Chapter Nine

Timber finished drying the last plate she'd bought second-hand today. They were the old-fashioned kind with print around the edges of the ceramic. This one had little black checkers, and she'd been able to get the entire dish set for twenty-five bucks. It was just missing one of the bowls, and one of the salad plates.

She set it on the stack that sat on the raw-wood shelf that had been empty before.

The girls had brought all her purchases in and piled them in the center of the room for her to rearrange, and she appreciated that they'd done that. She had a specific look in mind for this room.

She'd always enjoyed interior decorating, but she wasn't allowed to do much to her rental house. The landlord would explode if he found out she'd hung a single picture on the wall, much less paint the walls.

She stood back, looked at the shelf of dishes, and nodded. She turned for the living room and scanned the décor. She'd set the loveseat across from the hearth and it looked mismatched, but like it fit with the end table and worn coffee table. A rug would do wonders for this place. A trio of garage-sale vases sat on the coffee table in different shades of green to match the three pictures of leaves that hung on the wall. Some curtains would do wonders to this place, too. Thank goodness for whoever had covered the open part of the roof with a tarp when they'd been shopping today. She could smell the ozone-scent that said it would rain soon. Shifter senses were probably much stronger than hers. They'd probably known it was going to rain since last week or something.

She rearranged the apples in the wooden fruit bowl she'd found at the garage sale, and knelt down to study the deep scrapes carved into the leg of the table she'd bought. Maybe the last owners had a puppy or something. She could possibly get one of those wood markers and disguise it.

The door creaked open, and she stood in a rush and turned around.

Wreck towered in the open doorframe, head cocked so he wouldn't hit the top of it. He looked bigger. Fuller. He filled the entire space with the breadth of his shoulders.

He was streaked with soot, nary a stitch of clothing on him, and every muscle was flexed like he'd just finished a big workout.

His abs were more defined with each breath, and his eyes were full of fire. His mouth was set in a grim line, as if he'd never smiled in his entire life.

"It's okay," she said.

He dragged his gaze from her to the furniture, to the pictures on the wall, to the little wooden knickknacks she had painstakingly arranged on the mantle of the living room fireplace.

She didn't recognize the look in his eyes. Wreck didn't seem to be home. Not yet.

"Are you with me?" she asked softly.

He rolled his eyes closed, inhaled deeply, and closed the door behind him. When he opened his eyes, softness existed there once again.

The smile that stretched her face felt good. "Want me to run you a shower?"

"You don't have to be nice to me like this," he murmured in a gruff voice. He was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming.

"I did some research on shifters after I met you at the hospital," she said happily as she made her way to the bathroom. "You have to Change sometimes, and then you'll feel better and more balanced. If you go too long without it, little things can get to you easier. For example, you being annoyed with the Fastlanders, and you posting up when Drea was pushing you today, and talking about my family. Do you Change often enough?"

He'd followed her into the bathroom. "You say it like you're asking if I drank enough water today. Changing, for me, is dangerous. For the world, not for myself."

Timber turned the shower on. "Well, perhaps your phoenix is suffering from emotional constipation because you are always forcing him to stay inside of you until there is no control."

"Stop doing therapy for a few minutes," he murmured in an exhausted tone.

"Would you like to see my titties instead?" she asked.

He froze for a couple of breaths, and then relaxed back onto the bathroom countertop. "That would literally fix all of my problems right now."

He wasn't even done talking before she lifted her shirt up and exposed the lacy bralette. "It's the same one as yesterday, so not as great a surprise, but I haven't been home to pick you out another one."

"You picked this one out for me?" he asked, staring hungrily at her cleavage. "I thought you said it wouldn't be a booty-call dinner."

"Well, I might have changed my mind if you were really nice to me. Maybe I would've been spontaneous and fun and kept you on your toes, and given you surprises, like this bra. Maybe you would've figured all that out if you didn't stand me up."

"Biggest regret of my life," he muttered distractedly as he reached forward and cupped her breasts.

A moan of pleasure escaped her lips, and she pressed forward so he didn't have to reach as far. Good gah, this man knew how to touch her.

"We're going to be late to the birthday party," he ground out, pulling her against him.

"Good. Let's not go."

He spun her around, grabbed her hair in the back, and angled her face up to look at herself. "Oh, we're going. I'm just warning you, we will be late."

She didn't even recognize her own wicked smile in the mirror. It hadn't existed before Wreck. "Oooh, that's okay with me, I suppose."

He pulled her shirt over her head, unfastened her lacy bralette in the back and pulled it from her arms, then leaned his chest against her back and angled his lips next to her ear. "You're going to make an entrance with an entourage of shifters behind you, and me beside you. You'll hold your head up high, and you'll be classy and gracious. If they cross any lines, you look to me and I'll handle it. You won't stoop, because that's not what queens do." He gently sucked on her sensitive earlobe, and a soft, helpless sound escaped her throat. In a low, rumbling voice, he told her, "You're going to walk in there full of my cum."

"Possessive," she whispered shakily.

"You have no idea," he gritted out. "I was gentle the first time. That was for you. Now I'm going to make you remember who the fuck you belong to."

Chills of excitement trembled up her spine. Oooh, she liked him dominant and in control of her in these moments.

Wreck slid his hand from her waist to gently stroke along her panty-line, and she trembled again. Oh, she knew what he could do to her body. He'd been getting her addicted already.

