Page 115 of Arrow

“Good girl.” Softer this time, almost awestruck.

I closed my eyes, not from exhaustion but because for the first time in years, it was safe not to look ahead to the next disaster. It was safe to just float above the carnage and let the animal part rest.

He must have drifted too, because the next sensation I remember was the sticky heat of him waking up beside me, cock hard and pressed against my thigh. I was barely conscious when I felt his hand slide between my legs, fingers testing my wetness.

“God, you’re so fucking wet for me.” His voice was rough with sleep.

Arrow groaned once, rolled over, and fucked into me again before either of us could speak. His hands fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. I cried out, the stretch and burn immediate.

He let me bite him, this time a mark so deep it drew little rivers of blood down his neck, streaking the ink on his collarbone. I arched under him, knees up, nails raking down the muscle at his back, and the way he howled my name was intoxicating. Every time I started to float away in the climax, Arrow reeled me back, mouth on my mouth, heat a circuit through my jaw to the center of my fucking soul.

When we collapsed again, still damp, I laughed into the sweat at his throat. “Do you think anyone heard us?”

Arrow only grinned, lips at my ear. “Yeah, I think people heard us.”

The house was silent. In the dark, I traced the aftermath on my body, the teeth marks at my shoulder, the bruises shaped exactly to his fingers, the hot welt where the chain had pressed me to the limit of blackout.

I pressed two fingers into the bite at his throat, just hard enough to feel the blood underneath, and Arrow smiled without opening his eyes. “You meant it, before.” His voice was still brittle with what I realized was not just exhaustion, but relief. “You’re done running.”

I didn’t answer, which was an answer. I rolled to straddle him, my hair a curtain between us, and held myself there. Above him. Over him. The leverage was an illusion, but I could see in his eyes that I’d kept him honest, that somewhere under the burn of power and sex and violence, he wanted something more than compliance or possession.

Or maybe he just wanted the fight to last.

In the soft, almost-blue light peeking from the blackout shades, Arrow looked up at me with something like awe, and it made my chest tighten. His hair was mussed, lips swollen from my bites, and neck marked with the evidence of my fury. This wasn’t the calculated, controlled mafia prince. This was a man undone.

“What happens now?” My voice was hoarse from screaming his name.

His hands settled on my hips, thumbs tracing small circles on my skin. “Now? We get married. The world watches. Our enemies plot. The usual.”

Laughing, I surprised myself with how genuine it sounded. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” His fingers slid up my sides, skating over my ribs with unexpected gentleness. “Unless you’re planning to kill me in my sleep.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He smiled, a real smile that transformed his face into something almost boyish. “Fair enough.”

I collapsed beside him, exhausted by everything—Frank’s resurrection, and the revelation of my body’s betrayal. I wanted to hate Arrow for how easily he’d broken through my defenses, but I couldn’t summon the energy. Not when his arm curled around me, pulling me against his chest.

“You’re not what I expected,” I admitted into the darkness.

“What did you expect?”

“Someone easier to hate.”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “Is that what you wanted?”

I traced the bite mark on his neck, watching his pulse jump beneath it. “It would have been easier.”

“Nothing worth having is ever easy, Harlowe.” He caught my hand, bringing my finger to his lips. “Especially not you.”

The way he said my name made something twist inside me. It wasn’t fear or hatred this time—surrender.

I didn’t say I loved him. I didn't plan the future. I gave him nothing but presence—legs splayed over his ribs, hands framing his jaw—knowing this couldn’t last. Nothing this good and this destructive ever did.

Arrow’s thumb slowly traced down my collarbone, like he was committing every inch of my skin to memory. Then I bent down, pressing my lips to just below his earlobe, finding the words he needed.

“Yours, for as long as you can hold me.”