Chapter 13

Phayu's POV

He tugs my face up with both hands—urgent, reverent—and rises on his toes just to kiss me.

His mouth brushes mine like a vow, his voice hot against my lips. "And don't ever, ever walk away from me again."

I exhale, breath catching in my chest, and then I kiss him hard. Again. And again. Hands frantic, desperate, sliding under his shirt, clutching his hips, his back, needing to feel him. Ground myself in the body that's mine. The only place I breathe right.

"I'm sorry," I whisper between kisses. "I'm sorry, baby."

He bites my lip and tugs on it, sharp and teasing and angry in that way I know means he's still shaking underneath.

"Show me," he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. "Get on your knees."

I don't even think.

I fall.

Hands on his waist, gripping the bones of him—so tiny, so perfect, so fucking mine. I feel his fingers rake into my hair, tugging, possessive, like he can't decide if he wants to hold me close or ruin me where I kneel.

He leans down, breath rough, and whispers, "We've not had sex in a while ."

I exhale, shaky. It's true. Not since everything happened. Not since the walls of our world cracked open and let the rot in. We were too busy fighting, grieving, surviving.

That never happens with us.

Not unless Kaia gets sick.

I press my face against his stomach, lifting his shirt, breathing him in like it's the only thing keeping me grounded. I nuzzle there, kiss low and soft, then let my teeth graze against skin. I suck at the sensitive spot above his hip, hear him hiss through his teeth.

Then I reach for the band of his pants and tug them down slowly.

No games. No teasing. Just reverence.

And when I nose against his briefs, feeling him already hard beneath the fabric, I close my eyes and thank every god that he's still here, still mine, still letting me worship him the way only I know how.

"I love you, Rain." My voice is rough, cracked open, pulled straight from my chest. "I can't live without you. You can't ever leave me."

He smiles, soft and knowing, like he always does when I say shit like that—like he knows I'm not being dramatic, I'm being honest.

"Where would I go, Phi?" he whispers, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

I pull him down and kiss him, needing the closeness, needing to taste those words between his teeth. The kiss turns fast—hungrier, messier—as I reach into his briefs and stroke him, slow and deliberate.

He gasps against my mouth, his forehead pressing to mine, and I feel him twitch in my hand, feel the way his hips stutter, like he's already trying not to lose control.

He stands a little straighter, chest rising like a wave about to crash.

I keep my eyes on him, mouth parted, hand tight around him. I take him out, slow, and bite my lip as I look up from where I kneel.

"You love when I'm on my knees for you, don't you?" I murmur. "You love that only you can get me like this?"

His eyes darken instantly.

And I can feel it in the way his breath quickens, the way his hand fists in my hair, his other gripping the edge of the desk like he's trying to keep himself grounded.

I already know the answer.

But I want to hear him say it.

He gasps when I nose around his cock, slow and deliberate, teasing him with every breath, every barely-there brush of my lips. His hand tightens in my hair, but he doesn't push—not yet.

I let my tongue flick out, soft as a whisper, and give the head of his cock a gentle kitten lick, just enough to taste him, just enough to make him twitch in my hand.

"Answer me, beautiful," I murmur against him, my voice a low drag of heat.

Then I lick again—long and slow—tongue rolling under his length the way I know drives him mad, the way that always makes his knees buckle if I don't hold him up.

He shudders, breath catching, and I look up at him, waiting. Demanding.

His eyes meet mine, glassy and blown wide with want, and he whispers, wrecked, true—

"Yes... I love it, Phi."

He strokes a hand down my cheek, tender even in the heat. "Only me. You kneel for only me."

And I hum against him, satisfied. Worshipful.

Because he's right.I'd burn for him.And I'd kneel in the flames.

Then I take him into my mouth—slow at first, just enough to taste him, to drag my tongue along the sensitive underside as I swallow him down, inch by inch.

He moans, deep and broken. His hand fists in my hair, not guiding, just holding, like if he lets go, he'll fall apart right here.

I start to bob my head, steady and eager, my throat opening for him. He fits perfectly, thick and hot, hitting deep with every glide.

"Oh fuck, Phi—" he gasps, hips jerking forward. "So good... missed this..."

I pull back, spit slick and heavy dripping down my chin as I stroke him, watching his cock twitch in my grip.

I spit again, let it slide down the length, then suck him back into my mouth—filthy, wet, obscene. Just the way he likes it.

"Wanna fuck my mouth?" I ask, voice wrecked, breath hot around the tip of his cock.

He bites his lip and nods fast, already unraveling.

