“That’s it.” The words come out guttural. My control is fraying, unraveling with every drag of her body around mine. I’m fucking her like I’m trying to outrun my own thoughts, myown fear. Each thrust is needier, rougher, seeking something I can’t name. Her back arches, a beautiful, desperate curve, and a broken cry tears from her throat as she shatters. I feel her clench around me, a rhythmic, fluttering pulse that pulls a groan from my chest.
Before the waves finish, I hook an arm around her waist and flip her. She lands on her back, hair fanned across the pillow, eyes wide and stunned. I climb over her, pinning her wrists beside her head, and sink back into her wet heat without breaking stride.
This angle is deeper, more raw, more intimate. Her knees fall open wider, welcoming me completely, and the sight of her spread beneath me—hair dark against the white pillowcase, skin flushed and gleaming—sends a jolt of pure hunger through my chest. I watch her face like it's the only thing keeping me tethered to earth, drinking in the way her eyes lose focus and roll back, pupils blown wide with pleasure, the parted 'o' of her mouth as she takes every thick inch I give her.
"That's right." My voice comes out like rough sand scraped over stone, barely recognizable. "Take it, Calla. Take this fucking cock."
A breathless, shaky laugh escapes her throat, the sound catching on a moan as I hit something deep inside her. "You have—" she gasps, head falling back against the pillow, "—a real way with words."
The smart mouth on her, even now. Even when she's spread open and taking me like she was made for it. It makes me want to fuck the attitude right out of her.
"Shut up and come for me again."
I drive into her with long, hard strokes that leave no space for thought, no room for anything but the wet slide of bodies and the building heat between us. The praise spills out of me, raw andunfiltered, words I didn't know I had in me. "So perfect. So tight around my cock. You feel like fucking heaven, Calla."
Her nails score down my back, a sharp, delicious sting that cuts through the haze. I hiss, driving into her harder, faster, until the world narrows to the slap of skin on skin, the rhythmic creak of the bedframe, the choked-off, breathless sounds she makes against my neck. My release builds, a relentless pressure coiling tight at the base of my spine, a fuse burning down. Her legs lock around my hips, pulling me impossibly deeper, and she comes with a silent scream, her body bowing off the mattress, every muscle taut.
The sight of her unraveling, of that controlled composure finally shattered, undoes me completely. I plunge deep one last time, burying myself to the hilt, and spill into her with a groan that’s half pain, half profound relief. My forehead drops to her sweat-slicked shoulder as the last violent pulses rack through me, leaving me shuddering and spent, anchored only by the feel of her beneath me.
My chest heaves as I pull her up against me, her body fitting perfectly into the curve of my ribs. Her hair spills across my shoulder in dark waves, and I can't resist threading my fingers through the silky strands. The scent of her—something clean and warm with an edge of sweat—fills my lungs with each ragged breath.
She traces lazy circles on my chest with her fingertip, the touch sending aftershocks through my spent body. "We need to finalize our plan."
"Right now?" My voice comes out rougher than intended, still scraped raw from what just happened between us.
"Tomorrow's the last day before festival preparations begin in earnest." Her tone carries that familiar editor's precision, even naked and sprawled across my chest. "If we're going to expose Selwyn, we need to move."
I tighten my arms around her, not ready to let the outside world intrude on this moment. "What did you have in mind?"
"We confront him directly. With everything we've gathered—the diverted shipments, the stockpiled goods, Thornak's stolen lumber." She shifts slightly, propping her chin on my sternum to meet my eyes. "Force him to explain himself before he can do more damage."
"That's risky. If he's working with others?—"
"Then we expose them too." The steel in her voice reminds me why she's survived years of running a newspaper in a town that prefers its secrets buried. "I won't let him destroy the festival. Not on my watch."
I stroke her hair again, marveling at how soft it feels against my calloused fingers. "You realize he might not go quietly?"
"I'm counting on it. Desperate people make mistakes."
A laugh rumbles in my chest. "You sound like you're planning a military campaign."
"Close enough." She presses a kiss to my collarbone, the touch feather-light but somehow more intimate than anything that came before. "I've been protecting this town my entire life. I'm not about to stop now."
The weight of her words settles between us, and I understand what she's really saying. This isn't just about the investigation anymore—it's about choosing to stand together against whatever comes next.
"We do this together," I say, my thumb tracing along her jawline. "No pulling back, no second-guessing."
Her eyes search mine for a long moment, and I see the exact instant she makes her decision. The same unwavering resolve that drew me to her from the beginning.
"I'm yours," she whispers against my throat, the words barely audible but carrying more weight than any promise.
Something cracks open in my chest at those simple words—not breaking, but opening wider than I thought possible.
CHAPTER 27
BRAKKOR
The morning air bites at my exposed skin as I crouch beside the wagon ruts carved into Thornak's land. My fingers trace the deep grooves in the earth, following their path toward the forest line where they disappear beneath fallen leaves. The tracks are fresh—maybe two days old—and the weight patterns tell a story I'm still piecing together.