He tightened his grip on her hair and moved her face to the side, sucked on her neck as he pulled at the drawstring of her cotton shorts. He shoved them roughly down her hips, slid his hand to her front and cupped her sex, then slipped two fingers inside of her. She was ready for him. He murmured that she was a "Good girl," which just turned her on more.

He angled her face back to her reflection in the mirror and whispered, "You're going to watch yourself get fucked by a monster."

The emotionally-sensitive angel on her shoulder wanted to argue that he wasn't a monster, but the devil on her other shoulder wasn't about to let the angel lie.

She'd seen his fiery wings and his struggle for control. She'd seen the damage he could do so easily. She'd seen the hot and cold.

Oh, he was a monster…but he was her monster.

His eyes sparked with hunger as he watched his own hand moving in the mirror's reflection as he stroked into her.

Timber arched her ass against him, pleading for more.

He was streaked with soot, and his gold-fire eyes looked even brighter next to the dark. His hair was mussed, and his muscles were rippling as he gripped her by the waist and pushed his thick cock deep into her.

She gasped at the shock of how good it felt. God, she loved him going deep like this. He held for a few moments, body straining against hers. He eased out of her, then rammed into her again. She gasped out his name.

She was drunk on him. That's what it felt like. Every thought felt slurred, and the memory of her real-life problems faded to nothing. Wreck was magic. He could make her loud mind go completely silent. Nothing else had ever been able to do that for her.

He slid into her, going deep again. And again. "Fuuuuck," she said in a whisper as he gripped her hair again. His fingers dug into her waist, and his blazing eyes lifted to hers in the mirror. He bucked into her over and over, harder and harder, until her tits were bouncing and she was panting his name.

The green flames started at her fingertips. She was the one on fire. The green roiled up her arms, but she didn't feel any heat. The pleasure in her body became so intense, she rolled her head back and gripped the back of his neck. Her entire body was consumed in green fire as he wrapped his arm around her and gripped her breast, plunging into her again and again.

"You ready?" he rumbled against her ear as the green fire ignited up his arms and neck.

"Please," she gasped out. "Wreck! Go deep."

The entire bathroom was being lapped in green fire as he slammed into her, going deep.

She had lost her mind. She didn't care about the fire, didn't care about the world outside of this moment they had created. Being connected to Wreck like this was everything.

He slammed into her again, and she cried out with her release. He barked out her name, gripping her against him so hard as he pulsed with her, matching her release. He froze for a moment, and then slammed into her over and over, slower…slower…dragging every pulse of intense pleasure from her body.

He intertwined his fingers with hers behind his neck and dragged her wrist to his lips.

His lips pressed to her tripping pulse there, and he lifted his glowing gold eyes to her. High on what he was doing to her body, she smiled at him in the mirror.

He wasn't burning her.

Wreck was controlling it. He was intensifying her pleasure. He was taking care of her.

His devilish matching smile met hers in the mirror, and she sagged against him as the flames faded to nothing.

"I've got you," he murmured against her ear.

Her body was smeared with soot from where his body had touched hers.

She had smudges at her throat, across her chest, on her breasts, on her stomach and hips. Her back was probably covered in it.

Covered in ashes created by the monster who owned her heart.

The shower was still on and steaming up the room. He lifted her into his arms, settled her inside, and stepped in after her.

Timber leaned heavily on the wall while that man washed and cared for her body with warm water. He even knelt down and pressed a warm rag between her thighs, cleaning her, and then he laid a trail of reverent kisses at her hips.

"Can I wash you too?" she asked.

He canted his head and smiled slightly before he nodded.

She took her time, memorizing the curves of his muscles as she ran the rag across every plane of his warm skin.

By the time she had finished, the dark streaks of soot and ash had trailed down the drain. She sagged against his chest and just existed in the knowledge that his strong arms were around her, and she was safe.

She knew no matter what, he would use his fire to please her, and to destroy anything that came for her.

The pressure of his cheek against the top of her head was a soul-deep reassurance.

His hands were so strong against her back, and she watched a trail of water pool where his arm touched hers.

She loved him. Could he tell? Could he feel her devotion? She knew it was too early, but she couldn't help what her heart felt, and what her mind knew.

Every single fiber of her being was absolutely certain that this was love.

She felt as if she wanted to cry, but that didn't make any sense. She didn't understand herself in this moment.

"You're tensing up," he observed softly, hugging her to his chest. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she answered him honestly.

"You do. You know yourself. What hurts?"

"I guess…I guess I just waited for you for so long." She pushed the admission out past her tightening vocal cords. "I can't believe you finally found me."

"Fuck," he whispered raggedly, lifting her up and hugging her tightly under the stream of warm water that sprayed against her back. "Shhhh."

Why was she crying like this? Why did everything feel so potent, so all-consuming?

Was it his soothing fire that intensified everything—made everything feel so big, and so good?

Maybe that was part of it, but she also was getting a glimpse of the man, and oh, that was something different entirely.

Parts of Wreck were destruction, but with her?

He was the rebuild.

The Wreck that the outside world knew wasn't the Wreck she loved. He was different with her.

He was himself, and while his outsides were striking to look at, the man underneath was something she'd never experienced.

He was good.

To her, Wreck Itall was good.