Chapter 15: Sire's knee forces Souline's thighs apart as she whispers 'Get out,' her breath hitching when his thumb finds her clit. 'Make me,' he rasps, biting her nipple hard enough to make her cry out. The blanket falls away as he flips her onto her stomach, his palm smacking her ass before spreading her wide. One thrust buries him to the hilt—her walls clamp around him instantly, her sob of 'I hate you' breaking into a moan as he pounds into her, his grip on her hips sure to leave bruises. 'Lie better, B
The click of the lock was a period at the end of a screaming sentence. Souline slid down the wall, the sobs she’d been holding back finally erupting in ragged, painful gasps. The vibrations from his fists hitting the door faded, replaced by the hollow echo of his final threat. I will be there for every fucking second of it.
She cried until her throat was raw and her body was hollowed out, a dry, aching shell. The confrontation at her mother’s, the humiliation, the sheer physical force of Sire’s possession—it all crashed down on her in the silent safety of her apartment. She stumbled to her bedroom, peeling off the clothes that smelled of smoke and sweat and his anger. She didn’t bother with pajamas. She just fell into the cool embrace of her sheets, naked and utterly exhausted, the weight of her pregnancy and her broken heart pulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Hours later, a faint click, the subtle shift of air, and the dip of the mattress woke her. Her eyes flew open in the deep blue pre-dawn gloom. A massive silhouette filled the space beside her. She didn’t need to see his face.
“Sire,” she breathed, her voice thick with sleep and resignation. She didn’t scream. She was too tired for fear.
“I had to come back,” his voice was a low rumble, stripped of its earlier rage, leaving only a raw, unbearable tension. “We didn’t finish. You can’t cut me out, Souline. You can lock the door, but I’ll always find a way in. That’s my baby.”
She sat up, pulling the blanket with her, the movement sharp with frustration. “I won’t keep you from your child. I told you that. But you need to leave. Now.” As she spoke, the blanket slipped, pooling at her waist, leaving her upper body bare in the faint light.
His gaze dropped, and the air in the room shifted. The tension of their argument twisted, transforming into something hotter, denser. She saw it in his eyes before he moved—a dark, hungry flicker, a want so potent it was a physical force. It should have infuriated her. It should have made her shove him away. Instead, it ignited a matching, treacherous need deep in her own belly, a liquid pull that mocked all her resolutions.
He was on her in an instant.
There was no gentle preamble. His mouth crashed down on hers, a desperate, claiming kiss that tasted of coffee and guilt. She melted into it, a small, broken sound escaping her throat as her hands came up, not to push him away, but to clutch at his shoulders. The blanket fell away completely as he laid her back, his body covering hers, a heavy, familiar weight.
“I need you,” he growled against her mouth, his hands roaming her bare skin, relearning the slopes and curves. “God, I need you, Baby.”
She was already wet for him, her body betraying her heart with humiliating efficiency. When his fingers found her center, sliding through her slickness, she arched off the bed with a sharp cry. “Sire…”
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he challenged, his voice husky as he positioned himself at her entrance. The broad head of his cock pressed against her, a demanding pressure. “Tell me to stop.”
She couldn’t. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye as she shook her head, her hips lifting in a silent, aching plea. He pushed inside, a slow, inexorable stretch that filled her completely, stealing her breath.
“Fuck,” he choked out, his body shuddering. He began to move, a deep, punishing rhythm that was as much about possession as it was about passion. Each thrust was a punctuation to his whispered words. “This pussy… is mine.” Thrust. “You can try to deny it all you want.” Thrust. “But it will always be mine.” Thrust. “You’ll always be mine.”
She cried out, her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. The pleasure was a devastating wave, washing away the anger, the hurt, leaving only this raw, physical truth. She came with a broken sob, her inner muscles clenching around him, her body convulsing. Her tears weren’t from pain, but from the brutal, soul-shattering goodness of it, from the crushing loss of the future they should have had, the one he shattered with another woman.
He kept moving, his own tears now falling onto her face, mingling with hers. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, his rhythm faltering as emotion overwhelmed him. “I’m so fucking sorry, Souline. Please. Let me fix this.”
