Page 92 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

His name rips from my throat as the pleasure crests, a cry that might be prayer or curse or both. He buries himself deep inside me as he comes, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He pulls me up to him, pressing his dick to my ass. He grabs my throat and kisses me. The forest is quiet except for the sound of our ragged breathing and the distant call of birds.

For a long moment, he keeps his dick buried in the crack of my ass and his lips on the back of my neck. Neither of us speaks or moves. We just lie kneel here in the aftermath, processing what just happened, what it means.

Finally, Thatcher shifts, his hands gentle now as they frame my face. His thumbs brush away tears I didn’t realize had fallen, the gesture almost tender after the savagery of what we just shared.

“What’s mine doesn’t get touched by anyone else,” he says, his voice soft but implacable. “And you’re mine.”

The possessiveness in his words should anger me, should make me fight against the chains he’s wrapping around me. Instead, it settles something restless inside my chest, fills a void I didn’t know existed.

“I need your shirt,” I say simply, suddenly aware of the cool air against my exposed skin, the way the night seems to be seeping into my bones.

Without hesitation, he strips off his shirt and helps me into it, the fabric still warm from his body heat. It hangs loose on my frame, the sleeves far too long, but it smells like him. I pull it close, letting his scent envelop me like armor.

We gather our scattered clothes in silence, both of us understanding that something fundamental has shifted between us. The lies are out in the open now, the truth laid bare and bloody, but somehow that makes this more honest than anything that came before.

The walk back to the car is quiet, neither of us needing words to fill the space between revelation and acceptance. My legs are unsteady, my body still humming with aftershocks, but I don’t stumble. Don’t fall.

Because I understand now, with a clarity that cuts through all the confusion and fear and anger… this was always inevitable. From the moment he first saw me, first decided I was his, this was always where we were heading.

I just didn’t know the cost would be so high.

Or that I’d be so eager to pay it.

Chapter 19

My shirt hangs loose on Rhea’s frame as she climbs out of the Tesla, the fabric swallowing her smaller form but somehow making her look more mine than ever. The sleeves dangle past her fingertips, and she has to push them up to find her keys, but she doesn’t complain. Just pulls the collar closer to her neck, breathing in my scent like it’s a lifeline.

Perfect.

The satisfaction settles deep in my chest, warm and expansive, as I watch her disappear through the apartment building’s entrance. She moves differently now—not with the rigid defiance of before, but with something softer, more accepting. The fight has gone out of her, replaced by a surrender so complete it makes my cock twitch just thinking about it.

She knows what I am now. What I’m capable of. And she chose to stay anyway.

Chose me anyway.

My fingers drum against the steering wheel in a rhythm that matches my pulse as I pull away from her building. The leather is still warm from where she sat, still carries the faint trace of her perfume mixed with the earthier scent of what we did in the woods. I roll down the windows slightly, letting the cool night air carry that intoxicating combination straight to my lungs.

Mine. Completely, irrevocably mine.

The phone buzzes against my thigh, pulling me from the pleasant haze of possession. I glance down at the screen, expecting maybe a text from Rhea, already missing me, already needing reassurance.

Instead, it’s Noah. Three words that make my blood turn to ice: “Chamber. Now. Bring the girl.”

My hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles going white as the implications crash over me. Emergency meetings are rare, and ones that require Rhea’s presence are unheard of. Something has gone wrong. Badly wrong.

I make a U-turn at the next light, my foot heavier on the accelerator than it needs to be. The Tesla responds with silent authority, eating up the distance between Rhea’s apartment and the mansion with predatory efficiency. But even as I drive, my mind is already racing ahead, calculating variables, preparing for whatever crisis has summoned us.

Rhea doesn’t need to know. Not yet. Whatever this is, I’ll handle it. That’s what I do—I handle things. I eliminate problems. I protect what’s mine.

The mansion looms against the night sky as I pull up the gravel drive, more cars scattered across the usually empty lot than I’ve ever seen at one time. Expensive cars.

My stomach drops as I recognize the vehicles. This isn’t just the core Reapers. This is everyone. Extended members, legacy kids, the ones who usually only show up for initiation ceremonies and the occasional favor exchange.

If they’re all here, we’re in deep shit.

The basement air hits me like a physical weight as I descend the familiar stairs. Thick with tension and the cologne of scared rich boys trying to maintain their facades of control. The chamber that usually holds six or seven of us is packed wall to wall with faces I recognize from the hockey team, from campus, from family gatherings, from newspaper society pages.

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