Chapter ten
Lilly Rose
We don't speak on the walk back to his quarters.
Not a word. Just tension thick enough to choke on.
His hand is on the small of my back, guiding me like I'm something he owns. The base is quiet, lights low, but my heart is hammering louder than my boots on concrete. I've seen Simon Riley in every form—bloodied, barking orders, silent and shattered—but this?
This version of him is dangerous.
Focused. Unleashed.
The door barely clicks shut before he turns on me. His mouth is on mine—hungry, heated, demanding. My back hits the wall again, but this time his hands are on my hips, pulling me flush against him. His body is all muscle and precision, hard in every place that matters. He kisses like he's trying to memorize me—like the taste of my skin is the only thing keeping him from breaking.
"You've been in my head since the first damn day," he growls against my throat. "I tried to push it down, tried to stay cold—but you don't let me."
I gasp as his lips trail lower, over my jaw, down my neck, like he's mapping me vein by vein. My hands slide under his shirt, and he lets me pull it over his head, revealing the scars I've only seen in glimpses. I run my fingers along one across his ribs. He flinches—but doesn't stop me.
"This one?" I ask.
"Bullet. Two years ago. Didn't hurt half as much as being near you does."
I suck in a breath, and then his mouth is back on mine, his hands tugging at my shirt until it joins his on the floor. Every touch is like fire—hot, desperate, unrelenting. He lifts me easily, carrying me to the bed like I weigh nothing, laying me down with a gentleness that contradicts the storm in his eyes.
"Tell me to stop," he whispers, hovering over me. "And I will."
"Don't you dare," I breathe, wrapping my legs around his hips.
What happens next isn't soft.
It's raw. It's real.
His mouth finds every place that aches for him. His hands explore like he's claiming me, and I let him—because he already has. We move in sync, like we've always belonged in this rhythm. Every breath, every moan, every whispered name becomes a language only we speak.
By the time it's over, my body hums with satisfaction and something more dangerous: need. Because one taste of Simon Riley will never be enough.
He doesn't pull away.
Instead, he gathers me against him, forehead resting against mine, our hearts still racing in tandem.
"You're not a weakness, Lilly," he murmurs. "You're the only thing keeping me from falling apart."
I close my eyes and press my lips to his chest.
And for the first time, I think I believe him.