Chapter 73: Sophia’s a little Jealous
The Balinese sun, molten gold dripping through the canopy, painted shifting patterns on the villa’s cool stone floors. Sophia stretched, muscles singing pleasantly from the morning’s grueling session with Jasmine. Her ass, however, still throbbed with a deep, residual ache – a constant, visceral reminder of Bruce’s claiming weeks prior. She traced the rim of her coffee cup, her gaze drifting across the sun-drenched courtyard.
There. Again. Bruce lounged on a low divan, engrossed in a tablet, the light catching the shifting kaleidoscope of green, blue, and gold in his eyes. Lena materialized beside him, silent as a shadow, a plate of sliced mango in hand. She didn’t ask. She simply sank onto the cushions beside him, her thick thigh pressing against his, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. Bruce shifted minutely, accommodating her without breaking his reading, his free hand absently stroking the curve of her hip. A sigh escaped Lena, contented and deep, as if plugging into a power source.
Sophia’s coffee turned suddenly bitter. It wasn’t just the proximity; it was the ease. The unspoken language. Lena wasn't clinging; she was occupying. Bruce wasn't tolerating; he was expecting. They breathed the same air, moved in the same orbit. If Bruce stood to refill his water glass, Lena’s hand would brush his lower back. If Lena wandered towards the infinity pool, Bruce would follow minutes later, drawn like a magnet. Sophia watched, fascinated and unsettled, the ache in her ass momentarily eclipsed by a sharper pang low in her belly.
"See it, don’t you?" Ketut’s voice was soft, appearing beside Sophia at the breakfast bar like a Balinese spirit. Her dark eyes held Sophia’s, understanding and gentle. She poured herself tea, the scent of lemongrass mingling with the jasmine blooming nearby.
Sophia startled, flushing. "See what?"
"The shadow." Ketut nodded towards the divan. "Lena. She’s his shadow. Always has been, since she came. Before me, even." She took a delicate sip. "It’s… intense."
Intense. The word felt inadequate. Sophia watched Lena’s fingers trace idle patterns on Bruce’s forearm. "Doesn’t it… bother anyone?" The question felt petty even as she asked it.
Ketut chuckled, a low, musical sound. "Sometimes. At first, yes. Mystique…" She lowered her voice. "When Mystique joined, maybe three months before you? She saw it. Felt it. Like a wall she couldn’t climb." Ketut’s gaze was direct. "She tried to compete. To be that close. It didn’t work. Bruce loves fiercely, Sophia, but Lena… she’s carved into him differently." She placed a cool hand over Sophia’s tense one. "Don’t harbor it. Don’t let it fester inside like a bad fruit. Talk to him. Mystique did. She cried, she shouted… she told him she felt like an outsider looking in at their private world. He listened. He held her. He explained it wasn’t less love for her, just… different. Deeper roots with Lena. Older wounds healed together." Ketut squeezed Sophia’s hand. "Talk to him. Before the watching turns into poison."
Sophia swallowed, the image of Mystique – the stunning, statuesque Black model – feeling that same gnawing inadequacy somehow both comforting and terrifying. "Did it help? Her talking?"
Ketut smiled faintly. "Bruce doesn’t hide, Sophia. He can’t change the bond, but he can make sure you feel seen. Valued. Owned." Her gaze drifted towards the pool where Jasmine, Erika, and Mystique were emerging, water sluicing off oiled skin. "He loves watching us too. Sharing us. That’s his other passion. But Lena… she’s his anchor." She stood, smoothing her sarong. "Think on it, chica. Don’t let the shadow darken your own sun."
The afternoon heat thickened, heavy and languid. Sophia retreated to the shaded gym, losing herself in the rhythmic clank of weights, the burn in her quads pushing aside the turmoil in her mind. She was spotting Jasmine on the hip thrust machine, admiring the incredible, sculpted curve of Jasmine’s ass – truly a masterpiece – when Mystique sauntered in, followed by Erika.
"Enough sweat, ladies," Mystique declared, her voice rich and commanding. She wore only a tiny gold chain around her hips and matching anklets, her dark skin gleaming. "Time for something… wetter." Her green eyes, startling against her complexion, held a predatory gleam as they landed on Jasmine.