My hands slide up to his waist. "Then do it," I murmur.

And he does.

He starts thrusting into my mouth, slow at first, testing his rhythm, then deeper—chasing that high, the release only I can give him.

I close my eyes, moaning low in my throat, letting him use me, letting him fuck into the heat of my mouth the way he needs.

Because I'll give him everything. Every drop of control. Every inch of devotion.

He can take what he needs now.Because when I'm done letting him break...I'll make sure he remembers who he belongs to.

I reach up, press two fingers against his lips, and he parts them without hesitation—sucks them in deep like he needs them, like he needs something to ground him while I work him over.

He moans around my fingers as I take him back into my mouth, swallowing him down, letting my throat close around him. My other hand wraps around my cock, already leaking, already aching. I squeeze tight, teeth gritted behind the stretch of my lips around him, trying to hold back.

I'm so hard I could split concrete.

It's been a week. A week of silence, tension, grief. A week of holding everything back. Now I feel like a shaken soda about to explode—barely contained, everything fizzing under the surface. I hate going a day without touching him. A week? It's madness.

I take my fingers from his mouth, saliva trailing, and let them drift down, around the back of his thigh, until I'm tracing between his cheeks, slow and deliberate.

He gasps, hips stuttering, breath catching like I just hit a switch in him.

I circle his rim, feel him tense under my touch. Then—slow, unrelenting—I slide a finger in.

He clenches down around me instantly, tight, hot, body trembling as he tries to hold himself together.

"Fuck, Phi—"

he moans, voice shattered, fingers yanking at my hair as his body opens and fights against me at the same time.

I hum around his cock, and he nearly loses it, his whole frame shaking.

Because this isn't just pleasure. This is worship. This is power. This is everything we've held back now flooding out between teeth, tongue, and hands.

And I'm just getting started.

Rain's POV

There are a few things in life that floor me—truly take me out.

P'Phayu, in all his glory, kneeling for me? That's top of the list.

Seven years married, almost a decade wrapped around each other in every way a body can hold another—and it still undoes me. I'll never get used to it. And he's right. I do love it.

Because only I get him like this.

Only I get Phayu like this—crazed out of his mind for me, hungry, needy, sucking my cock like it's the only thing tethering him to life. His hands stroking into me from behind while his mouth works me mercilessly, every movement claiming me, owning me.

I grip his hair tight, groaning as I thrust into the heat of his mouth, chasing that high I've been too starved for.

My orgasm slams into me fast—white hot, pulsing. I seize, curse low, hips jerking as I spill deep down his throat. He swallows all of it, doesn't flinch, doesn't stop.

Even when I'm twitching from sensitivity, his mouth keeps going, tongue dragging circles around the tip of my cock, lips sucking like he wants to drain me completely.

"Fuck—" I gasp, my hand yanking his hair as I try to pull him off.

He smirks. That infuriating, cocky smirk that says he knows exactly what he's doing.

I glare at him, half-breathless, and lean in to kiss him—deep, rough, licking into his mouth, tasting myself all over his tongue.

His hands slide right back to my cock, stroking me while we kiss, and I moan, body jolting from the overstimulation.

Then he rises from his knees, fluid and slow like a shadow peeling off the floor. There's a glint in his eyes now—something wild, something dark.

It's his turn.

And I know that look.He's going to wreck me.

He cages me in against his desk, mouth crashing into mine again. I kick the rest of my pants off, drag my shirt over my head, barely thinking, breath caught in my throat.

I tug at his sweatpants, the elastic sliding low over his hips, and shove his tank top up until I can kiss his chest.

Right over his left pec.

Where our names are inked into him—mine and Kaia's.

And right there, just below the curl of her name, the tiny black footprint we stamped the day she was born.

I press my mouth to it, kiss it once. Lingering.

And then I look up at him, heart in my throat, body still trembling, because I know what's coming.

He's going to take everything.And I'm going to let him.

He kisses me hard—desperate, shaking a little, hands clinging to my waist like he's terrified I'll vanish if he lets go.

It's not just lust. It's longing. It's guilt. It's love so deep it fucking hurts.

Like he still can't believe we're real.Like he still wakes up half-expecting it all to be gone.

Me.Kaia.This life we carved out of blood and bone and mercy.

I kiss him back softer, slow enough that he trembles. I feel it in his grip. I feel it in his breath.

And then I whisper against his mouth, lips brushing his like a secret, "Wanna take a break from murder, mayhem and parenting and fuck all day?"

That grin—God, that grin—splits across his face like sunlight crashing through storm clouds.

