Page 17 of The Warrior's Salvation

His fingers tighten. My eyes flutter shut. I grunt out, “You’re an animal. Filthy dog.” The heat starts low in my core, swirling and pulsing until it detonates. My body explodes in waves of pleasure. His grip loosens on my neck, and his hand slaps my ass again, so hard that this time, I see stars.

The orgasm rolls over me like a tidal wave, and I’m screaming into the couch pillow, arching debauchedly against him when he releases with a guttural groan of his own. His hips pump more slowly. His heart pounds in his chest. I can barely breathe as he kisses me softly, then slides his hand up my arms.

I lie there panting, sweat coated, and spent while Lochlan gently unties me from the headboard. When he pulls out, I feel his sex drain onto the mattress, but I'm so spent I can't move. He backs away, dresses slowly, stares at my sex—still spread open to his view.

"If we're doing this, you're mine. Do you understand? I don't share." He slides his arms into his shirt, does the buttons up, and drapes his tie around his neck.

Whatever "this" is, I like it. Even if his kink is dominating a woman to the brink of insanity, pushing me to the point of fear and terror then sucking me into his pleasure… I can take it. I enjoy it, and it's way more exciting than Elvin Murphy. I nod, but I don't tell him that I'm betrothed. I think he knows it, but I'm not sure what he'll think of it when I tell him I have to stop fucking him to get married. If he won't share me, I don’t see it lasting after my nuptials.

"Fine," I say curtly, hoping it's the right response.

Lochlan stiffens, squares his shoulders, and narrows his eyes, then nods. If he wants a vixen, it's what I'll be. "And tell no one."

"Of course. Do I look stupid?" I roll to my side, closing my sex off to his view. He smirks.

"You're too innocent to be a bitch, Evie. I like you the way you are. Just remember how to please me in bed, and we'll do fine." I'm surprised when he leans over the bed and offers a lingering kiss. I don't push it away. I'm smitten by him. Something about him, even with his domineering nature, is so captivating.

"Stay," I whisper, hoping to entice him to more pleasure. Maybe good conversation.

"Tomorrow," he says, and he walks away.

I'm frustrated, but there's nothing to be done with a man like that. He'll do what he wants when he wants, and all I can hope is that at some point, he wants me.

When the sound of his car engine fades into the distance, I fish my purse off the floor where it dropped when Lochlan threw me on the bed and I take out that burner phone. I send the message that the cargo was shipped, and I’m glad it's over.

I'm not sure what else that man is going to require from me, but he surely can't expect me to keep this charade up with Lochlan breathing down my neck. I just want to find out why Darren thinks my father is a criminal and make him stop threatening my family. And I want my da to be safe and not in prison. It's just a matter of how deep the rabbit hole goes.

12

LOCHLAN

Ileave Evie’s apartment with my body still humming with the feel of her skin under mine, the heat of the moment still clinging to me. I don’t let myself linger in the aftermath, though. There’s no time to be swept up in pointless emotions. I know how it throws me off and I can't afford to not be on my game now. It cost me so much with Maelyn.

The drive to the picket line is tense. I’m not sure if it’s the weight of what’s happening or the fact that I can still taste Evie on my lips, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to snap.

When I arrive, the scene is already chaos. News crews are everywhere, filming the protestors, microphones shoved in faces, cameras capturing the tension. The workers shout and chant, but the anger in their voices is different now. It’s sharper, more aggressive.

Some of them are genuine, fighting for better wages, better working conditions. But others have slipped into the ranks, pushing the limits of what they can get away with. They're only here to stir up trouble, probably sent by Cormac himself.

I dodge a few cameras, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of the media frenzy, and make my way through the crowd to find Draco and Jasper on the edge of the protest, standing apart from the noise. Jasper’s face is bruised, a black eye swollen under his left eye. He looks like he’s been in a fight—hell, he probably has. But the expression on his face is focused, businesslike. Draco stands beside him, scanning the crowd with his usual calculating look.

“What’s the situation?” I ask, moving closer. I'm not supposed to be here, but it's where the action is, and it's where Draco is. We have to talk.

Draco looks me over quickly before turning his gaze back to the crowd. “Same as before. Some of these guys are just here to cause chaos, make things harder. Doyle’s men are stirring the pot, trying to make it look like the striking workers can’t get their shit together.” He scowls and rubs a hand over his face. His frustration is palpable.

I feel the tension spike in my chest. Cormac’s moves are always calculated. He never does anything that doesn't have a purpose. He’s pushing, testing the boundaries. “How many?” He's here to distract us from something bigger.

“Enough to make things ugly,” Draco mutters. “A few of them have been causing real trouble, getting people riled up. We’re trying to keep the strikers focused, but it’s only a matter of time before this turns into something worse.”

I look over at Jasper, who’s still nursing his black eye. “You okay?”

He grins, wincing slightly. “I’m fine. Just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know how it goes.” Unfortunately, I do know how it goes. I've been in his place and his father is right. It's going to turn into something far worse before it gets better.

I glance over at Draco, trying to ignore the noise around us. But I can’t shake what’s been eating at me all day—the call with Cormac. Ronan may or may not have said anything, but I know I have to. This is Draco's baby. He built this from his blood, sweat, and tears.

“I got a call from Cormac this morning,” I tell him, and he narrows his eyes at me. “He’s pushing us. Told me to pull back the picket line or more men are going to die.”

Draco’s eyes flash and he grits his teeth. He doesn’t say anything right away, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. His eyes glass over, drift toward the chaos. “What else did he say?”

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