Jasmine grinned, wiping sweat from her brow. "Pool? Or something more… slippery?"
Erika laughed, the sound like ice cracking. Her pale blonde hair was piled high, emphasizing her long neck and startling blue eyes. "Why choose?" She uncapped a bottle of coconut oil, pouring a generous amount into her palm. The scent filled the air, thick and tropical. "Bruce is napping with Camille and Ketut. Lena’s probably fused to his side." She winked at Sophia. "We have the pool house."
Sophia’s pulse quickened. This was the other side of the coin – the raw, shared pleasure, the freedom. Jasmine needed no further prompting. She shimmied out of her leggings, her incredible ass bouncing freely. "Lead the way, ice queen," she purred to Erika.
The pool house was a cool, tiled sanctuary adjacent to the main pool, featuring a large sunken hot tub currently bubbling invitingly. Mystique slid into the water first, sighing as the heat enveloped her. Jasmine followed, then Erika, who immediately poured more oil into her hands.
"Turn around, Jas," Erika commanded, her voice losing its cool edge, turning husky. Jasmine obeyed, presenting her back and the glorious swell of her ass. Erika’s slick hands descended, kneading the firm globes with strong, practiced strokes. Jasmine groaned, arching her back. "Fuck, Erika… yes…"
Sophia hesitated at the edge, watching. Mystique watched her watching, a slow smile spreading on her lips. "Join us, Sophia," she invited, her voice low. "Or just enjoy the view. Bruce does."
Sophia slipped into the water, the heat a balm to her lingering soreness. She leaned back against the tiled wall, the scene unfolding before her both mesmerizing and instructional. Erika’s oiled hands slid lower, dipping between Jasmine’s thighs from behind, her fingers finding the slick heat hidden there. Jasmine gasped, spreading her legs wider against the tub’s edge.
"Someone’s eager," Mystique murmured. She moved through the water, sleek as a seal, positioning herself in front of Jasmine. Her hands cupped Jasmine’s face, pulling her into a deep, probing kiss. Jasmine moaned into Mystique’s mouth as Erika’s fingers plunged deep inside her pussy.
Sophia’s breath hitched. The sounds were obscene – wet sucking from the kiss, the slick squelch of Erika’s fingers pistoning into Jasmine’s cunt, Jasmine’s muffled cries of pleasure. Erika’s other hand snaked around, her thumb finding Jasmine’s clit, rubbing tight, furious circles.
"Fuck! Erika! Right there!" Jasmine tore her mouth from Mystique’s, throwing her head back. Mystique’s lips trailed down Jasmine’s neck, sucking a dark mark onto the golden skin. Her hands slid down, cupping Jasmine’s heavy breasts, pinching the dark nipples hard.
"Such a greedy cunt," Erika growled, her fingers curling, scraping Jasmine’s G-spot. "Always so fucking wet for attention." She increased the pace, her fingers fucking Jasmine hard and fast, her thumb a relentless pressure on the swollen clit. Jasmine’s thighs trembled, her body bowing.
Mystique lowered herself in the water, her head disappearing between Jasmine’s legs. Sophia saw her dark braids fan out in the water as Mystique’s tongue replaced Erika’s thumb on Jasmine’s clit. Jasmine screamed, a raw, ragged sound. "Oh GOD! Mystique! Suck it! Suck my fucking clit!"
Erika kept her fingers buried deep, pumping steadily now, providing a counterpoint to Mystique’s furious sucking. Jasmine’s body locked, every muscle straining. Her cries became incoherent shrieks as the orgasm tore through her, violent and consuming. Her pussy clenched viscously around Erika’s fingers, her juices clouding the water around Mystique’s face.
Mystique surfaced, water streaming down her face, Jasmine’s essence glistening on her lips and chin. She grinned, feral and satisfied. "Tastes like victory," she purred, licking her lips.
Erika slowly withdrew her glistening fingers, holding them up. Jasmine’s slick coated them. She brought them to her own mouth, sucking them clean with a low moan. "Fucking delicious."
Jasmine slumped forward, panting, her body still shuddering with aftershocks. Mystique turned her predatory gaze on Sophia. "Your turn, firecracker? Or are you just here to watch?"