"Never saying no to that," he breathes, voice already wrecked.

I chuckle, dragging him back to me, arms wrapping tight around his waist.

Yesterday was for Kaia.All her uncles and grandparents were here, It was good. It was needed.

But today?Today's ours.

And when we finally come up for air—when my body's marked and aching and every breath tastes like him—I'll send a quick text to Sky, or to Papa, whoever answers first.

Pick her up from school.We're taking the day.

Because after what Phi's about to do to me, there's no way my legs will be working.

He kisses me again, hard and claiming, then pulls back with that look—commanding, breathless, his.

"Don't move," he orders, voice gone deep and hoarse.

I don't.

I watch him walk across the room to his drawer, pull it open, and grab the lube.

And when he turns back—naked, tall, broad-shouldered, every inch of him carved from devotion and sin, long hair loose down his back, tattoos flexing across his skin like war paint—

I bite my lip and giggle.

Because fuck.

My husband is hot.

He stalks back between my legs, and I spread them wider for him, arms propped behind me on the desk.

"You're staring," he murmurs, eyes dark, amused.

"Can you blame me?" I grin. "You look like sex and vengeance."

His hands land on my thighs, and I swear my whole world narrows to the heat between us.

Today's for us.

He lifts me up onto his desk like I belong there. Like I was made to be opened for him right where he works, right where he rules.

I raise my legs, planting my heels on the edge, spreading wide, showing him everything that's his.

He steps in, big and solid, fitting perfectly between my thighs. His hands trail up my sides, rough palms sliding on my skin, and then he leans in, mouth hot against my throat, kissing a path up and down my neck, breathing filth and reverence into my skin like prayer.

"You're mine," he whispers, tongue dragging along my pulse. "Only mine."

I close my eyes, moaning low, running my hands down his back, across the ridges of muscle, the ink, the heat.

Only he can make fucking in his office feel like this.Like worship.Like a promise sealed in sweat and moans and desk creaks.

His voice is dark silk against my throat, each word soaked in hunger.

"Gonna fuck you in here first," he growls. "Right on this desk, where you act so fucking in control—wanna see you come undone right where you tell grown men what to do."

I shiver, already gone.

"Then," he continues, dragging his cock along my crease, not pushing in yet—teasing, "I'll carry you upstairs, fuck you in our bed. Deep. Lazy. Until you cry into the pillows."

"Phi—" I pant, hands curling into his back.

"And then I'll take you into the bathroom. Fuck you against the shower glass. Then I'll wash you. Real gentle. And then I'll bend you over the counter and fuck you again."

My head falls back, a gasp tearing out of me.

"When you're taking a break from my cock inside you," he breathes, voice wrecked and hungry, "you'll take a break on your back with my tongue in your ass, licking you open, making you beg."

"Fuck—"

"You'll come on my mouth," he promises, teeth grazing my jaw, "and then you'll come again on my cock. And again. And again."

I meet his eyes—wild, burning, mine.

And I know I'm not leaving this room standing.I'm not making it through the day sane.

But I don't care. Because this is love, too. Our kind.

And I want all of it.

He slicks me open with the lube—gentle, patient, thorough. Like he knows it's been too long. Like he's making a quiet apology with every slow press of his fingers. Not rushed. Not rough. Not yet.

Because he's going to fuck me all through today, and he wants me ruined right.

I moan when his fingers slide in, stretching me, easing deeper, curling just right. My back arches and I gasp into his mouth, his lips catching mine in a kiss that's more breath than kiss—our eyes locked, his gaze burning straight through me.

"Phi—"

"You feel so hot, beautiful ," he whispers against my lips, thumb brushing my hip as his fingers work me open. "So fucking good around my fingers."

I whimper, grinding down on him, and he smirks against my mouth.

"Can't wait to feel my cock in there," he breathes, voice gone low and filthy. "Can't wait to come back home."

My breath stutters, heart thudding in my chest.

"You want that?" he asks, kissing the corner of my mouth, trailing lower to bite gently at my jaw. "Want my cock splitting you open?"

"Yes," I pant, hands clutching his back. "Please."

"Good," he murmurs, pulling his fingers out slow, watching the way I twitch and clench, dripping for him. "Because I'm not stopping till your body forgets how to close without me inside."

And then he reaches for the lube again.

He squirts the lube directly onto his cock, not stingy with it, letting it drip as he strokes himself, slow and heavy. Then he leans in, runs the head of his cock over my rim—slick and hot and so deliberate it makes me shudder.

And then—fuck.

He pops the head in.

