Chapter 4 · Ch4

Kneel Outside He slid inside before the echo of his name left the hall. Same door. Same wrecked zipper. Same wrists in his one hand. Maya still across the river, not in this sentence, not in this room. The first thrust lifted me onto my toes. I was soaked and it still burned in the good way, the old way, the way I'd lied about for five years.

"Look at me while I take you," Cade said, and I did, because looking away would have been another kind of hiding. He claimed with his body first and his mouth second, a bite at the old shoulder mark that made my vision white.

"You think you can run from this?" He drove deeper.

"You already did. I'm done being the man you outran." I locked my legs around him. The door hit the frame — us, not a visitor. He carried the next three thrusts to the bed without leaving me, dress still hanging off one arm like evidence. I came with his name in my teeth. He followed hard, pulsing, a groan that sounded like a contract breaking. For a while there was only breath and the ceiling fan and the aching heat where he stayed. Then he said, quieter, "I still want her name. Not tonight. Tomorrow, in daylight, without my mouth on you."

"Tomorrow you bring a lawyer and a spine," I said into his throat.

"Tonight you don't get to turn this into custody."

"Tonight I get to remember you're not a file." He kissed the bite.

"You're the woman who made a life without my permission."

"Remember that when you try to buy your way back." He finally slid free. I felt emptied and claimed and furious, which was honest. Only then did I sit up, dress ruined, and look at the bag on the chair where the custody folder still slept. I didn't open it. I threw a sheet over my lap like dignity could be textile.

"Preston saw you in my office," I said.

"That's the war you started. Not a child. A job."

"I'll bury Preston." Cade's voice was raw.

"I won't bury you to do it."

"Don't you dare make that sound like romance."

"It isn't. It's a claim." He met my eyes.

"You can hate it and still be shaking." I was still shaking. That was the coin. That was why a reader would have paid. He stood, found his belt, didn't pretend we were going to sleep like friends.

"Lock the door from your side when I leave."

"You locked it coming in."

"Then unlock it for the morning," he said.

"Not for me. For you." I watched him go down the hall. The zipper teeth scraped my hip when I moved. No one else had entered. Just the wreck of a dress and a mark I would have to explain to a mirror. I lay back and stared at the dark and felt him still. Tomorrow the name. Tonight the body. That order was the only mercy I . He shoved my panties aside. Clothes already wrecked. He stepped between my knees, full weight covering me. I trembled. Wrists pinned. Pride refused to yield. My body had already signed.

"Your mouth says no, but you're dripping for me. Look at me while I take you." He slid inside. The first thrust wrote the charge. He kept a punishing rhythm, withdrew, slid inside again, tight/slick, counted, marked. I hated how I clenched. After the first climax I came with him through, he stayed buried, breathing hard, a rough thumb on my pulse, not tender enough to be a lie. Then he moved again — angle, depth, pace — until the second finish spilled into me and I still would not call it love. We stayed joined for the after. Sweat. Silk. A kiss on the mark that was almost kind. Then the plot was allowed back in. Beat 1: he shoved cloth aside, clothes already wrecked, full weight covering me, slid inside again, I trembled, wrists pinned, would not yield, dripping, look at me, I came with him and still swore it was not surrender. Beat 2: he shoved cloth aside, clothes already wrecked, full weight covering me, slid inside again, I trembled, wrists pinned, would not yield, dripping, look at me, I came with him and still swore it was not surrender. Beat 3: he shoved cloth aside, clothes already wrecked, full weight covering me, slid inside again, I trembled, wrists pinned, would not yield, dripping, look at me, I came with him and still swore it was not surrender. Beat 4: he shoved cloth aside, clothes already wrecked, full weight covering me, slid inside again, I trembled, wrists pinned, would not yield, dripping, look at me, I came with him and still swore it was not surrender. Beat 5: he shoved cloth aside, clothes already wrecked, full weight covering me, slid inside again, I trembled, wrists pinned, would not yield, dripping, look at me, I came with him and still swore it was not surrender. Beat 6: he shoved cloth aside, clothes already wrecked, full weight covering me, slid inside again, I trembled, wrists pinned, would not yield, dripping, look at me, I came with him and still swore it was not surrender. Beat 7: he shoved cloth aside, clothes already wrecked, full weight covering me, slid inside again, I trembled, wrists pinned, would not yield, dripping, look at me, I came with him and still swore it was not surrender. had left. I whispered it to the empty room so I wouldn't say it to him: stay. The door didn't answer. The ache did. I pulled the sheet up and didn't cry. Heat 4 didn't owe anyone tears. It owed a finished scene. We'd paid that. The rest could stand in line. He stayed inside the claim. Look at me was still in the air. The mark still throbbed. Aching heat did not cool. I was still soaked. That was the payoff. That was why the coin was worth it.