Chapter 34

It’s too much, or I thought it would be too much for her, but Charlotte virtually runs for the bed. She’s tougher than she knows, maybe stronger than I give her credit for, and I think she’s pretty fucking badass. There’s a core of steel surrounding the fluffy softness of her soul.

But as roughly as I fucked her mouth, she took it. Gladly, gratefully, and so fucking sexy she almost sent me over before I was ready. It’s my turn to show her what she does to me.

Charlotte lies down on the white comforter, opening her arms and legs to me, offering to cradle me. But I grab her ankle, pulling her to the edge. “Turn over,” I order.

She does as I command, and I shove her knees up underneath her. She’s quite literally face down, ass up, presenting herself to me. It’s a vulnerable position but one of the lesser ways she’s finally opened up to me, though her slick pussy is wide open, her asshole right there, begging me.

I bend down, licking from her clit to her ass, and she writhes wantonly against me. Her sweet taste makes me hungry for more, makes me want to bury my mouth against her until I can’t breathe, and I can hold my breath for a long fucking time.

But we both need more right now. I stand back up, gripping her hips so hard my fingertips leave dimples in her skin and she’ll probably have bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care.

Actually, that’s not true. I do care, but I want the marks on her skin, need them in a way I never have before. I want to leave indelible, permanent marks on both of our bodies, declarations to the world that she is mine, and I’m hers, and neither of us is going anywhere without the other.

Neither of us needing or wanting gentleness, I slam into her balls-deep in one powerful thrust. I bottom out hard, and she cries out but bucks back into me, ready for more. “Touch yourself,” I tell her, my breath harsh as I force the words out.

She wiggles, her right shoulder dropping beneath her, and I feel her fingers brush over the base of my cock where I disappear inside her. I feel her pussy lips kissing my cock, moving as she roughly rubs herself. Not tame circles, not this time. She’s thrashing her fingers across her clit, chasing her orgasm, and I oblige, slamming into her over and over.

I want to be deeper in her than anyone has ever been before, in her tight pussy, in her even tighter heart.

I need her eyes, to see her fall over the edge with me. I pull out, manhandling her to flip her over. I watch her eyes trace down my chest, my abs, and her tongue peeks out like she wants to eat me up like one of her cupcakes.

I feel the same way about her.

I pull her legs up over my shoulders, not just her ankles, but to the bend of her knees, and her toes link behind my head. Her hips are up off the bed, totally in my control. When I push back into her, my head falls to the side, resting on her calf.

The hypnotic bounce of her tits drives on my every thrust, and Charlotte’s hands flail, like she needs something to hold on to or I’ll bounce her away. But I’ve got her, hips cradled in my hands as I push into her, so rough I fear I might split her in two, but her moans of ecstasy tell me she’s loving every brutal bit of our lovemaking.

Because that’s what this is. I am fucking her like a damn beast, but there’s too much emotion underneath the lust for it to be anything but love.

Her hands finally find a home, one on her tits, teasing and pinching her nipple, and the other at her clit, where she resumes her rough swipes.

Her eyes meet mine, blue to blue, both of us gone for the other. A chance meeting, an unexpected connection, and both of our lives will never be the same. No matter who tries to tear us apart, she will always be . . .

“Mine,” I growl at her through gritted teeth. I don’t know if I’m telling her or asking her. Not that I’d let her say no, but I need to remind her about who we are and who we are to each other.

But she agrees, mewling out, “Yours. And you’re mine.” She says it with certainty, finally.

The relief of knowing she trusts in me fully, all doubts obliterated, is freeing, and I fall. My cock spasms before I can hold back, and I grunt, “Come . . . Charlotte.” It’s half command and half a cry of her name as the wave overtakes me, jets of my hot cum filling her.

I feel her walls clench, milking me as her legs quiver, her thighs shaking against my chest. I hold her tight, staying deep but giving her short strokes as she cries out her orgasm. A combination of her honey and my cum gushes around me, her pussy too full of cock to hold any more.

I hold her there, impaled on me as our breathing returns to normal. I nibble at her calf, then soothe the soft bite with a kiss. Charlotte stretches out, her legs going straight and tight on my shoulders. “Mmm, fuck, that was . . . “ She searches for a word.

“Life-affirming,” I offer, knowing that after a life and death situation, people will often need something to ground themselves to the reality of still being alive.

She blinks slowly, then nods, eyes on mine. “Life, and love. I love you, Lance.”

I lean forward, testing her flexibility, bending her damn near in half to lower my lips to just an inch above hers. “I love you too, Charlotte.”

The world may fall to ruins, but as long as I’ve got her in my arms, I won’t give a shit. It’s the first time I don’t feel the need to rush out and save the world, do my part and make a difference. Instead, I’m locked in place with her, literally and figuratively. As long as I can save her, it’s all I need.

As much as she has trust issues, I finally feel like I’m enough just as I am. Charlotte doesn’t care what my last name is, where I live, or what I can provide for her financially. She only cares about my heart. And I’ve already given it to her fully.

The black Cadillaccuts through the late night, heading back to Roseboro. I’m driving, and Gabe sits in the passenger seat, both of us in head-to-toe black.

I don’t know the man well, more innuendo and underhanded remarks from Charlotte, but I know he’s shutting down. Whatever fa?ade of congenial warmth he wears to blend in with the masses is gone, and he’s gone cold, matter-of-fact, and methodical.

