The ladder is endless, a vertical tunnel of rust and humming metal, and Sera’s arms are beginning to burn. Her breath echoes back at her, too loud in the narrow dark. Then his hand closes around her ankle.
Not a grip. A claim. His fingers lock above her boot, a silent, undeniable command to halt. He pulls.
He doesn’t guide her to a platform. He drags her down into him, her back slamming against his chest, pinning her between his body and the vibrating wall of the conduit. The heat is stifling, a wet press of recycled air and their own shared breath. The world shrinks to the cage of his arms, the hard line of him against her spine, the frantic drum of his heart through two layers of regulation fabric.
His mouth finds the side of her neck. Not a kiss. A bite. Teeth against her pulse point, a sharp, grounding pain. She gasps, her head falling back against his shoulder. His other hand slides from her waist up her ribs, palm flat, possessive, stopping just beneath her breast. He’s shaking. Or she is. The bond between them isn’t a thread anymore—it’s a live wire, humming in the dark, pulling taut.
He turns her in his arms. There’s no space. Her front is against his, her thighs bracketing one of his legs. She can feel him, hard and urgent against her stomach. His breath is ragged on her face.
His mouth crashes into hers. It’s a clash, desperate, all teeth and shared air and the salt taste of fear-sweat. There is no asking. No permission. This is the anchor. The only solid thing in the rushing terror of their escape. She kisses him back just as hard, her fingers digging into the short, rough hair at the nape of his neck.
His hands are on her hips, grinding her against the rigid line of his erection. The coarse fabric of his uniform trousers, the thin grey jumpsuit she wears—it’s all too much and not enough. A low, broken sound tears from his throat and gets lost in her mouth.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead pressed to hers. Their panting breaths mix in the scant inches between them. In the faint light from a grate far below, she sees his eyes—storm-grey, wide, stripped of every enforcer’s calm. Just need. Just her.
His hand slides between them, fumbling with the fastening of her jumpsuit. The zipper gives with a harsh, metallic rip. Cool air hits her skin, then the scorching heat of his palm on her bare stomach. He pushes the fabric down her shoulders, baring her to the waist in the trembling dark.
He looks. His gaze is a physical touch, hotter than his hands. Then he bends his head, his mouth closing over her nipple. The shock of it—wet, hot, relentless—makes her cry out, the sound swallowed by the conduit’s hum. He sucks, hard, his tongue circling, and her knees buckle. He holds her up, his arm a steel band around her back.
His other hand moves lower, over her belly, past the waistband of her underwear. He doesn’t push inside. He presses the heel of his hand hard against her, right where she aches. The pressure is perfect, brutal, and she grinds against him, a silent plea. She’s soaked through the fabric. He groans, the vibration traveling from his mouth on her breast straight down her spine.
“Mine,” he rasps against her skin, the word raw, torn from some deep, ungoverned place. It isn’t a question. It’s the only truth left in the world.
“Say it,” he rasps against the skin of her breast, his mouth wet from her.
His hand is still pressed hard between her legs, the heel of his palm a steady, maddening pressure. She’s grinding against it, her hips moving in small, desperate circles she can’t stop. The word he wants is there, a truth the bond is screaming into her blood. But her throat locks. A lifetime of silence is a cage.
He lifts his head. In the gloom, his storm-grey eyes are black, pupils swallowing the scant light. He doesn’t repeat the command. He shifts his hand, his fingers hooking into the soaked fabric of her underwear. He pulls, not tearing, just applying a relentless, downward tension. The material bites into her skin. A promise. A threat.
“Say it.”
It comes out as a choked gasp, not a voice. “Yours.”
The sound of it—raw, admitted—unlocks something in him. A shudder runs through the arm banded around her back. He releases the fabric, but his hand doesn’t leave. He pushes her underwear down her thighs, just enough. Cool air hits her wet skin, and she flinches. His fingers find her, not an exploration, a confirmation. He slides through her slickness, groaning, his forehead dropping back to her shoulder.
