Her fingers twisted in my hair, yanking my head back to force eye contact. “Don’t you fucking tell me what I want.” She ground against my hardness, the friction making me throb painfully against my zipper. “I want you. All of you. Not just the sanitized parts you think are safe enough to share.”
Something broke inside me—the final barrier between control and surrender. If this was all we’d ever have, I’d give her everything. I carried her to the bed, our mouths never separating, clothes torn away with desperate, violent movements—her shirt ripped over her head, my pants shoved down and kicked aside. Her nails raked down my back, leaving burning trails as she marked territory no one else had claimed.
When we were both naked, I hesitated one final second, poised at her entrance. “Maeve, if I lose control...”
She locked her legs around me, pulling me closer. “Then fucking lose it.” Her hand slid between our bodies, wrapping around me with a grip so tight it bordered on pain. “I’m not some delicate fucking flower. I won’t break.”
The sensation of her hand guiding me demolished my last thread of resistance. I thrust into her with a single savage drive, her body arching as I filled her completely. The choked gaspthat tore from her throat flooded my mouth as I devoured her, my hands pinning her wrists above her head so hard I could feel her pulse hammering against my palms. Each thrust was deeper than the last—her body yielding then fighting back, her hips rising to meet every punishing stroke.
“Look at me,” she demanded, and I obeyed, finding her eyes locked on mine, pupils blown with lust. Each thrust drove me closer to her, until I was close to losing myself entirely—whether I wanted it or not. “Stay with me. Here. Now. Show me who you really are.”
The intensity of her gaze stripped me bare—more naked than our sweat-slicked bodies, more demanding than the carnal pleasure building where we were joined. She sawme—not Reaper, not Ronan Graves—but the raw, unfiltered man emerging from the ashes of my past.
“Harder,” she whispered, nails digging into my shoulders. “I need to feel you tomorrow.”
I released her wrists to grip her hips, angling her body to drive deeper. I pulled almost completely out before slamming back in, the wet sound of our bodies colliding filling the room. She cried out, arching her back off the bed.
“Touch yourself,” I commanded, voice rough with need. “I want to watch you come while I’m inside you.”
Her fingers slid between us, circling herself as I pounded into her. The sight of her touching herself while I fucked her nearly pushed me over the edge. Her shaky fingers circled her clit in frantic movements as I rammed myself into her, refusing to stop. I needed her more than I needed air—than Ineeded anything in this world. If there was one right choice I had made in my life, it was this—saving her.
“I see you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her body tightened around me. “I fuckingseeyou.”
The words unraveled me completely. I flipped her over roughly, pulling her hips up, driving into her from behind with punishing force. Her face pressed into the pillow, muffling her scream as I gripped her hair, pulling her head back.
“Is this what you wanted?” I growled against her ear, feeling her clench around me. “To be fucked like this? To break me open?”
“Yes,” she gasped, pushing back against every thrust. “God, yes.”
I reached around to touch her, feeling how swollen and sensitive she’d become. “Come for me,” I demanded, my rhythm becoming erratic as my own release approached. “I need to feel you come around me.”
Her entire body convulsed, inner muscles clamping down on me like a vice as she came with a strangled cry. The sight of her—completely surrendered to pleasure, body shaking uncontrollably—triggered my own release. I drove into her one final time, groaning her name as I came deep inside her, filling her completely.
Afterward, we collapsed on sweat-soaked sheets, her breathing gradually steadying as she curled against me. Her head rested on my chest, one leg thrown possessively across mine, her hand splayed over my heart like she was claiming ownership.
I stared at the ceiling, my body satisfied but my mind resolute. What I felt for her wasn’t just real; it was devastating in its clarity. I loved her. And because I loved her, I could not drag her further into my nightmare.
As her breathing deepened into sleep, her features softened, the fierce warrior momentarily vulnerable. I stroked her hair, memorizing every detail—the weight of her against me, the scent of our passion lingering on her skin, the slight parting of her lips as she dreamed.
This was goodbye. Not the reconciliation she believed, but my farewell.
I thought of Sofia, the woman I couldn’t remember but whose blood stained my conscience. The woman who found death preferable to life with me. The weight of that knowledge settled like a stone in my chest—not just guilt, but certainty. Some men don’t get redemption. Some sins can’t be washed clean.
I’d killed for Oblivion. I’d killed before Oblivion. And I’d kill again before this ended.
Carefully, I extracted my arm from beneath Maeve’s head, replacing it with a pillow. She murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake, her hand searching briefly before settling against the sheet.
I slipped from the bed like a ghost. Maeve’s breathing remained deep and even. She lay tangled in sheets that still carried the scent of sex and sweat. Her hair fanned across the pillow, one arm outstretched toward the space I had occupied moments ago.
I dressed methodically. Shirt. Pants. Boots. Each piece of clothing felt like armor being replaced, reestablishing the distance I needed. My weapons came next—knife at ankle, pistol at lower back, garrote wire in pocket. The weight of each was familiar, comforting in its deadly purpose.
Maeve shifted in sleep, murmuring something unintelligible once more. The fading light caught the curve of her shoulder, the delicate line of her throat.
I froze, watching her. The sight of her pulled at something in my chest—an unfamiliar ache. This was what loving looked like for a man like me. Walking away before I destroyed what mattered most.
Her words from earlier echoed: “You don’t get to hide behind Ronan Graves.”
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t there when I broke a shopkeeper’s fingers one by one while his teenage son watched. When I pushed that terrified witness off a rooftop. She didn’t understand that my wife chose death over me.