I gasp, my whole body tensing around the intrusion, legs shaking where they're braced on either side of his desk.

"Phi—"

He grits his teeth, jaw locked tight as he stares down, breath shaking. I follow his gaze watching him slowly sink into me, inch by inch, the stretch thick and burning and so fucking good.

He groans into my mouth when he bottoms out, both of us trembling from the sheer feel of it. My arms wrap tight around his back, my nails dragging down as I moan through the stretch, through the way my body clings to him like it's been waiting for this.

"God, I missed this," he groans, voice breaking. "Missed you."

He rocks forward, hips grinding, cock hitting so deep I can feel it everywhere.

"Never going that long without this again," he growls, kissing me like he's trying to fuse our mouths together. "I love you. Fucking obsessed with you. I'll die without you, Rain. You hear me? You're mine."

His words come in a chant, each one tied to a thrust—slow, deep, brutal in how intimate they feel.

His hand comes to my neck, holding, grounding me, his thumb brushing my pulse as his cock drives into me again and again.

I feel every ridge of him, every vein dragging against my walls, every slow thrust like a wave breaking inside me. He knows every spot. Every weakness. Every nerve ending I have.

His mouth finds my face—kissing me hard, then licking along my cheek, up to my ear, biting the lobe and making me gasp.

Then he kisses down my neck, sucking bruises into my skin, marking me in a way that makes my spine arch and my toes curl against the edge of the desk.

The pain of his teeth mixed with the pleasure of his cock pounding into me is insane, overwhelming.

His breath is ragged against my throat as he starts to pick up pace, hips snapping with more urgency.

I wrap my legs around his waist, tight, tight, pulling him deeper.

I want all of it.I want everything he has.

Phayu's POV

He feels like heaven.

Like salvation. Like water after a long drought. Like every prayer I didn't know I was whispering finally answered with the shape of his body beneath mine.

And the thought that I could've lost this—that I could've lost him—it drives me mad.

That maybe, one day, he could've looked at me and seen weakness instead of devotion. That maybe he wouldn't want me like this. That he wouldn't burn for me.

It's a terror I don't have the words for.

Because Rain isn't just my husband.He's woven into me.

The beginning. And the end.

And he takes it. Takes me.All of it.

I lay him back across my desk, papers scattering under him like ash—some of them Kaia's drawings, others blueprints for the next expansion wing, invoices, reports—and I don't give a fuck.

Because he's here.Legs open for me, blonde hair fanned like a fucking halo, flushed and panting and mine.

I grab his legs, spread him wider, dig my fingers into his thighs like I want to imprint myself into his skin.

And I fuck into him like a man possessed.

Hard. Deep. Over and over again, chasing the feel of him clenching around me, dragging me deeper, wrecking me while I wreck him.

I growl into his neck, words filthy and reverent at once.

"My own fucking husband" I pant, voice fraying, hips slamming forward. "You like being ruined like this? Like when I fuck you dumb across my desk?"

He moans for me, mouth open, head thrown back. And it's everything.

My salvation laid bare.My obsession, undone.My Rain.

And I'll fuck him until he remembers it.Until he can't forget it.Because I'll never let him go.

I lean in and kiss him—slow, claiming, tongue sweeping into his mouth like I own it.

Then I trail lower, pressing kisses down his throat, over his chest, until I reach his nipple. I circle it with my tongue, slow and taunting, then bite down just enough to make him whimper—his back arching off the desk like his body's begging for more even when his mouth can't form the words.

I reach between us, wrap my hand around his cock, stroking him in time with every deep thrust of my hips.

He's barely able to speak—just gasps, broken moans, eyes glazed.

"Phi—gonna—fuck—"

And then he shatters.

He cums hard, his body jerking, warm ribbons painting his chest, my hand, his stomach. He gasps through it, trembling, lips parted in a soundless moan.

I grin.

"So perfect," I whisper, slowing the thrusts just enough to let him ride it out. "So fucking responsive for me."

I draw out of him slow, thick with his slick and my own pre-come, and then I lick his chest—taste the mess he made for me, tongue dragging through it, hot and filthy.

He shivers, gasping, both hands in my hair now, clutching, grounding himself while I lick my way back up to his mouth.

I kiss him hard, deep, letting him taste himself on my tongue.

"Not done with you yet, baby," I murmur against his lips.

He barely has time to breathe before I lift him off the desk, turn him around, and bend him over.

His hands splay across the wood, still sticky from earlier, his back arched like muscle memory—like he knows exactly what's coming and wants it.

I spread his cheeks, watching his hole twitch from being stretched, open and slick for me.

