~KÖNIG~
The air was heavy with the intoxicating scent of her and sunlight.
He lay in the narrow bed, consumed by the woman who slept next to him, her skin searing into his own like coals.
She used to smell like sweet flowers and fruits.
But now it was replaced by the unmistakable aroma of him.
It was a scent that clung to her skin, an invisible thread weaving them together.
Every time he smelt it, he knew she belonged to him.
He hadn't expected it.
The feeling of harrowing need so deep it drove you fucking insane.
But from the first day she arrived, she had him ensnared.
She'd walked through that door, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.
A small, deadly force with a halo of brown curls that framed her head like a crown.
Her sun-kissed skin was dotted with dark freckles that he desperately wanted to taste.
To sink his teeth into and cover with marks.
But it was her eyes, deep pools of chocolate that seemed to melt with every gaze that had trapped him.
The memory of that wicked wink, her plump lips curling in mischief, echoed in his mind like a haunting melody.
He couldn't get it out of his head.
He couldn't get her out of his head.
He had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Mouse.
It tore at him, begging him to do something, his cock hard every time she looked his way.
But it was his mind that stopped him.
His mind that told him to stay the fuck away.
And it had been right to warn him.
He knew he needed to be careful the first night.
He'd heard her cries of terror, and seen her body convulsing with pain as nightmares and memories rocked her.
He'd tried to help her, and the little fucking angel had tackled him to the ground, knife in hand.
It was the most amusing and arousing thing that had ever happened to him.
He thought he could pull it together.
He had never been so fucking wrong.
The day she flirted with Askel in the training ring proved that.
The pang of jealousy was like a knife to the gut, twisting and ripping at his muscles.
He wanted to plunge his knife into his own stomach to cut the feeling out, but he knew it wouldn't help.
So when she'd walked away from Askel and straight over to him, he made sure to keep her for as long as he could.
Watching her furious punches with a mix of arousal and possessiveness.
He revelled in the thought that she imagined him with every strike.
He needed her attention, craved it like a drug, and in a moment of madness, he'd lashed out, causing her pain.
He'd seen her bruised knuckles and never felt such self-hatred.
Behind the sea container, he'd seen here hurt, and broken, and a new emotion surged.
Fury at those who dared harm what was his.
He'd stitched her up.
He never stitched anyone up.
But he'd needed to.
She'd told him her name and smiled at him.
Ophelia, a beautiful prayer that resonated in the silent corners of his mind.
The revelation of her vulnerability intensified the knots of desire within him.
No one knew her name but him, and he never felt so powerful.
She'd left base.
He'd needed to know where she was.
He had to know.
He couldn't sit fucking still until he knew.
He'd messaged her.
She'd ignored it and all he saw was red.
She came back with him on her skin and he'd never considered killing one of his own team more.
It would be easy.
But he would scare her and he couldn't do that.
She'd seen his jealousy as they screamed at each other.
But instead of being disgusted or angry, she'd touched him.
Run her lips over his, swallowed his soul and devoured it.
Slipped her hands into his pants and burnt him from the inside out with fire.
He'd never been touched.
Never wanted someone to.
The very thought of skin touching his made him dizzy with nausea.
It was why he coated himself in so many layers, why he liked to be separate.
Until her.
She had touched him.
It was gentle and warm and even when she held a knife to him, he'd never felt safer.
She'd called him pretty, and he'd never seen such bright stars burn behind his eyes.
He'd held her under his body, giving her a chance to leave, to back out.
She didn't.
She let him ruin her body.
Her eyes widened with a desire that mirrored his own.
The realization had struck him like lightning.
She was attracted to him.
The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow on the tangled sheets, revealing the delicate outline of her figure nestled against his arm.
Her tousled curls framed her face like a dishevelled halo, and the rise and fall of her chest synchronized with the rhythm of a peaceful sleep.
She seemed to have found comfort in his arms.
As if he were safe.
The fact she felt protected by him made his chest constrict painfully.
The scent of their mingled essences hung in the air, an intimate blend of his soap and her unique fragrance.
His compulsive desires were replaced by a profound sense of satisfaction as he looked down at her.
She lay peacefully entwined with him.
The warm light painted patterns on her features, highlighting the curve of her cheek and the gentle slope of her nose.
In her vulnerability, he found an unexpected tenderness that tugged at the frayed edges of his hardened exterior.
A sense of protectiveness welled up within him as she shifted lightly, causing the sheets to slip off her chest, revealing the small plump outline of her breast.
Carefully, he adjusted the sheets around her, covering her back up.
His hand emerged from the tangle of sheets, moving with a reverence that spoke of both admiration and possessiveness.
