Marked by Passion and Pain

The door to our upgraded apartment clicked shut behind us, and I immediately felt some of the tension drain from my shoulders. Home sweet fortified home.

"This place looks like a palace now," I remarked, taking in the reinforced windows and new security system. The apartment had been completely repaired after the attack, with additional protective measures that made it feel like a luxurious bunker.

Rhys pulled out his phone. "I need to call my mom. She's probably worried sick."

I nodded, watching as he stepped into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. Silas and Ronan exchanged a look before Silas gestured toward the bathroom.

"We should probably get cleaned up," Silas said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "Been a hell of a day."

Ronan nodded, his copper hair falling across his forehead. "A shower sounds amazing right now."

As they disappeared down the hallway, I found myself alone with Jaxon. The air between us felt charged, dangerous. He stood by the window, staring out with his jaw clenched tight, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.

"How safe is this place now?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Really."

Jaxon's eyes flicked toward me, then back to the window. "Safe enough. Triple reinforced glass, motion sensors on every entry point, alarm connected directly to campus security."

"So no one's getting in without us knowing?"

"No one's getting in, period," he replied flatly.

I wandered into my bedroom, surprised to see it completely restored. The shattered mirror had been replaced, the broken furniture removed, all traces of violence erased. But the memories remained, and I shivered despite myself.

When I turned around, Jaxon was standing in the doorway, watching me with those intense eyes that seemed to see right through me.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For saving me from Victor."

Something flickered across his face—pain, raw and unfiltered—before his expression hardened again.

"Don't," he growled.

"Don't what?"

"Don't thank me for doing what I should have done years ago." His voice was jagged, filled with self-loathing. "I should have killed him the first time he laid hands on me."

I took a step toward him. "Jaxon—"

"He came for you because of me," he cut in, his hands curling into fists. "Because I have a weakness now."

"Is that what I am to you? A weakness?"

His laugh was hollow. "That's what caring about anyone is. A fucking weakness he can exploit." He raked a hand through his dark hair. "And here I am, terrified he'll come back for you, terrified of what I'd become if he did."

The vulnerability in his admission stunned me. This was Jaxon stripped bare, revealing the wounded soul beneath his armor of rage.

I closed the distance between us, reaching up to touch his face. He flinched but didn't pull away.

"You're not weak for caring," I whispered. "You're stronger because of it."

Something broke in his expression then, a dam cracking under too much pressure. His hands shot out, gripping my waist and pulling me against him with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.

"I would tear apart anyone who tries to hurt you," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I would rip out their fucking hearts."

The intensity in his words should have frightened me. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in my belly.

"I know," I said, sliding my hands up his chest.

His eyes darkened. "You don't understand. I've spent my entire life building walls, keeping everyone out. Then you come along, and I'm—" He broke off, jaw working. "I'm fucking terrified of what I feel for you."

I rose on my tiptoes, pressing my body against his. "Show me."

For a heartbeat, he remained perfectly still. Then something snapped. His mouth crashed down on mine, teeth clashing, the kiss brutal and desperate. He backed me against the wall, one hand tangling in my hair while the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.

I matched his ferocity, dragging my nails down his back, biting his lower lip until I tasted blood. He growled into my mouth, the sound primal and possessive.

"Mine," he rasped, tearing himself away from my lips to attack my neck with bites and kisses. His hands were everywhere, rough and demanding, sliding under my shirt to cup my breasts, pinching my nipples until I gasped.

"Yes," I breathed, arching into his touch. "Yours."

He spun me around suddenly, pressing my face against the wall while he yanked down my pants. I heard the sound of his zipper, felt his hardness pressing against me from behind.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice ragged in my ear. "Tell me this isn't what you want."

I pushed back against him, turning my head to meet his gaze. "I want this. I want you."

Something dark and hungry flashed in his eyes. He gripped my hips and thrust into me without warning, filling me completely in one brutal stroke. I cried out, the pain and pleasure merging into something exquisite.

"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "So tight."

He began to move, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. One hand slid up to my throat, not squeezing but holding, asserting control. The other snaked around to rub tight circles against my clit.

"Is this what you wanted?" he demanded, his pace relentless. "To be fucked against the wall by a monster?"

"You're not a monster," I gasped, reaching back to dig my fingers into his thigh. "You're mine."

He snarled, his hips snapping against mine. "I'll mark you," he warned, his voice thick with possession. "Everyone will know you're mine."

"Do it," I challenged.

His teeth sank into the curve where my neck met my shoulder, breaking skin. The sharp pain sent shockwaves through my body, driving me closer to the edge. I felt him lick the wound, soothing it with his tongue before biting down again, harder this time.

The dual sensation of his teeth at my neck and his cock pounding inside me was overwhelming. I felt myself tightening around him, spiraling toward release.

"That's it," he growled against my skin. "Come for me."

My orgasm hit like a tidal wave, washing over me in violent pulses. I screamed his name, my body clenching around him as he continued his relentless pace.

"Mine," he repeated, over and over, like a mantra or a prayer. His thrusts became erratic, his breathing harsh against my ear. "Fucking mine."

With a final, punishing thrust, he buried himself deep inside me and came with a guttural roar. I felt his release flood me, hot and claiming, as his forehead dropped to my shoulder.

For long minutes, we stayed like that, both trembling and gasping for breath. His hands, which had been so rough moments before, now stroked my sides almost tenderly.

When he finally pulled out, he turned me to face him, his eyes searching mine. The anger and defensive walls I was so accustomed to seeing had receded, leaving something raw and vulnerable in their wake.

"Hazel," he whispered, touching the mark he'd left on my neck with surprising gentleness.

I reached up, cradling his face in my hands. In that moment, as he pounded into me with desperate need, I felt his emotional walls finally beginning to crumble. The anger and pain that had been radiating from him since the confrontation with his father seemed to ebb away with each thrust.

As he gazed down at me now, I believed he was finding his way back to me, one heartbeat at a time.