Sophia’s core clenched, a fresh wave of heat flooding her. The jealousy, the uncertainty momentarily drowned in the raw spectacle of shared pleasure. She met Mystique’s challenging gaze. "Maybe… maybe I watch for now." Her voice was husky.
Mystique’s smile widened. "Bruce’s favorite pastime." She moved towards Sophia, her body cutting through the water. "But watching gets boring… eventually." Her hand, slick from the water and Jasmine’s release, slid up Sophia’s inner thigh beneath the surface. Sophia gasped, her legs instinctively parting. Mystique’s fingers brushed her swollen lips. "So wet already," she murmured. "Just from watching Jas get her brains fucked out."
Sophia couldn’t deny it. The ache between her legs was fierce, primal. Mystique’s finger dipped lower, tracing Sophia’s entrance, gathering her wetness. She brought her fingertip to Sophia’s lips. "Taste," she commanded.
Sophia hesitated, then opened her mouth. Mystique slid her finger in. Sophia tasted herself – musky, sweet, tinged with chlorine. It was shockingly intimate. Mystique watched her, green eyes blazing. "Good girl."
Erika, recovered, slid behind Sophia, her cool, pale hands sliding over Sophia’s shoulders, down to cup her small, perky breasts. Jasmine watched, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face, her hand idly stroking her own slick thigh. Sophia was surrounded, enveloped. The complex knot of jealousy towards Lena momentarily loosened, replaced by the immediate, overwhelming sensation of being desired, touched, part of this intricate, carnal tapestry.
Later, as the sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sky in violent streaks of orange and purple, Sophia stood on the balcony outside her room. The laughter from the pool house had faded. Below, she saw Bruce walking slowly along the garden path, Lena’s hand clasped firmly in his. They weren’t speaking. Just walking. Together.
Ketut’s words echoed: Talk to him. Before the watching turns into poison.
Sophia took a deep breath, the scent of frangipani and damp earth filling her lungs. The memory of Mystique’s finger in her mouth, Erika’s hands on her breasts, Jasmine’s ecstatic cries… it warred with the image of Bruce and Lena’s silent communion. She needed to understand her place in this storm. She needed to hear it from him.
She turned from the balcony, the decision settling like a stone in her stomach. She would find Bruce. Alone. Tonight.
The low hum of the Balinese night pressed against the villa’s massive windows, thick with the scent of jasmine and damp earth. Sophia hovered outside Bruce's study door, her knuckles hovering inches from the dark teak. Light spilled from beneath it, a warm, inviting rectangle in the shadowed hallway. Inside, she could picture him: sprawled in the deep leather chair, tablet abandoned, swirling hazel eyes reflecting the soft glow of a single lamp. Probably alone. Lena rarely invaded this sanctuary.
Just knock. The memory of Bruce buried deep in her virgin ass weeks ago warred with the image of Lena melting into his side on the divan. The residual ache, a phantom echo, tightened low in her belly. Ketut’s words echoed: Don’t harbor it. Talk to him. Mystique did. She saw the stunning model’s imagined vulnerability, her own sharp pang mirrored. Taking a shuddering breath that tasted of frangipani and fear, she rapped lightly.
“Come.” His voice, low and resonant, cut through the wood.
She pushed the heavy door open. The study was a cavern of masculine comfort – floor-to-ceiling shelves groaning with books, deep leather sofas, a massive desk littered with sleek electronics. Bruce looked up from where he sat, not at the desk, but in a worn armchair near the window, a tumbler of amber liquid in hand. His eyes, catching the light, swirled with deep blue and flecks of gold. No Lena. Relief warred with anxiety.
“Sophia?” He set the glass down on a low table, his gaze sharpening, instantly attuned to her tension. He didn’t rise, but his posture shifted, open. “Everything alright, baby?”
The endearment, usually a balm, felt sharp. She stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, leather, and him – sandalwood and salt. “I… needed to talk. If you’re not busy?” Her voice sounded small, brittle.
“Never too busy for you.” He gestured to the matching armchair opposite him. “Sit. Tell me what’s on that fierce mind.”
She sank into the supple leather, its coolness a shock against her tense thighs. The view through the window was a black velvet tapestry pierced by distant villa lights. How to start? The image of Lena nestled against him, utterly at home, flashed again. “It’s… Lena.” The name felt heavy on her tongue.
