Page 21 of Faith Among Monsters

This is me marking her, claiming her, making sure there’s no doubt who she belongs to.

She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and fuck, that does something to me. Her heels press into my back, her body arching, taking me deeper, rawer, wetter. I pull back just enough to watch her, watch the way her lips part, the way her lashes flutter, the way her body reacts to every single thing I do. I’ve never seen anything more fucking beautiful.

She feels it. I know she does. She knows this isn’t just sex. It’s a goddamn war, and I’m never letting her go.

I grip her chin, tilting her head so she has no choice but to meet my eyes.

“Who do you belong to,” I growl, voice rough.

“You,” she whispers, her breath shaky, her body trembling beneath me.

That’s it.

I flip her onto her stomach in one smooth motion, my hands rough, unrelenting, dragging her back against me. She gasps, her fingers fisting in the sheets.

I grab a fistful of her hair, tilting her head back just enough so my lips graze her ear.

“Mine,” I murmur.

She whimpers. That fucking sound.

I tighten my grip, guiding her, controlling her, my other hand sliding over the curve of her waist, gripping her hip.

She pushes back against me, needy, desperate, perfect.

“Mine,” I growl, slamming into her, my fingers bruising into her skin.

Her cry is wrecked, breathless, and when her whole body tightens, her back arching, I fucking lose it.

My release crashes through me hard, brutal, fucking annihilating, and I empty myself into her with a sharp groan, my body locking tight before shuddering apart.

For a long moment, I don’t move, my hands still gripping her hips, my chest heaving against her back.

Jesus Christ.

I ease her down, softer now, my lips brushing the back of her neck before I collapse beside her.

She curls against me instantly, her head resting on my chest, her fingers trailing over my skin. Her touch is soft, almost absentminded, and it hits me in a way I’m not prepared for.

I wrap an arm around her, holding her close, trying to imprint this moment in my mind.

Seconds later, hours later, fuck if I know, a knock at the door.

Too soon.

“Fuck off,” I snap, my voice rough with frustration.

Then there’s a pop.

I sit straight up, the sound cutting through the haze of satisfaction still lingering in my chest.

Gunfire.

My gut locks.

“Get dressed,” I say, already untangling from her and reaching for my jeans. Two emergencies in one day? Not a record, but far from normal.

Her movements are quick but shaky as she tugs her pants on, her fingers fumbling briefly with the buttons.

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