Chapter 75

Chapter 75
Blaze

It’s been two damn days. Two days of silence. Two days of losing my mind in that white-walled hellhole, wondering if Carlo was gonna find me,

Turns out, the men dropped me off at the fucking hospital entrance this morning like I was some package they forgot to return. No words. No explanation. Just dumped me at the emergency entrance with a smug “you’ll be fine” and drove off.

I didn’t ask questions.

I didn’t care.

They had put my phone back into my pocket, I just picked up the phone and called him.

“Hey, I’m at the hospital entrance, Come get me,” I said.

“Blaze!” I heard him scream my name, then the sound of his keys, a slammed door, then the line cut.

When he showed up thirty minutes later, he didn’t even park properly. He left the engine running, stormed into the hospital like a goddamn storm, eyes darting like he was ready to kill someone.

The second he saw me—bruised, drained, and still in the same fucking clothes—I swear something inside him broke.

“Get in the car first,” he said, jaw tight, rage simmering under the surface.

The drive home was silent, but I could feel it building in him. Like every mile he drove was feeding the fire. The second we walked into the apartment, he slammed the door shut behind us.

“What the fuck happened, Blaze?”

I tossed my bag down. My shoulders ached, my neck still raw from being tied up for two days, but I just leaned against the wall and stared at him.

“Old man wanted to talk,” I muttered. “Dragged me out like I was his damn property. Tried to offer me a racing contract.”

Carlo froze. His face twisted into something darker than rage. He stepped closer, his hand fisting at his side.

“He fucking kidnapped you—again?”

“Yup.”

“And you didn’t call the police?”

“You think I didn’t try? They had my phone. Tied me up. Said I needed time to ‘cool off and see things clearly.’” I laughed bitterly. “Sick bastard thought he could buy me back with some fancy-ass contract.”

Carlo looked like he was about to explode. He yanked out his phone and dialed.

I watched his jaw flex as the call connected.

“I thought we had a closure,” he snapped, his voice low and furious. “Stay the fuck away from him. You come near Blaze again, I swear to God, I’ll fucking end you.”

He didn’t even wait for a response. Just hung up and slammed the phone on the table.

Then he turned to me. And for a second, neither of us moved.

And then—fuck—it hit him.

He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around me, tight. So fucking tight I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t fucking disappear on me again,” he muttered into my shoulder. “I thought—fuck—I thought something happened. I thought you were—”

“I’m here,” I cut him off, burying my face in his neck. “I’m here.”

His hands were shaking. And I felt it—the way his grip softened, then tightened again like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold me or fuck me into the wall.

I made the decision for him.

I kissed him.

Hard.

Desperate.

Our teeth clashed. His fingers dug into my back like he was trying to anchor himself to me. I bit his bottom lip, and he groaned, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush. I could feel the tension in him, the need, the fucking ache.

He backed me up slowly toward the couch, his lips never leaving mine. We fell onto it together, tangled in limbs and heat.

He looked at me then, his hand brushing the side of my face, his thumb stroking over the edge of a bruise.

“I’m gonna take my fucking time,” he whispered.

And he did.

He stripped me slowly, like he was memorizing every inch. Every scar. Every place he hadn’t touched in days. His lips dragged down my chest, leaving open-mouthed kisses, licks, bites. His fingers were gentle. Almost too gentle.

“I’m not made of glass,” I muttered, arching into his touch.

He smiled faintly. “Don’t care. Still gonna treat you like gold.”

He lifted my leg and spread me open, his mouth trailing kisses up my inner thigh before his tongue slid over my hole. I jerked, gasping as he licked me open, slow and thorough. He took his damn time—like he was proving a point.

I couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop shaking. My fingers gripped the cushion hard as he tongued me, then slid a slick finger inside, followed by another. His pace was patient—torturous—but every twist of his fingers had my body begging for more.

“Fuck… Carlo…” I panted, trying to grind down on his hand. “I need it…”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’ve got you.”

When he finally slicked himself up and lined his cock against me, he didn’t rush. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching me the whole time.

My back arched, the stretch making my vision blur. He filled me up so good, so fucking deep I couldn’t breathe.

He paused, bottomed out, letting me feel every inch.

Then he moved.

Slow.

Deep.

Measured thrusts that hit my spot every goddamn time. The pressure was maddening. His hands gripped my thighs, keeping me open, keeping me his.

Our moans tangled in the air. Every thrust sent shivers through me. My body was already on edge from the shit I’d been through, and now he was pushing me over it with every slow grind of his hips.

He leaned over me, pressing kisses to my neck, murmuring things I could barely register through the haze of pleasure.

“Missed you…”

“Felt empty without this…”

“Never fucking again…”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, dragging him closer, needing him deeper.

He groaned into my mouth, fucking me harder now, still not fast—but intense. Deliberate. His pelvis ground against mine, cock hitting my P-spot so perfectly I was seeing fucking stars.

“Carlo, shit—faster—” I gasped.

“No,” he growled. “Not rushing this.”

He shifted, turning me onto my side and sliding in from behind. His arm hooked under my knee, raising it, angling me just right.

Then he thrust again.

Slow. Fucking. Deep.

The new position had me gasping, crying out, trying not to lose it. My fingers clawed at the cushion. He reached down and shoved a pillow under my waist to lift my hips, then slid back inside.

I whimpered.

“You good?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

“I’m—fuck—just keep going…”

He did. He kept fucking me like I was the only thing keeping him sane. Like this was the only way he could prove I was real, that I came back to him.

I was already leaking all over the pillow, my cock untouched but twitching. He didn’t even need to stroke me—his thrusts alone were unraveling me.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, lips against my spine.

I bit back a sob. My whole body was shaking now. Sensitive. Fucked out. Blissed.

“I’m gonna cum,” I gasped. “Carlo—”

“Cum for me.”

One deep thrust—one perfect grind—and I was done. My body locked up, my vision went white, and I came hard, spilling all over the pillow beneath me.

He followed seconds later, groaning as he pushed in deep and spilled inside me, every pulse of his cock stretching the moment out.

We collapsed together.

My body felt like it’d been melted, twisted, wrecked in the best way. He stayed inside me, holding me close, his chest rising and falling against my back.

Neither of us spoke.

Not for a long time.

Eventually, I felt myself slipping into sleep, still full, still stretched, still sore in a way I loved.