“Again.”
“Yours,” she whispers, the word firmer now, and she arches into his touch. His finger circles her clit, once, twice, a rough, perfect friction that makes her cry out. He swallows the sound with his mouth, kissing her deep and dirty, his tongue claiming the same rhythm.
He fumbles with his own trousers, the click of his belt loud in the humming dark. He frees himself, and the hot, hard length of him presses against her inner thigh. He’s leaking, the moisture smearing on her skin. He positions himself, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. He stops. Holds there. His whole body is trembling with the effort.
His breath is ragged in her ear. “Look at me.”
She forces her eyes open. His face is sheened in sweat, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps. The enforcer is gone. What’s left is pure, starving need. He searches her face, for doubt, for fear, for a reason to stop. She gives him none. She wraps her hand around the back of his neck and pulls his mouth to hers.
It’s the permission he needed. He pushes inside.
The stretch is exquisite, a fullness that steals the air from her lungs. He goes slow, a torturous, inch-by-inch conquest, his eyes locked on hers. When he’s fully seated, he goes still, buried to the hilt. A broken sound escapes him. His arms tighten around her, lifting her slightly, taking her full weight against the vibrating wall. The bond isn’t humming now. It’s a silent, resonant roar.
He moves.
A slow, deliberate withdrawal that makes her gasp, her inner muscles clenching around the sudden emptiness. Then he pushes back in, deeper, a claiming stroke that steals the air from her lungs. His rhythm is a brutal, measured possession—each thrust a deep, grinding anchor in the dark. The vibrating wall thrums against her back, a counterpoint to the slap of their bodies, the wet, obscene sound of him moving inside her.
His eyes never leave hers. Storm-grey, locked on, drinking in every flinch, every shudder. Sweat drips from his jaw onto her collarbone. His arms, corded with the strain of holding her weight, tremble. He doesn’t speak. The only sounds are their ragged breathing and the conduit’s endless hum.
She digs her fingers into the hard muscle of his shoulders, her legs tightening around his hips. Each deep stroke hits a place that makes her vision blur. The bond isn’t a thread or a wire anymore—it’s a fused circuit, white-hot, singing with every shared sensation. The ache of her burning arms, the scorching heat of his skin, the overwhelming fullness. It’s all one feeling. Him.
He shifts his angle, just slightly, and the next thrust punches a broken cry from her throat. A sound she doesn’t recognize. His mouth crashes onto hers, swallowing it, his tongue tangling with hers in a wet, desperate mimicry of what his body is doing below.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. His rhythm falters, grows ragged, less controlled. His hips piston faster, harder, driving her back against the metal with each impact. A low, guttural groan vibrates through his chest and into hers. “Sera.”
It’s her name, but it’s a plea. A confession. The last vestige of his control, shattered.
Her own climax builds, a terrifying wave gathering deep in her belly, pulling tighter with every deep, claiming stroke. She can feel his own end approaching in the frantic jump of his pulse under her hands, in the way his breaths become sharp, ragged gasps against her neck.
“Look at me,” he rasps, the command raw.
She forces her eyes open. His face is a mask of agonized pleasure, his teeth bared, every muscle in his neck standing out in stark relief. He’s holding back, waiting for her.
The wave breaks. It tears through her in a silent, shattering convulsion, her body seizing around him, her mouth open in a soundless scream. The bond roars, a silent detonation that whites out every other sense.
It triggers his. With a shattered groan, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his whole body locking as he empties himself inside her in hot, pulsing waves. The tremors wrack him, a violent surrender that goes on and on, until he sags against her, his weight pinning her fully to the wall, his face buried in the sweat-damp hollow of her neck.
For a long moment, there is only the hum of the conduit and the thunder of two hearts hammering against each other. The heat between them is a slick, shared mess. He doesn’t pull out.