Page 23 of Monk

“You’re mine,” I growled against her skin, my teeth grazing the sensitive peak. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “I’m yours, John.”

“Fucking right you are.”

I pulled out suddenly, ignoring her whimper of protest, and flipped her over onto her stomach. She gasped, her hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets as I grabbed her hips and yanked her up onto her knees.

“John.”

I didn’t give her time to finish. I drove back into her from behind, the new angle letting me go even deeper, and she screamed, her fingers twisting in the sheets.

“Fuck, yes.”

I fucked her hard and fast, my hands gripping her ass, spreading her open so I could watch my cock disappear into her pussy over and over again. The sight was obscene, filthy, perfect.

“Look at you,” I rasped, my voice thick with lust. “Taking my cock so fucking well. Such a good girl for me.”

She moaned, her hips pushing back to meet my thrusts, and I could feel her getting close, her body tightening, her breathing turning ragged.

“Yes, John, please.”

I thrust into her one last time, burying myself as deep as I could go, and came hard, my release flooding her, marking her, claiming her in the most primal way possible. “Mine,” I growled, as my arms wrapped around her and held her against me while we both trembled. “All fucking mine.”

She collapsed forward, and I went with her, rolling us onto our sides, my cock still buried inside her, my arms locked around her waist.

We lay there, breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat, the room smelling like sex and us.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost fragile.

I pressed my lips to her shoulder, tasting salt and skin.

“I love you too,” I said, the words rough but true. “More than anything.”

She turned her head, her eyes finding mine, and I saw it. The trust, the vulnerability, the absolute certainty that I would never hurt her.

And I believed it, too.

I believed we had time. That we had a future.

That nothing could tear us apart.

I was wrong.

My phone rang and ripped me out of the memory.

I blinked as the present came crashing back around me. The apartment was dark now. The window sat empty—no light, no movement, no life. Just another ghost.

I pulled out my phone, my hand unsteady enough to piss me off.

James Roberts.

No surprise there.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the answer button. If I picked up, he’d ask questions, want updates, demand intel I either didn’t have or couldn’t give. And I’d have to lie.

Again. Same as always.

The phone kept ringing.