Page 156 of Blood & Throttle
He grits out a sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl. “You feel that? That’s mine.” Another thrust, sharper this time. “All of you. Fuckingmine.”
He slams in again, then slows, almost cruel in how he drags it out. Each thrust is a vow. A punishment. A promise.
“You hear me, Little Stray?” he murmurs against my ear, voice wrecked. “No matter what happens next... you’re fucking mine.”
“Yes,” I pant, nails digging into his shoulders. “God, Riot, I’m yours. I’m yours.”
He kisses me then. Not sweet. Not soft. Just desperate, like we’re bleeding and this is how we stop it.
The heat coils sharp and unbearable between my legs, tightening, crashing, until I break apart around him with a sharp cry, shaking as it hits me in waves.
He follows with a groan, deep and guttural, hips jerking as he spills inside me, his head buried in my neck, arms locked around my back like I might vanish.
But I don’t.
I stay.
When it’s over, we don’t speak.
No screaming. No chaos.
Just heavy breathing. Damp skin. His heart beating against mine.
Two fucked-up people trying to find peace in a world that never gave them any, and for the first time... maybe we do. Even if it’s just for amoment.
After, he sets me down gently, brushes my soaked hair back from my face, and kisses my temple.
We dry off in silence. Tender. Careful. Like this moment was something more than just bodies colliding.
Back in our quarters, we collapse into bed still damp, wrapped in each other, and breathing slow.
No more words or promises.
Just the ink, and the truth.
We bled to wear it.
Thirty
Riot
Vicious - Bohnes
She’s mine.
Sienna Vega—mouthy, feral, tattooed with my name on her skin like a fucking signature—is mine.
Not just by the bruises on her neck, scratches down my back, or the way she moaned my name like a goddamn prayer last night. But in the way that matters. In the way that means I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.
Sin's body is tangled with mine, her breath soft where it ghosts across my neck. Her skin’s marked up from my mouth—bruises on her neck, hips, the curve of her thigh where I held her too tight. But she didn’t complain. Not once. Last night she gave me everything, every tiny piece of her, and I took it like a fucking starving man. After, we crashed into bed like it was gravity and we were done pretending we could fight it.
Now she’s curled into me, legs tangled, my arm draped heavy across her waist. Her breath steady against my throat. Taz is passed out at the foot of the mattress, chin on her paws, oneear twitching at every sound like she never sleeps too deep when Sin is nearby, and for the first time in too fucking long, I feel calm.
Not safe.
Never fucking safe. But grounded. Like this brutal, broken world finally gave me something to hold onto.
It doesn’t last.