Scarred fingers traced the delicate contours of her soft face, danced through the dishevelled strands of her hair, and came to rest on the side of her neck.
There, beneath the warmth of his touch, his fingertips found the textured landscape of a scar and the ink of her tattoo.
His gaze lingered on these marks, silent testaments to a past etched on her skin.
A small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips, a mixture of pride and satisfaction.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
It echoed in his mind.
The voice was a low murmur in the recesses of his thoughts.
Her eyes fluttered open with the grace of dawn, revealing a warmth that mirrored the first light of day.
Those warm brown eyes filled him with need.
A gentle smile graced her lips, a soft expression that held both happiness and recognition.
His heart stopped as he saw the expression pointed at him.
For him.
"You stayed," she uttered, her voice musical in the hushed morning air.
Her happiness spilled over, a tangible energy that wrapped around them like a comforting embrace.
He returned her smile, a subtle curve of his lips that held a hint of tenderness.
His gaze lingered on her, absorbing the radiant glow of her joy.
Yet, beneath the surface of his calm exterior, a storm of emotions raged—a furious pain and delight, entwined like vines around his heart.
Her pupils dilated at the sight of him, a subtle yet undeniable response.
She wanted him just as badly.
She shifted closer, her head nestled onto his arm, a tender gesture that sent a shiver down his spine.
The soft weight of her pressed against him, and he could feel the electricity of her proximity.
A sigh escaped her lips, a sound that carried a mixture of satisfaction and vulnerability.
Her hands found their way to his chest, fingers tracing the contours of his scars as if mapping them out.
His eyes fluttered closed in response.
"I'm really sore," she confessed, her voice a gentle murmur that carried the residue of sex.
As she buried her head in his arm, seeking comfort, he felt a complex surge of emotions.
Protectiveness, desire, shame and a profound tenderness.
His hand instinctively found its way to her back, fingers tracing soothing patterns.
"Sorry," he whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of her skin in a gesture both apologetic and tender.
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and she responded with a small, reassuring smile.
"Shut up," she murmured softly, a gentle command that hung in the air.
With a sigh, she buried her head even further into the crook of his arm.
A contented hum escaped her lips as her nose touched his skin.
"I love the way you smell." She whispered quietly her eyes closed.
His pulse quickened at her words, desire surging through him like a relentless tide.
He was hard for her in an instant.
He wanted to sink back into her and hear her scream, but she was sore and he'd never hurt her.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur that carried the weight of uncertainty.
The use of the word 'we' sent a spark of arousal through him, a flame that flickered with both desire and apprehension.
He looked down at her, a frown furrowing his brow.
The question hung in the air, laden with implications, and his mind raced with conflicting thoughts.
It sounded bad.
It was bad.
Did she not like him?
Was there someone else?
Was she playing a game with him?
Did she not feel the way he felt?
Had he made a mistake?
Touched her the wrong way?
Scared her off?
His internal turmoil halted abruptly as he felt the delicate touch of her lips on his arm.
For a brief instant, his mind went blank as her lips brushed against his skin.
"No one can know," she whispered against his skin, her voice a delicate murmur that carried the weight of secrecy.
Her lips gently kissed the scars that marred his arm, the feeling coiling his muscles and hardening his cock instantly.
She was right.
No one could know.
"No, they can't," he asserted, his gaze unwavering as he looked down at her.
She could get hurt because of him.
With a gentle yet possessive grip, he took hold of her wrist, his lips planting soft, lingering kisses on the delicate pulse beneath her skin.
Her eyes closed in response to the caress, a subtle surrender that told him she meant when she said she was his.
"You're still mine, Ophelia, even if they don't know," he added, his voice a low murmur that held a blend of possessiveness and vulnerability.
He pulled her arm, drawing her close to his chest, a gesture that resonated with a silent promise.
A small smile played on her lips as she nodded in agreement.
"Yes, Sir," she replied, her words laced with a touch of sarcasm.
The playfulness in her made a low moan escape him as desire surged through his veins.
Unable to resist he seized her by the back of her head, a possessive yet tender grasp.
Their lips met in a dance of desire and surrender, his lips dominating hers as he pulled her body closer.
She tasted like sweet berries and rain.
"If Askel flirts or touches you again, I'll kill him," he declared, his words a low murmur against her lips.
The intensity of the threat hung in the air, a promise laced with a simmering undercurrent of protective fury.
Her response was a small, knowing smile.
"Sure thing, Colonel," she replied, her words playful and humorous.
As if she didn't believe him.
With a subtle grace, she pressed another kiss to his lips, a gesture that spoke of both compliance and defiance.
His thoughts, always moving and never going quiet, settled into a silent acknowledgment.
She was his.
And there was nowhere his Little Mouse could run where he couldn't find her.