Page 28 of Savage Reins
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel the tremor in his hands.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I admit.
"Neither do I."
"This doesn't change anything," I tell him, still breathing hard.
"No, it doesn’t."
But we both know that's a lie. Everything has already changed. The moment I chose to stay and tend his wounds instead of walking away. The moment he took three men alone to protect what's mine. The moment we both stopped pretending this was anything other than what it is.
I lean forward and kiss him again, hungrier this time. He responds carefully, mindful of his injuries, but the heat is still there, still burning between us despite every reason it shouldn't.
When I climb onto the narrow cot beside him, he doesn't stop me, doesn't ask questions or demand explanations. He just watches as I settle against his uninjured side, my hand flat against his chest.
"Your ribs," I murmur.
"I'm fine."
This time, I believe him. Or maybe I just don't care anymore. All the fight has drained out of me, replaced by something fiercer and more frightening. Fear for what could have happened to him. Relief that he's alive and whole and here beneath my hands.
When I kiss him again, it isn't anger or desperation driving me. It's heat born of the terrible knowledge that he could've died today. That tomorrow might bring worse. That whatever time we have is borrowed and dangerous and probably doomed.
Renat’s grip tightens at my waist. He drags me harder against him, his teeth grazing my jaw before his mouth crashes into mine again. There’s nothing soft left between us.
“You make me get in bed to rest,” he mutters darkly, mouth moving to my throat, “but you want me to fuck you…”
I don’t answer. I can’t find a logical response to him. His teeth nip just beneath my ear and my body arches, a traitorous whimper slipping out before I can stop it.
He hears it.
“Take those off.” His voice is gravel, hand sliding down to slap my ass through my jeans. “Now.”
I push to my knees and stand, shoving my jeans down and flinging them off the side of the bed. Then I shove my panties down my thighs and he watches every movement like it’s payment come due. When I return, straddling him, his hand curls around my thigh, dragging me back down until I’m pressed against the thick bulge in his jeans.
“Fuck, Mira.” He grits the words, one hand already working the fly, wincing only slightly as he shifts beneath me. “I should make you ride me for climbing into bed with a half-dead man.”
“Then shut up and let me.”
His cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking. I grip it, guiding him between my legs, rubbing the head through my slick folds until his fingers bite into my hips.
“You’re soaked.” He drags me down slowly, his teeth bared. “Greedy little thing.”
I sink onto him with a gasp, the stretch sharp and filthy and perfect.
“Fuck.” His eyes squeeze shut, jaw locked tight. “You feel that? How tight you are?”
I roll my hips, grinding down until I’m fully seated. His hands are bruised but they still grip me hard, controlling my rhythm.
“Look at you,” he growls, thrusting up once, hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. “Taking it like you were made for it.”
I brace my hands on his chest, using him for leverage, but he doesn’t give me a chance to set the pace.
His grip tightens at my hips. “You think you’re in charge just because you’re on top?” He thrusts up again, hard enough to make me cry out. The jolt punches through my body. “You’re not,” he growls. “You take what I give you.”
His hips keep driving in unrelenting thrusts. Pain be damned, he's using every ounce of strength left in him, each thrust brutal, deep, and precise. He knows exactly how to angle it, exactly how to tear every sound from my throat.
“You love this, don’t you?” he snarls against my neck. “Love being fucked by the man who burned your world down.”
