Chapter 17: Wrestling for Control
The certainty lasted three days. It lingered in the pleasant ache between her legs, in the way Rhett’s hand found the small of her back when he passed her in the kitchen. It lived in the silence that wasn’t empty anymore, but full of unspoken things. She’d called out of work. Her phone, set to silent, glowed intermittently with ignored pleas from Chloe. The world beyond the garage was a muted, unimportant thing.
On the fourth morning, she was squinting at a motorcycle carburetor, her fingers smeared with grease. Rhett had put it in front of her with a muttered, “Clean it.” It was methodical work. Satisfying. The grime had a defined enemy: solvent, rag, pressure. Her own mind felt similarly scrubbed.
Jace’s arrival was a thrown rock into still water. The garage door rattled up, sunlight streaking across the floor. He carried the smell of outside, of exhaust and cheap diner coffee. He took one look at her, hunched over the workbench, and let out a low whistle.
“Well, look at you. Playing house.”
She didn’t look up. “It’s called contributing, you parasite.”
“Ouch.” He grinned, snatching the rag from her hand. “But contributing to what, exactly? His motorcycle empire? Or just his personal fantasy of domesticating a feral cat?”
The words landed, sharp and hot. She grabbed for the rag. “Fuck off, Jace.”
“He’s at the parts store.” Jace leaned close, his voice dropping. The playful glint was gone, replaced by something assessing, almost cold. “Gives us a minute. You’re looking… comfortable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve stopped fighting.” He traced a clean line through the grease on her forearm. “A week ago, you’d have thrown a wrench at my head for that comment. Now you just pout. It’s boring.”
Anger, that old friend, sparked in her chest. “I’m not fighting because there’s nothing to fight. I’m where I want to be.”
“Are you?” He kicked a stool over, sat facing her. “Or did you just get tired? Found a pretty cage and decided to curl up in it.” He lit a cigarette, the smoke a blue-gray plume. “He’ll ruin you, Sadie. Not on purpose. He’ll just love you so quiet and so deep that you’ll forget how to make your own noise. And one day, you’ll look in the mirror and you won’t recognize the tame, happy thing staring back.”
Her throat tightened. It was her deepest fear, given voice. The fear that this peace was just a different kind of annihilation. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know him.” Jace’s gaze was unnervingly direct. “I know he loves you like a wildfire loves a forest. Consumes it. Changes its shape forever. That’s not a criticism. It’s a fucking fact.” He stood, crushing the cigarette under his heel. “Just make sure there’s something left of you when the burning stops.”
He left her there, the cleaned carburetor glinting, her hands trembling. The garage felt different. The tools were just tools. The silence was just silence. Her peace felt fragile, borrowed.
When Rhett returned, she was staring at the wall. He set a heavy box of parts down with a thump. His eyes scanned her face, reading the disturbance there. He didn’t ask. He never asked. He walked to her, cupped her face. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones.
“Jace was here,” she said, the statement brittle.
“I know.” His voice was flat. “His truck’s gone. What did he say?”
“Nothing. Just being an asshole.”
Rhett’s jaw tightened. A muscle flickered. He saw through the lie, but he didn’t press. Instead, his hand slid down her neck, over her shoulder, possessive and calming. “He’s jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Of this.” Rhett’s other arm banded around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His erection was already firm against her stomach through his jeans. “Of me having what he can only play with.” He backed her into the workbench, the edge biting into her thighs. “He wants to stir you up because he likes the chaos. I like the quiet you.” He kissed her, hard. “My quiet girl.”
But she wasn’t quiet. Jace’s words were a siren in her head. Tame, happy thing. She broke the kiss, her hands pushing at his chest. It was half-hearted, a reflex.
Rhett went still. His eyes, dark and focused, held hers. “No?”
She swallowed. “I just… I need…”
“You need to remember you have teeth.” He understood instantly, perfectly. A fierce light ignited in his gaze. “Good.”
He spun her around to face the bench, her hips pinned against it. He yanked her leggings and underwear down to her knees in one rough pull. The cool air hit her skin. He unzipped his jeans, freed himself, and spat into his palm. He slicked his cock, the sound crude and loud.
“You want to fight?” he growled, his body caging hers. “Fight this.”
He didn’t guide himself in. He just shoved, a brutal, uncompromising thrust that buried him to the hilt in one stroke. She cried out, her fingers scrambling against the metal bench as he stretched her, filled her achingly full. There was no gentle stretch, no teasing. It was a claiming, blunt and direct.
“Is this what you wanted?” he demanded, pulling back and slamming home again. Each drive jolted her forward. “You want to feel conquered? Reminded?” His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back. “This cunt is mine. It drips for me. It clenches for me. Tell me.”
“It’s yours,” she gasped, the defiance melting into a raw, shocking burst of pleasure-pain.
“It takes my cock like it was made for it.” He set a relentless, pounding rhythm. “Does Jace get this? Does anyone else get to feel you choke on their dick like this?” He was fucking her with a focused, brutal intensity, every thrust a punctuation to his words. The bench shuddered with their impact.
“No!” The word was torn from her.
“No, what?”
“No one else! Just you, Rhett, fuck, just you—”
His hand left her hair and snaked around her hip, his fingers finding her clit. He pressed hard, circling the swollen bud in time with his thrusts. The dual assault was overwhelming. Her orgasm coiled, tight and furious, fed by the friction and the filthy, possessive words in her ear.
“Come,” he ordered, his voice ragged. “Squeeze my fucking cock and come. Show me who you belong to even when you’re doubting it.”
She shattered. Her vision whited out as her body convulsed, her inner muscles milking him in frantic pulses. She screamed into the void of the garage, the sound raw and unpretty. He followed her over the edge, a final, deep lunge as he emptied himself inside her with a guttural groan, his teeth sinking into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
They collapsed together over the bench, both panting, slick with sweat. He was still inside her, his weight a solid, anchoring presence. He nuzzled the bite mark he’d left. “You have your noise,” he murmured, his breath hot on her skin. “It’s mine, too. All of it. The doubt, the fight, the come. It’s all for me.”
He helped her stand, her legs wobbly, and pulled her clothing back up with a surprising tenderness. He turned her to face him. His expression was stark, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen. “I don’t want a tame thing. I want you. The chaos is part of the deal.”
Outside, a truck door slammed. Jace was back. Rhett didn’t take his eyes off her. He raised his voice, clear and cutting. “She’s not a cage, Jace. She’s a kingdom. And you’re just passing through the gates.”
Silence from the doorway. Then, the sound of Jace’s retreating footsteps. Rhett wiped a smudge of grease from her chin. “Now,” he said, his voice returning to its normal, low cadence. “Finish the carburetor.”