Bruce’s expression didn’t shift, but the gold in his eyes seemed to intensify. He waited, patient, giving her space. His silence was an invitation, not a pressure.
“I watch you two,” she began, twisting her hands in her lap, staring at the intricate pattern of the Balinese rug. “All the time. You’re… fused. She’s always there. Touching. Seeking you out. And you… you expect her. Like breathing.” She lifted her gaze, meeting those impossible eyes. The words tumbled out faster, raw. “I see you with all of us. You’re incredible. Attentive. Passionate. You own us, Bruce. You claim us, fiercely.” Her voice hitched, remembering the brutal claiming of her ass, the overwhelming fullness. “But with her… it’s different. Deeper. Like a root system tangled so tight nothing can pull it apart.” She swallowed hard, the ache in her chest threatening to choke her. “I feel… outside. Watching a private world I can’t enter. Like I’ll never be… that.”
Silence settled, thick and fragile. Bruce leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving hers. The blue had receded, leaving molten gold predominant. He sighed, a long, slow exhalation. “Ketut spoke to you. About Mystique.”
Sophia nodded, a tight jerk of her chin. “She said Mystique felt it too. That she talked to you.”
“She did.” Bruce’s voice was quiet, gravelly with sincerity. “It wasn’t easy for her. Pride’s a hard shell to crack when you feel like you’re measuring short.” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Lena… Lena walked into a different fire, Sophia. She found Camille and me when things were… complex. Raw in ways I won’t burden you with. She stood in the flames with us. Held pieces together that felt like they were shattering.” His gaze softened, holding hers with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “That shared crucible… it welds something. It doesn’t diminish what I have with Camille, what I’m building with you, Ketut, Jasmine, Erika, Mystique. Not one fucking bit.”
He reached across the space between them, his large, calloused hand enveloping hers where they lay clenched in her lap. His touch was warm, grounding. “What you see with Lena is history written on our bones. It’s comfort carved from chaos. It’s… primal.” He squeezed her hand gently. “But Sophia… look at me.” She did, tears blurring her vision. “What I feel for you? It’s a wildfire. It’s the thrill of discovering untouched territory. Your strength, your fire in the gym, the way you surrendered that virgin ass to me…” His thumb traced circles on her knuckles, the memory of his possession thick in the air. “That hunger in you, that need to push limits? It ignites me. Owns me just as completely, just in a different fucking way.”
He leaned closer, his scent enveloping her. “You’re not outside. You’re in. Deep in. Your place isn’t next to Lena’s shadow. Your place is carved right there, in the heat of my desire.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes, fierce. “When I watch Jasmine’s incredible ass sway, when Mystique commands a room, when Erika’s ice melts into heat, when Ketut finds that fearless place… when you push your body through another punishing set or scream my name taking my cock… it’s a symphony. And Lena? She’s the deep, steady bass note that holds it all together. Essential. But not the entire fucking song.”
A tear escaped, tracing a warm path down Sophia’s cheek. The knot in her chest loosened, not dissolving entirely, but shifting. He saw her. He named her fire. He claimed her place. “I just… I want to matter like that,” she whispered, the vulnerability stark.
Bruce released her hand and stood. In two strides, he was before her. He didn’t pull her up; he simply sank to his knees on the rich rug, bringing their eyes level. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing away the tears. “You do matter, Sophia. Every single fucking inch of you. Your sweat, your strength, your surrender, your fire… it’s branded on me.” His gaze held hers, swirling green-blue-gold, utterly captivating. “You’re not Lena. You’re Sophia. And I crave Sophia with a fucking hunger that scares me sometimes.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “Understand? Your shadow isn’t supposed to match hers. Yours burns fucking brighter in a different light.”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. The intimacy of it, him kneeling before her, shattered the last shards of her reserve. A sob escaped her, raw and relieved. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her forward off the chair until she was kneeling too, her face buried in the solid warmth of his chest, her arms clinging to his broad back. The scent of sandalwood and salt filled her lungs, anchoring her. His heartbeat was a strong, steady drum against her ear. The frantic pulse of jealousy quieted, replaced by the profound thrum of belonging. He held her as she wept, the silent jungle night pressing against the glass, a witness to the claiming of her heart.