Another orgasm was already building, coiling tight low in her belly, amplified by the emotional freefall. “I don’t know if you can,” she wept, the admission tearing something vital inside her. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”
The pain in her words made him cry out, a raw, guttural sound, and he drove into her harder, as if he could fuck the truth away. “I will,” he vowed, his voice cracking. “I’ll fix it. You’re mine. I’m not going anywhere. Even if we’re broken up for now, I’ll make sure we get back together. I swear to God.”
They were both falling apart, their bodies moving in a desperate, final symphony. The peak seized them simultaneously. She screamed his name as her world dissolved into white-hot pleasure, and he shouted hers, pumping his release deep inside her, his entire body rigid before collapsing onto her, spent and shaking.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet, shared warmth between them. Then he raised his head and kissed her, a deep, searching, heartbreaking kiss. She kissed him back with everything she had, pouring all her love and all her loss into it. It felt like a goodbye to what they were, and he felt it, his arms tightening around her in immediate denial.
“No,” he whispered against her lips. “Don’t say goodbye.”
“We’ll see,” she breathed, the words fragile.
He accepted it, for now. He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, tucking her back against his chest, his arms a fortress around her. “Let me hold you,” he begged, his voice thick. “Just let me hold you one last time.”
She did. She let her body curl into his, her head resting on his arm, and closed her eyes against the coming dawn.
She let her body curl into his, her head resting on his arm, and closed her eyes against the coming dawn. Exhaustion, both emotional and physical, pulled her under a second time, a black tide she had no strength to fight. His breath evened out against her neck, his arms a relentless band of heat around her ribs and belly, a possessive cage even in sleep. They didn’t stir until the hard morning light cut through the gaps in her curtains, painting stark lines across the rumpled sheets and their tangled limbs.
Souline woke to the solid weight of him, his skin hot against her back, one heavy hand splayed possessively over her lower stomach. For one disorienting moment, the world was just warmth and the scent of him and sex. Then yesterday crashed back in—the shouting, the slap, his hands on her mother’s throat, the other woman’s name. Her body went stiff. She carefully peeled his arm away, the movement slow and deliberate, putting inches of cool sheet between them.
He stirred immediately, a low groan in his throat as his arms instinctively reached to pull her back. His hand found only empty space. He opened his eyes, the sleep clearing from his gaze to reveal a stark, understanding pain. He watched her retreat to the far edge of the bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin, her back a tense line toward him. Separation starts now.
He said nothing. He sat up, the muscles in his back flexing, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The silence was a thick, living thing as he gathered his clothes from the floor—his jeans, his shirt, his boxers. She listened to the rustle of denim, the soft snick of his belt buckle, the weight of his feet on her floorboards. She kept her eyes fixed on the wall, on a small crack in the plaster she’d never noticed before.
When he was dressed, he didn’t go to the door. Instead, she heard his knees hit the floor. The mattress dipped as he leaned over her from his kneeling position beside the bed. His presence was a magnetic field she had to consciously resist. His hand, large and warm, settled gently on her flat abdomen through the thin sheet.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Please.”
She turned her head, meeting his eyes. The fury was gone, burnt out and leaving behind a devastating, raw sincerity that was somehow harder to face.
“What I said last night,” he began, his thumb making a slow, unconscious circle on her belly. “It stands. Every word. I will be there for every second. Doctor’s appointments, ultrasounds, whatever you need. You don’t have to let me back in here.” His voice hitched slightly. “But you don’t get to lock me out of that. That’s my kid, Souline. And you’re the mother of my kid. That makes you mine, in a way that nothing and no one can ever change.”
He leaned in then, cupping her face with his other hand. His eyes were shining, a sheen of tears he didn’t bother to hide. “I’m giving you the space you said you need,” he whispered, each word costing him. “I hate it. I hate every fucking second of it. But I’m doing it.”
He kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was a hard, desperate press of lips, a final claim and a brutal farewell all at once. She tasted the salt of his tears, felt the tremble in his hand. She didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t pull away. She let him take it, let him pour that last, broken piece of himself into her mouth.
Then he broke away, stood up, and left. The bedroom door didn’t slam. It clicked shut with a soft, definitive finality. A moment later, the front door did the same. The apartment settled into a silence so profound it felt deafening. Souline lay there, her hand drifting to the spot on her stomach his hand had warmed, the ghost of his kiss still burning on her lips, surrounded by the lingering scent of him on her sheets. The space she wanted was now a vast, echoing chamber, and she was alone in the center of it.