Page 14 of The Firefighter's Claim
"Well, that's... fast," he says with an uncomfortable laugh.
"When you know, you know," I reply, my tone making it clear this conversation is over.
Connie shifts awkwardly, clearly sensing the tension. "Would you like some coffee, Patrick?"
"No, I should get going. Just wanted to check on you." He stands, and I feel my body relax incrementally. "The kids miss you. Especially little Jason—he's been asking when Miss Evans is coming back every five minutes."
Her face softens at the mention of her student. "Tell him I'll see him Monday. And that I can't wait to hear how his pet hermit crab is doing."
They exchange a few more pleasantries while I stand guard, monitoring every expression, every movement, every word. When he finally leaves, the door closing behind him feels like oxygen returning to a room that's been airless.
Connie turns to me, her expression caught between amusement and exasperation. "Was that really necessary?"
"Was what necessary?" I ask, playing dumb even as the dark feeling in my chest expands.
"The alpha male territory marking. The glaring. The 'when you know, you know' comment."
"He wants you," I state flatly.
She laughs, the sound both beautiful and infuriating. "Patrick? No, he doesn't. We're just colleagues."
"He has a nickname for you."
"Everyone at school calls me Con. It's not special."
"He came to my apartment."
"With a gift from my coworkers. Because they care about me."
"He was looking at you," I insist, stepping closer, crowding her against the wall. "Like he's thought about you naked. Like he's imagined touching you."
Her breath catches, her pupils dilating as I invade her space. "You're being ridiculous."
"Am I?" I place my hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. "Did you like him looking at you? Like knowing he wants what's mine?"
The question is unfair, irrational. I know this even as I ask it. But something dark and possessive has taken over, something that needs to assert ownership, to eliminate any doubt about who she belongs to.
"Dagger," she says softly, placing her hands on my chest. "You're the only one I want. The only one I've wanted since the moment you carried me out of that fire."
It should be enough. It isn't.
I crash my mouth against hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise. The kiss is hard, demanding, possessive—nothing like the gentle explorations of the past three days. My tongue invades her mouth, claiming every inch. My hands move from the wall to her body, one tangling in her hair, the other gripping her hip, pulling her against the rigid evidence of my arousal.
She responds instantly, her body melting into mine, her arms winding around my neck. The surrender in her posture, the way she yields to my demand, feeds the beast inside me.
I lift her, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist, and carry her to the bedroom. Not gently, not carefully. Driven by a need so primitive it has no name.
"Mine," I growl against her lips as I deposit her on the bed. "Say it. Say you're mine."
Her eyes are wide, dark with desire and something else—a recognition of the precipice we're standing on. "I'm yours," she whispers.
The confirmation ignites something in me. I strip her clothes off with efficient movements, not bothering with the usual care or finesse. When she's naked beneath me, I take a moment to devour her with my eyes, to remind us both who she belongs to.
"No one else gets to see you like this," I tell her, my voice rough with need. "No one else gets to touch you. To taste you. To hear the sounds you make when you come."
She nods, her breath coming in quick gasps, her pupils so dilated her eyes appear black. "No one else," she agrees. "Just you."
I shed my own clothes with urgent movements, then cover her body with mine, skin to skin, heat to heat. My mouth finds her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a visible sign of my possession that her colleagues will see. Let Patrick see it. Let him know she's claimed.
