Page 109 of Shots & Echoes

“Come for me, princess,” I said. “Show me how desperately your pussy belongs to me.”

She clenched around me—tight, wet, perfect—and I felt her coming, her body shaking against mine. That was it. That was the breaking point.

I groaned into her neck as I spilled into her, everything inside me snapping loose. It was raw and messy and real, a thousand emotions crashing down all at once. My grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into her skin as I rode out the wave of our shared release.

Her hands found my hair, tugging gently as she tried to catch her breath. I pressed my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the sound of our labored breathing and the lingering taste of desperation on our lips.

We stayed like that for a moment—caught in the aftermath—before reality started to creep back in. But even then, with everything that came rushing back, I knew one thing for certain.

We were past the point of no return.

The silence between us was suffocating, thick with everything we weren’t saying. Our ragged breaths filled the space, each one sharp and uneven, like we were still bracing for impact. My forehead pressed against hers, sweat slick between us, our bodies still thrumming from the wreckage we’d just created.

This should’ve felt wrong. A mistake. A lapse in judgment. But it didn’t. It felt inevitable—like we’d been hurtling toward this moment from the second we locked eyes on the ice. Every argument, every collision, every fucking time I told myself to stay away—it had all led to this. And now, there was no undoing it.

But then reality clawed its way back in, cold and relentless. I felt it settle in my gut like a blade, twisting. There were consequences waiting to rip this apart—her future, my career, the fallout we’d both have to face.

I exhaled hard and let her go, lowering her down slowly, already hating the loss of her heat. She straightened her shirtwith unsteady hands, fingers trembling as she smoothed out the evidence of what we’d done.

But it was still there. It was everywhere.

The tension crackled in the air like a live wire, buzzing with the weight of something neither of us knew how to handle.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding my gaze, and I felt the shift before she even took a step back. This wasn’t just a mistake to be buried. This was a fucking line crossed, a point of no return. And as much as I wanted to pretend I still had control over this?

I knew, deep down, I was already too far gone.

As she turned to leave, hand on the door, something in me snapped. Instinct overpowered reason, and before I could stop myself, I reached out, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. Not rough—just enough to make her stop. Enough to make her feel me.

“This doesn’t stop here.” My voice was low, edged with something dark and final.

She froze. And when she turned back to face me, I saw it—that war flickering behind her eyes. Fear. Heat. Need. All tangled together, just like us.

“You know that, don’t you?” I pressed, my grip tightening the slightest bit.

Her pulse pounded against my fingers, matching the thrum of something primal inside me. She didn’t answer right away, just stood there, breathing fast, her hesitation cutting through the thick air between us. But then, slowly—deliberately—she nodded.

Because she knew.

We were too far gone for second thoughts. Whatever we’d just done, whatever line we had obliterated, there was no pretending it hadn’t happened. And I could see it in her face—she didn’t want to pretend.

The silence between us burned, charged with a tension so sharp it was almost painful. I could feel every inhale, every tremor in her body, like we were still fused together.

The weight of my words hung heavy between us, a challenge and a promise wrapped in one.

Her gaze flickered, uncertainty warring with something deeper, something just as reckless as what had brought us here. And then, as if deciding right in this moment, she exhaled sharply.

“I know,” she said, softer this time, like she was making the promise to herself just as much as to me.

I smirked, but it was anything but light. It was possession, hunger, a storm barely kept at bay. “Good.” My voice dropped, rough with the truth of it. “You’ve always been mine, Evans. This just makes it office.”

Chapter 19

Iris

Iwoke up sore, my thighs throbbing, a reminder of the night before. The ache spread through my muscles like a slow burn, and I relished it. I shifted slightly, wincing as fresh waves of pain shot through me—bruises blooming where Knox had gripped me too tight.

My fingers brushed over the marks on my skin, tracing the fading impressions of his hands like they were sacred relics. Each bruise was proof, tangible evidence that he had been there, that he had claimed me in a way I couldn’t deny. It felt exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

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