Page 121 of The Viper
His body was a sculpted masterpiece above me—broad shoulders rolling with every powerful drive, the thick cords of muscle in his arms flexing as he braced himself over me. His chest, carved and hard, brushed my breasts with each thrust. His abs clenched tight, rippling with the effort of holding back, every ridge and valley glistening with perspiration that dripped onto my stomach.
My own body answered him—slender curves arching off the narrow mattress, my thighs trembling around his hips, skin flushed pink from the heat we generated. My breasts bounced with each impact, nipples peaked and begging.
The thick length of him stretched me perfectly, every inch dragging along my inner walls with deliberate, punishing slowness, the head of his cock buried deep. My wetness coatedhim, easing each glide, the sounds of our bodies joining loud in the cramped space.
“Say it again,” he growled, voice low and raw.
“I love you.” My voice trembled, not from uncertainty but from the overwhelming truth of it. “God, I love you so much.”
His mouth found mine—hungry, claiming, reverent. He kissed me like he was starving, tongue sweeping in to taste me, teeth nipping at my lower lip until I whimpered into him.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against my lips. “You walk into a room, and I forget how to breathe. You look at me, and I know exactly who I’m meant to be.”
I tightened my legs around him, drawing him in closer. The angle shifted, and he hit even harder, the blunt pressure making my breath hitch.
“You already are. You’re mine.”
He groaned, burying his face in my neck. “Say that again.”
“You’re mine,” I whispered, and his body shuddered.
He came in me like a storm breaking open—strong, inevitable, breathtaking. His hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he pulsed inside, hot and thick, flooding me with every spurt. The sensation of him spilling deep, marking me from the inside, sent me over.
My walls clenched around him in rhythmic waves, milking every drop as I came. I clutched him so tightly it felt like I could hold time still, my body trembling with aftershocks, thighs quivering around his hips as he stayed buried, grinding slow circles to prolong the pleasure.
When it passed, he stayed there for a long while, his forehead pressed against mine, our breaths syncing in slow rhythm. Outside, the faint sounds of the set filtered through—the low hum of production life resuming around us.
I felt completely and totally at peace.
I’d taken several days off from filming after everything happened—what had started as simply a recovery period had turned into one of the most precious times in my life.
Lucas and I had stayed at Dominion Hall, in the suite he’d taken near his Montana brothers. We’d slept too much, made love even more, and talked for hours about things that had nothing to do with danger or fame or fear. I’d healed. My shoulder, yes—but also everything inside of me that had gone brittle from years of pretending.
Now, I was back on set, and instead of anxiety, I felt something else. Gratitude.
Grateful that I’d survived. Grateful that Hannah was safe and getting help.
And grateful—achingly, endlessly—for the man who had changed everything I thought I knew about love.
I slipped off Lucas’s lap, wincing at the soreness he’d left behind, and pulled on a soft silk robe. He sat back, watching me with that half-smile that made my stomach flutter every time.
“You’re supposed to be resting before your big scene,” he said.
I smoothed my hair and grinned at him in the mirror. “I was.”
He laughed under his breath, standing to put his shirt on. The dark gray fabric stretched across his chest, the muscles underneath shifting with every small movement. “You sure you’re ready for today?”
I turned, tying my robe and brushing a kiss against his jaw. “I’ve never been more ready. I’m finishing this movie. And then, maybe, I’ll start a new one—ours.”
He caught my chin between his fingers, tilting my face up. “You already did, my love. You just don’t know it yet.”
I smiled, because he was right. I had decided to keep making movies—not because I owed it to anyone, but because I loved it.The work. The storytelling. The quiet alchemy that turned chaos into meaning. But I’d promised myself to do it differently this time: slower, on my own terms, with boundaries that kept me whole.
And I was listening to Lucas now when he said my safety mattered more than any role or red carpet. I believed him.
An hour later, I stood beneath the bright lights of the rebuilt set. The vanity mirror gleamed like new, no trace of what had happened here weeks ago. The whole place smelled faintly of fresh paint and makeup powder. It didn’t make my chest tighten.
“Ready?” Franklin asked. His voice was softer than usual, like even he understood what this meant.