I do the same, a mission mentality taking over my mind, but it’s harder than it used to be. Before, I was easily able to set aside the part of me that my team called ‘Stateside’, the kinder halves of our natures that rejected the horror of battle. I could easily divide myself and become who I needed to be. Not this time.

This time, I have something to actually go home to . . . and that worries me.

The SEALs taught me control, care, and caution, and that busting down the front door isn’t always the best course of engagement. Missions are not made-for-television action scenes where the good guys always win and plot armor is stronger than Kevlar.

Real men, good men, have died in front of me, and bad guys have won. But with Charlotte counting on me, I find the shields, lock down my defenses, and prepare myself for what we’re about to do.

The little house is on the far side of town, the street silent, and in a stroke of luck, the single lamppost light is burned out. Under the cover of darkness, I coast the quiet car to the curb.

“Set?” I ask Gabe, pulling out my Sig.

He repeats, taking out his own piece. “Set.”

Silently, we exit the car and make our way to the back of the house. The back door is an easier entry point, with less visibility in case any nosy neighbors decide to check out the sliver of moon in the sky tonight.

Three seconds, through the door and carefully into the house. We’re not expecting a fight, but recent evidence points to the fact that maybe our expectations are not exactly accurate.

I point to the hallway, and Gabe nods, moving the other way. I head to the single bedroom to search. A quick check of the bed, closet, and bathroom yields no results.

I hear a quiet lip pop, Gabe’s signal, and head back to the front of the house.

He’s waiting for me in the living room. “Couch, passed out drunk, I think,” he whispers softly.

He goes around one end and I mirror him on the other. Gabe makes a quick move, pulling the target’s wrists together and above her head, holding them tightly as he wraps a zip tie around them.

“Wha—what’s going on?” she slurs, her voice like sandpaper on her unused and alcohol-dehydrated throat. Before she can react, I have another zip tie around her ankles, not as secure, but enough for our purposes.

Slowly, her eyes creak open, unfocused and twitchy behind half-closed lids. But when I step to Gabe’s side and she sees me, her eyes go wide, adrenaline shooting through her blood, waking her up and sobering her a little.

The fear on her face mixed with shame is the confirmation I need. I’d known the truth, trusted my gut, but her reaction at seeing me alive? She might as well spill her guts to us right here and now.

But that’s not enough. We have questions, lots of them. And she’s going to answer each and every one.

“I thought you were dead,” she says, still confused at my presence.

“Death by building collapse instead of death by chocolate this time?” I say, though the slight food pun is dry, bitter with disdain.

“I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know.” Her head shakes back and forth wildly, begging us to believe her. “Why do you think I’m drowning myself in so much wine I’m damn near pickled from the inside out? I didn’t know!”

Gabe is done with her excuses. He pulls a black bandana out from his back pocket and forces it over her mouth. She fights him, thrashing and grabbing at his arms with her bound hands. But in seconds, she sags, the ether knocking her out.

“Let’s go,” Gabe says. He picks her up, tossing the limp body over his shoulder, and I lead the way out.

At the car, he slides her into the backseat and climbs in next to her. I try to tell him that I’ll get back there and he can drive. Even though she’s done awful things, I feel nervous leaving her at Gabe’s mercy.

“She got you too,” Gabe says, looking at me with empty eyes. “Not just Charlotte. She betrayed you, right under your damn nose.”

“And you think I’ll want revenge.”

“No,” Gabe explains. “But I’m not risking it when so much is riding on this. Get in the driver’s seat.”

He’s right. He may be a stone-cold scary fucker, and as dangerous as that is, I’m the real danger. Not because I’m bigger or badder than him but because I’m personally invested, and we can’t afford any mistakes.

Gabe’s a damn pro, for sure, and my respect for the man goes up a few notches. He’s still a wolf, but not a lone one, it seems. He’s found his pack, and at least he tries . . . not to hide, but to fit in.

And he’s right. This isn’t a team. This isn’t a squad or a platoon. Nobody’s here because they’re getting a paycheck. This is more. This is a family. Not one by birth, but by choice, just like I told Charlotte. I’m part of them too, now. It feels like home.

Back at the cabin, we quickly get our prisoner down to the basement wine cellar. It was deemed the most secure space, no windows, below-ground, with a single entry/exit point.

Thomas stands off to the side, needing answers but not suited for the type of work that will be carried out here tonight. I could do it, have done multiple interrogations in my time, but Gabe’s right. I’m too close because this is personal.

So I stand back, letting Gabe take the lead.

He looks from Thomas to me, his voice hard but also somehow vulnerable. “Whatever happens here tonight stays in this room. I don’t want Izzy to see me this way . . . not anymore.”

Thomas steps forward, putting a hand on Gabe’s shoulder and telling him fiercely, “Izzy knows exactly who and what you are, better than anyone. She’s not upstairs because she can’t watch you. She’s upstairs because she understands that you don’t want her here. So, thank you. For letting us see the side of you she already knows and accepts.”

Gabe nods and looks at me. I nod in agreement, letting him know that I’m no threat, in this room or out of it.

He takes a deep breath, and I can see the light dim in his eyes. The humanity fades, and the disconnect between what he’s about to do and who he is snaps into place.

I understand. He’s a warrior, maybe not the same kind I was, but a warrior, nevertheless.

He shakes the woman in front of him, hard enough to jostle but not hurting her . . . yet. “Wake up, Trixie.”

The interrogation begins.