The salt of her tears soaked into Bruce's t-shirt, her body shuddering against his solid frame as the jungle's humid breath fogged the study windowpanes. His hands, large and grounding, moved slowly up and down her spine, fingertips tracing the knobs of her vertebrae through the thin fabric of her tank top. "Shhh, mi fuego," he murmured into her hair, the vibration rumbling through her. "Breathe." The raw vulnerability of the moment hung thick, the silence after her sobs echoing louder than the distant chorus of geckos. Slowly, her trembling subsided, replaced by the heat of his body seeping into hers, the insistent thud of his heart against her ear a steady drum chasing away the ghosts of jealousy.
She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His hazel eyes, now a deep, swirling emerald sea flecked with gold in the low lamplight, held hers with unnerving intensity. Tear tracks glistened on her cheeks. Bruce’s thumb, rough and warm, swept one away, the calloused pad catching slightly on her skin. The gesture was tender, yet it sent an electric jolt straight to her core, reigniting the primal fire his words had stoked. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lower, to the strong column of his throat, the pulse visibly hammering there. The air crackled, shifting from shared pain to something hungrier, darker.
He saw the change. A flicker of heat, primal and possessive, ignited in the depths of his irises. His hand slid from her cheek to cup the back of her neck, his grip firming, pulling her towards him. There was no hesitation, no gentle question. His mouth crashed down on hers, claiming, demanding. It wasn't the soft exploration of their first kiss; it was a branding. His tongue surged past her lips, hot and insistent, tasting the salt of her tears, the faint bitterness of coffee, and beneath it all, her. Sophia moaned into him, the sound swallowed whole. Her hands, which had been clutching his back, slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, nails scraping his scalp. The kiss was a furnace, incinerating the last remnants of doubt, leaving only a desperate, aching need.
His other hand found the hem of her tank top, fingers sliding beneath the fabric to splay across the hot skin of her lower back. The touch was electric, possessive. He pulled her flush against him, and she gasped as she felt the hard ridge of his erection pressing insistently against her belly, even through his sweatpants. His hips ground forward, a slow, deliberate roll that forced a ragged cry from her lips, breaking the kiss. "Bruce..." she panted, her voice thick with lust, her eyes wide and dark.
"Need to feel you, Sophia," he growled, the sound low and guttural, resonating in his chest. His hand at her neck tightened, tilting her head back, exposing her throat. His mouth descended, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue laving the spot before he sucked hard. A bolt of pure sensation shot through her, making her knees buckle. He held her up easily, his strength absolute. His free hand yanked her tank top up and over her head in one swift motion, the fabric discarded somewhere on the rug. Her small breasts, freed from the sports bra she wore beneath, were instantly captured by his gaze, then his hands. He palmed them roughly, thumbs circling her stiffening nipples with deliberate pressure, pinching and rolling the hardened peaks until she writhed against him, whimpers escaping with each breath.
"Fuck, these perfect little tits," he breathed, bending to take one taut nipple into his mouth. His tongue lashed it, hot and wet, before he sucked hard, pulling the peak deep. Sophia arched against him, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same rough attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating through her. His hand slid down her toned stomach, past the waistband of her leggings and underwear, plunging downwards with ruthless intent.
His fingers met slick heat. Sophia cried out, her hips jerking forward against his invading hand. "Jesus, you're fucking soaked," he groaned against her breast, his voice muffled by her flesh. He found her clit, swollen and throbbing, and circled it hard with two fingers. "Dripping for me already? Just from talking? From crying?" His fingers plunged deep into her pussy without warning, curling upwards. "Fuck, you’re tight. Clenching my fingers like a greedy little fist." He pumped them in and out, a harsh, demanding rhythm, scissoring them to stretch her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit with each thrust. Sophia’s legs trembled violently; she clung to him, keening, her head thrown back, lost in the brutal assault on her senses.
"Yes! God, Bruce! Right there! Fuck!" Her words were gasps, punctuated by the slick, obscene sound of his fingers pistoning into her sodden cunt. He added a third finger, stretching her wider, the burn exquisite. Her orgasm coiled tight, a spring compressed to its limit. "Oh god... oh fuck... I'm gonna..." Her voice dissolved into a high-pitched whine.
