Page 50 of Echo: Burn
I thrust into her in one hard stroke. Her cry echoes off the stone walls, head snapping back as her spine bows. I feel her body stretch around me, tight and hot, but I don't stop. Don't give her time to adjust. I pull back and drive in again, setting a punishing rhythm that makes the console screech against the floor with each impact.
Her nails rake down my back, dragging hard enough that I feel skin split. The sting only drives me harder. Her hips surge up to meet every thrust, matching my rhythm, her inner walls gripping me so tight I can barely move. Each time I pull back, her body resists, muscles clenching like she's trying to keep me locked inside. Her heels dig into my ass, pulling me deeper, while her hands claw for purchase on my shoulders. The only sounds from her mouth are gasps and broken moans—no words, no requests to slow down. Just her body demanding everything I can give.
"Mine," I growl against her throat. "Say it."
"Yours." Her voice breaks on the word. "I'm yours, Kane."
Hearing her claim herself as mine snaps the last thread of restraint. My fingers dig deeper into her hips, pulling her up and back until she's at the perfect angle. I drive into her harder, the angle letting me hit deeper than before. The console rattles with each thrust, metal groaning under the assault. Sweat drips down my spine. My shoulders burn from the strain of holding back from completely losing control.
The console rattles beneath us. Equipment shifts. I don't care. All I care about is the woman in my arms, the feel of her around me, the sounds she's making that tell me she's as desperate for this as I am.
"No one else gets to have this," I tell her between thrusts. "No one else gets to touch you. See you like this. Make you feel like this."
"No one," she gasps. "Only you. Always you."
My hand slides between us, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves. I circle it with my thumb—once, twice—and her whole body jerks like I've hit a trigger. Her thighs clamp tighter around my hips. The muscles in her neck cord as her head presses back against the console. Her inner walls are fluttering around me now, the rhythm changing from steady to erratic. Each breath she takes comes faster than the last, ragged gasps that tell me she's seconds away from breaking.
"Come for me," I command. "Let me feel it."
She breaks first. Her cry rips through the operations center, loud enough to echo off stone walls. Her entire body goes rigid, back arching off the console, thighs clamping around my hips like a vice. I feel her inner walls contract around me in rhythmic waves, each pulse dragging me closer to my own edge. Three more thrusts and I'm gone—a groan tears from my throat as release slams through me. My hips jerk forward, grinding deep as I empty myself inside her. The primal satisfaction of marking her this way, of leaving part of myself inside her body, makes my vision white out at the edges.
We collapse together, both breathing hard, sweat-slicked despite the cold air. I'm still inside her, still holding her close, unwilling to let go even as reality starts filtering back.
What we just did was reckless. Unprofessional. Anyone could have walked in. The cameras definitely caught everything.
I don't regret a second of it.
Willa's fingers trace the burn scars on my neck, gentle despite what we just did. "That was intense."
"Too intense?" I pull back enough to see her face, searching for regret or fear.
"No." She meets my eyes steadily. "That was exactly what I needed. What we both needed."
"I marked you." My hand brushes her hip where I know bruises are already forming. "I shouldn't have...”
"I wanted you to." She cuts me off. "I wanted proof that someone sees me as more than a target or a liability. That someone claims me because they want to keep me, not use me."
The words hit deeper than they should. This woman who spent years running from a man who hurt her is asking me to claim her. Trusting me with vulnerability that could destroy her.
"I don't want to let you go." The confession comes out rough. "I know I should. Know you'd be safer if I put you on a plane to Mexico and never looked back. But I can't. I don't want to."
"Good." She kisses me softly, a contrast to everything that came before. "Because I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Commander."
The tension I've been carrying since I saw those surveillance photos eases a fraction. The calculation running in the back of my mind—how long until she realizes being with me is a death sentence and leaves—quiets.
"We should move." I glance at the cameras. "Tommy's going to have questions when he reviews the footage."
"Let him." She doesn't seem embarrassed. "Everyone here knows we're together anyway. We weren't exactly subtle."
She's right. The team figured it out the second they saw us together after the firefight. Sarah's knowing looks. Stryker's jokes. Even Khalid watches us with quiet approval.
I help her down from the console, steadying her when her legs wobble. Pride and possession surge through me at the evidence of what I did to her.
"Can you walk?" I ask, half-concerned, half-smug.
"I'm fine." But she leans against me anyway. "Just need a minute."
I hold her close, breathing in the scent of her—soap from the shower, the faint salt of sweat, something underneath that's purely her. My shirt hangs off one shoulder, marks already visible on her throat where I bit too hard.
