“Fuck,” he growls, pressing into me harder, before pulling away from me to free himself.
I hear his pants drop behind me as he kicks my legs apart. Moving his hand from my neck and wrapping his fingers into my curls until my scalp screams, Liam shoves me forward, using the advantage to line up with my core and slam forward. The car jerks back, the force of his thrust rocking the shocks as he fills me to the hilt.
He groans when he’s fully seated, leaning over me so I’m crushed between him and the hood of the car with no room to move. He pulls back, then slams into me again, somehow harder than the last, I cry out as he sets a punishing pace.
The hand in my hair tugs harder, forcing my head to lean back against his shoulder. The other snakes around my throat, trailing up and up until it’s splayed across my mouth.
“Open wide, baby,” Liam demands.
My mouth falls open and his fingers hook onto my bottom teeth, pulling down until my mouth is forced open to the point of pain and my jaw pops. A tinny taste fills my mouth as Liam punches into me with the force and desperation of a battering ram.
Screams, whimpers, moans, and cries leave my throat with abandon as Liam holds my mouth open, tightening it in his death grip. A mix of blood and drool soaks his fingers and down his arm.
“Scream, Little Warrior,” he growls. “I want the world to hear it. To know that you’re mine. Let them hear you cry for me, while you make others bleed.”
With every word and grunt, ecstasy builds in my gut, demanding release. Liam picks up his pace, and the car rocks back and forth with each thrust as he punches deep inside of me.
One.
Two.
Three times.
Tears stream down my face and I choke on the silent scream as my orgasm rips through me. Shattering every skull, ripping every limb, and punching through every beating heart of the demons inside of me.
Liam’s body stiffens behind me, roaring his release, his claim loud in the empty night sky. There’s not a soul who doesn’t know now, not a single person could tear us apart again.
I am his.
And he is mine.
His pumping slows until he collapses on top of me, releasing my hair and mouth, then wrapping his arms around me.
“I fucking love you,” he whispers between heavy breaths.
Liam
Sixyearslater…
Bursting through the front door at the mansion, I make a beeline to where I know Malia is. I hate leaving her, especially after she was taken from me. I rarely leave her side unless duty calls and since our daughter was just born I have to step in when brute force is needed.
A firm hand squeezes my shoulder to stop me in my haste to get to my wife. I whirl around and narrow my eyes on my father-in-law who looks at me with a mixture of amusement and something close to pity.
Before he can say what he needs to, Chantelle steps out with my four-year-old brother-in-law bounding down the hall towards his father with a fresh black eye. I know exactly who put that there.
“Kai paint your face, buddy?” Nathaniel smirks down at his son who gifts him a deep scowl in return.
It wasn’t long after Malia was brought home that Chantelle found out she was pregnant. A year after Atlas was born, Malia and I had Kai. Our boys, the next generation of The Olin-Brenner Empire were already fierce and mean at only three and four.
Black eyes and bruises aren’t an uncommon occurrence in our fucked up family especially with our boys. Atlas is already much like his father— calm, analytical, and a vengeance streak like a viper. Kai worries me the most, my son who looks so much like his mother and grandfather. He’s impulsive like his mother, already smart at the mouth, temperamental, and natural instinct to rule and lead.
This mansion that holds so much angst, power, and heartache is ruled with children. Chantelle purses her lips and looks between her husband and me. I quirk and eyebrow and Nathaniel’s smirk grows into something bigger and brighter.
“There was a dog pile of testosterone in the gym with the boys,” Chantelle grumbles while crossing her arms across her chest and popping her hip out. “Doni Girl stood back to laugh her fucking ass off as I tried to pull them off of each other.”
“Sometimes it’s best to just let them fight it out, Little Bird,” Nathaniel says with a shrug. “I learned that with Malia and Donovan.”
The air grows cold at the memory of Donovan dying—the panic and desperation of Malia’s pain still a fresh wound.