"Not yet," he commanded, abruptly withdrawing his fingers. Sophia whimpered in protest, her body shuddering with denied release. Bruce grabbed her hips and spun her around, bending her forward over the sturdy arm of the leather armchair. Her palms slapped against the cool leather as he yanked her leggings and underwear down to her knees in one rough pull, exposing her bare ass and dripping pussy to the cool air of the study and his heated gaze. The position was vulnerable, degrading, and it made her cunt pulse.
She felt the broad head of his cock, already slick with pre-cum and her own wetness, nudge against her soaked entrance. He didn't tease. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and slammed forward, burying his thick length to the hilt in one powerful thrust.
"FUCK!" Sophia screamed, the sound raw and tearing. The sudden, brutal fullness stole her breath. He was huge, stretching her pussy walls wide, filling her impossibly deep. The ache from her ass weeks ago was a distant memory compared to this immediate, consuming pressure. He didn't pause, didn't let her adjust. He pulled back almost completely, the drag of his veined shaft against her sensitized inner walls agonizingly intense, then hammered back in. Thud. His pelvis met her ass cheeks. Again. Thud. Her hands scrambled for purchase on the leather. Thud. The chair creaked in protest with each brutal drive.
"Take it, Sophia!" he snarled, his voice rough with exertion, his hips a piston driving into her yielding flesh. "Take every fucking inch! This wet cunt’s mine! Feels that? Feel my cock splitting you open?" His pace was relentless, punishing, each thrust forcing choked gasps and ragged cries from her throat. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her arched back. One hand remained clamped on her hip, the other snaked around her front, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing hard, relentless circles.
The dual assault was overwhelming. The deep, brutal pounding of his cock stretching her pussy, the sharp, insistent friction on her clit – it was too much, too intense. Her vision blurred. Pleasure, sharp and searing, warred with the overwhelming sensation of being utterly ravaged. "Bruce! Please! Harder! Fuck me harder!" she begged, the words torn from her, her body pushing back against his thrusts, meeting him stroke for stroke. She wanted to be broken by it, consumed.
He growled, a feral sound, and obliged. His thrusts became jackhammer-fast, slamming into her with bruising force, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room, mingling with her sharp cries and his guttural grunts. His fingers worked her clit furiously, matching the savage rhythm of his hips. "That's it! Fucking take it! Milk my cock with that tight little pussy!" The coil inside her snapped. Her orgasm detonated, a supernova erupting from her core. Her pussy clamped down on his invading cock in brutal, rhythmic spasms, milking him desperately. She screamed, a raw, wordless sound of pure, shattering release, her body convulsing against the armchair.
Feeling her tight channel convulse around him triggered his own climax. Bruce roared, a sound of pure animal triumph, driving into her one last, impossibly deep time, burying himself to the root as hot jets of cum erupted from his cock, flooding her depths, pumping pulse after thick, scalding pulse deep into her womb. He held himself there, grinding against her ass, his body rigid, emptying himself completely inside her. Sophia whimpered, feeling the hot flood, the sheer violation of his seed claiming her insides, her own body still shuddering with the aftershocks of her climax.
Slowly, his grip on her hip loosened. He withdrew slowly, his softening cock dragging wetly out of her well-used pussy. Thick streaks of their combined release dripped onto her inner thighs and the leather chair arm. Sophia slumped forward, boneless, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her face pressed against the cool leather. She felt raw, claimed, utterly spent. Bruce’s large hand, surprisingly gentle now, smoothed over the curve of her ass, then up her sweat-slicked spine.
She turned her head to look at him, her eyes glazed, her body humming with spent sensation. A shaky laugh escaped her lips, disbelief warring with profound satisfaction. "They weren’t kidding about you," she breathed, her voice hoarse. She shifted, wincing slightly at the deep ache between her legs, turning fully to face him. "You really would do anything for us?" Her gaze searched his face, needing the confirmation beyond the physical claim.
Bruce looked at her seriously, his hazel eyes, now a calmer, deeper blue holding flecks of gold, locked onto hers. His thumb brushed a stray strand of damp hair from her forehead. The intensity in his gaze was absolute, unwavering. "Anything," he stated, the word a low rumble, heavy with conviction. He leaned close, his breath warm on her face. "Don’t ever doubt it."