Page 40 of Gonzo's Grudge
My pulse raced. The words were heavy, dangerous. But they weren’t lies. “Am I in danger?” I asked, my voice smaller now.
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The word cut sharp. Honest. No attempt to soothe.
But before fear could take root, I shook my head. “No. Not really.”
He frowned. “I just told you?—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “I know there’s danger. I know people hate you. I know being with you means walking into fire. But I also know something else.”
I stepped closer, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “I know you are a man who will keep me safe. I can feel it every time you look at me. Every time you touch me. You’re danger, Gonzo, but not to me.”
For a moment, neither of us breathed. His eyes burned into mine, dark and intense, and I saw it happen. The shift.
Something primal broke loose inside him, something I’d only glimpsed before. My words had lit it. My certainty had unleashed it.
He caught my face in his hands and kissed me like he was starving.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was fire catching dry grass, wild and consuming. My fingers dug into his shirt, dragging him closer, needing more. He lifted me with ease, setting me on the counter, his mouth never leaving mine.
“Say it again,” he growled against my lips.
“I know you’ll keep me safe,” I gasped.
His eyes locked to mine, blazing. “Damn right.”
He pulled my jacket off, tossing it aside, his hands mapping every inch of me like he was claiming it. But through all of it, his eyes never left mine. Even when his mouth moved to my throat, his gaze lifted back, needing that connection, needing me to see him.
And I did. I saw everything—the outlaw, the fighter, the protector, the man who had lived in darkness and still found a way to hold me like light.
My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom, his mouth devouring mine the whole way. He set me on the bed, looming over me, his breath ragged.
“You sure?” he asked, voice gravel.
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m sure.”
That was all he needed. The bed dipped under his weight as he lowered me onto it, his body braced above mine like he was holding back an earthquake. His eyes burned into me, and for a second, the world stilled.
“You sure?” he asked again, voice ragged, jaw tight like he was fighting something.
“Yes,” I whispered, reaching for him.
He didn’t move. His eyes searched mine like he was trying to see into the deepest part of me. “Say it again.”
“I’m sure,” I said louder, steadier. “I want you. I am safe with you. Only you.”
Something inside him broke loose then.
His mouth claimed mine with a hunger I hadn’t tasted before—still careful, but this time edged with possession. Not of my body, but of my trust, my faith in him. I gave it willingly, clutching at him, pulling him closer.
The first time had been new and fragile, his touch patient, teaching me how to take him. Each time he had been almost delicate with me in a way. But this was different. This wasn’t teaching. This was knowing. This was two people who had already crossed a line and were ready to burn the bridge behind them.
His hands skimmed down my body, insistent, mapping me like he needed to memorize every curve, every tremor. My breath hitched at the rough scrape of his stubble against my throat, at the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
