind: the chrome gleam of the hose racks in the bay’s dim light, the startled hush when he found her crouched on the floor, his uniform pants whispering against her skin as he backed her into that metal rack.
She could still feel the press of his hand at her throat, firm as the brim of his helmet, not enough to crush but enough to mark her. The sweet sting of his teeth on her lip, the low growl that vibrated through her chest.
She ached—not just for the sex, but for him.
For the raw edge of his longing, the moment his guard slipped and she saw the man behind the badge: frayed, desperate, irrevocably drawn to her.
What did that say about her?
That she was unbreakable—or that she was already broken?
Her fingers curled into the threadbare blanket. Outside, the bay was silent. The trucks sat dark, their tires cold against the concrete floor.
Someday, she’d face the world in crisp bunker gear, her nameplate blazing in brass: **Lt. Cross**. She’d command respect on the fireground. But tonight, she was just a woman left in the ashes of her own choices—burning hotter than any blaze she’d fought.
Chapter 30
Submission Test
