Page 45 of No Words
The moment Jayce and the team step outside to begin cleanup, I catch Molly’s wrist, pulling her toward the bedroom. There’s no need for words; the look that passes between us says everything. She follows without hesitation, her pulse racing beneath my fingers.
I shut the bedroom door behind us, locking it with a decisive click that echoes in the sudden quiet. Then, I push her against it, my body caging hers as the adrenaline of survival transforms into something darker, more visceral. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, her breath coming in staccato gasps that match my own. The battle is over, but something else entirely has just begun.
“We survived,” she whispers, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
“We did more than survive,” I state, my hand sliding up to cradle her jaw. “We won.”
The tremor that runs through her body isn’t fear; it’s anticipation. She knows what I’m capable of now, and instead of running, she’s pressing closer.
“It’s really over,” she whispers, a statement rather than a question.
“It is,” I confirm, my voice rough, almost unfamiliar to my own ears. “You ended Alessio. The team handled the rest. No one’s coming for you now. No one but me.”
Her pupils dilate even more, breathing shallow. My mouth claims hers with new urgency, all restraint gone now that the danger has passed. There’s nothing gentle in the kiss; it’s possession, pure and simple. My hand fists in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the angle, and she matches my intensity, her small hands clutching at my shoulders.
She pulls me closer, her teeth nip my bottom lip in a challenge that sends fire racing through my veins. It’s all the confirmation I need.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bed. The room feels supercharged, like the air before a lightning strike. I set her down only long enough to tear at her clothes, the sound of fabric ripping under my hands sending a fierce thrill through me. She doesn’t protest the destruction, her fingers equally frantic as they work at my belt, my zipper, pushing fabric away to reveal skin.
“I need to see all of you,” I growl, my voice unrecognizable.
She shoves my pants down my hips while I yank her underwear away, the last pieces of fabric between us gone in seconds. I take a moment to drink in the sight of her: flushed skin, heaving chest, the curve of her waist. Mine. The thought pounds through me with each beat of my heart. Mine to take. Mine to mark. Mine to ruin for anyone else.
I lower myself over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, using my size to overwhelm her smaller frame completely. My scarred hands map her unmarked skin; the contrast burns itself into my memory. I capture her mouth again, swallowing her moan as my free hand explores the contours of her body, learning every dip and valley.
When I break the kiss, her eyes are wild with need, pupils so dilated they virtually swallow the iris entirely.
“I’m going to ruin you,” I promise darkly, my hand sliding down her stomach to find the wet heat between her legs. “Until your body forgets every touch that isn’t mine.”
She arches at the first touch, a desperate sound escaping her throat as I part her with two fingers, feeling how wet she already is for me, finding her clit swollen and hard. Her perfect little pussy is soaked, showing how badly she wants this, wants me. Her body responds immediately, hips bucking as I rub slow circles around that sensitive nub, seeking more pressure, more friction. I deny her, keeping my strokes maddeningly light, pulling my fingers away each time she tries to grind against them.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” I growl, coating my fingers in her slickness before pushing one thick digit inside her. Her inner walls grip me greedily, trying to pull me deeper. “Already dripping for me.”
“Not yet.” I increase the pressure, watching her face contort with pleasure. “I want you desperate first.”
I release her wrists only to reposition, moving down her body, trailing bites and kisses across her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the sensitive skin of her ribs. Each nip of my teeth leaves a mark that will blossom into a bruise by morning, visible reminders of who she belongs to now. When I reach her inner thighs, I push them wider, exposing her completely to my gaze.
“Look at your perfect cunt,” I growl, taking in the image of her laid bare before me, pink and glistening with arousal.
I lower my head between her thighs, dragging my tongue along her wet heat in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes her back arch off the bed. Her taste is intoxicating, and her fingers instantly tangle in my hair, not guiding but holding on as if she might shatter without the anchor. I focus my attention on herclit, alternating between firm circles and gentle suction, noting every gasp and shudder. Her thighs flex against my grip, but she’s not going anywhere, not until I’ve wrecked her. She writhes against my mouth, gasping profanities and broken pleas that grow increasingly desperate as I push her higher, and I’m not stopping until she forgets how to speak.
I can feel her approaching the edge, her body tensing, her grip in my hair becoming almost painful. I pull back just before she crests, earning a frustrated cry that sends a surge of dark satisfaction through me.
“Turn over,” I command, my voice unrecognizable with need. “Hands behind your back.”
She complies instantly, rolling onto her stomach and placing her wrists at the small of her back. I retrieve my belt from where it had landed on the floor, wrapping the leather around her crossed wrists. The contrast of black leather against her skin sends a jolt of savage satisfaction through me. I cinch it tight; not enough to cut off circulation, but enough that she’ll feel the bite of it every time she shifts.
“Test it,” I instruct, watching as she tugs against the binding.
I flip her over roughly, manhandling her like she weighs nothing, and shove her bound arms beneath her back to force an arch, causing her breasts to thrust up for me. I take one nipple between my teeth, biting down just enough to drag a gasp from her lips, then soothe the sting with my tongue. My hand slides up, wrapping around her throat with deliberate pressure on the sides where the blood flows. Her eyes go wide. Pupils blown. Breath ragged. That beautiful panic-laced submission blooms across her face, and, fuck if it doesn’t make me harder.
“Remember your safe word?” I demand, needing to hear confirmation despite the savage need pounding through me.
“Courtroom,” she confirms, before adding breathlessly, “but I don’t need it.”
The trust in those words nearly fucking ruins me. I loosen my hold on her throat, not because she needs it, but because I do. My mouth finds hers in a bruising kiss, deep and claiming, then I pull back enough to look at her.
Bound. Flushed. Eyes glassy with surrender.