I spit—wet and deliberate—and watch it drip down his rim.

Then I grab his hips, line myself up, and thrust back in.

Deep.Fast.Home.

And he moans, loud and wrecked, taking every inch like he needs it.

And I'm not stopping.Not until he's limp beneath me.Not until he forgets how to stand.

Rain's POV

His hands are bruising on my hips, fingers digging into bone as he fucks into me like he's trying to reshape me from the inside out.

I scramble on his desk, palms sliding across scattered papers, Kaia's doodles and blueprints crumpling beneath my hands as I try to hold on—try not to fall apart.

"God, you're so tight, baby," he groans behind me, voice thick, wrecked, wild. "So tiny. Every time I fuck you it's like my dick's gonna break you in two."

I whimper, legs shaking, body taut like a bowstring.

"But it won't, huh?" he pants. "'Cause you were made for it. Made to take me like this. Just look at that tight ass swallowing me. Fuck."

His hips snap forward, and I gasp, mouth open, jaw slack.

"You've already cum twice," he murmurs, leaning over me, breath hot against my back. "You gonna cum for me again?"

I shake my head, barely able to get the words out. "No— I can't, Phi—"

He chuckles, low and cruel and loving.

"But you will, baby," he whispers. "You'll cum so much, I'm gonna wring you dry. And then I'll do it all over again."

I lift onto my hands, chest heaving, overstimulated to hell, my whole body twitching. "Phi, please—"

He moves fast, one hand wrapping around my throat—as he drags me back against his chest, cock grinding deep inside me in slow, devastating circles.

I rise on my toes, spine arching, toes curling on the desk edge, eyes rolling as he grinds even deeper, impossibly slow.

His thumb pushes into my mouth. I suck on it mindlessly, eyes fluttering shut, brain melting from the pressure and heat.

"So deep, Phi," I moan around his thumb. "So good—"

He pants into my ear, tongue licking up the side of my face, hot and filthy and his.

My hands reach behind me, clutching his ass, dragging him closer, keeping him buried inside me.

"You gonna make me cum, baby," he grits, voice right at the edge. "Just stay right there—fuck—so tight—"

And then he withdraws.

For a breath.

And starts fucking me hard.

Fucking me like he's chasing it.Chasing his high.Chasing me.

He shifts behind me, his grip tightening on my hips as he adjusts my stance—one hand sliding under my thigh to lift my leg, bending my knee up and dropping it on the desk. The other foot stays grounded, forced wide, opening me up even more.

I gasp, body folding down onto the desk, cheek pressed against cool wood, mouth open, already trembling from how deep he gets like this.

He fucks in slow—thick, deliberate—and I feel everything.

"God, Phi—" I moan, spine arching, fingers clawing at the edge of the desk.

He grips my hips and starts to roll his hips again, slow but building, deliberate in the way he chases every sound from my throat.

"I'm gonna fill you up, baby," he growls, voice right above my spine, breath dragging heat across my back. "Such a tight hole. You ready for my cum?"

My lips part, but no words come out—just a choked sound, high and wrecked.

"For the first one," he adds with a grin in his voice, hips slamming forward, cock grinding deep enough to make me see stars.

"Gonna keep filling you up all day, baby. Gonna use your hole as much as I want."

I moan, body shivering violently, legs barely holding me up, pushed open and pinned like prey.

"You want that, baby?" he pants, thrusting deep and slow, dragging it out just to hear my answer. "Want me to ruin you?"

I manage a nod, breathless. "Yes—Phi—please—"

He fucks into me harder, faster, voice rough and reverent.

"Good. 'Cause I'm not stopping until you're leaking all over my floor."

And then he groans—deep, guttural, torn from somewhere below his ribs—and I feel him throb inside me, cock buried to the hilt.

He presses in deep, grinding as he spills, as he fills me.

Thick. Hot. Endless.

His hips jerk, once, twice, and he lets out this broken sound—my name torn in half on his tongue—

"Rain—fuck—"

My body arches, gasping at the heat flooding me, at the way he presses his chest over my back, anchoring me to the desk like he never wants to let go.

His hand curls tight on my waist, holding me open for him, making sure every drop stays inside.

He doesn't move, not yet.

Just breathes ragged against the side of my neck, twitching, panting, mine.

And I smile, dazed, ruined, wrecked—because I know this was only the beginning.

He leans over me, mouth warm and soft as he kisses down the length of my spine, slow and reverent. Like I'm something holy. Like I didn't just let him fuck me senseless over his desk.

"You did so good for me, beautiful," he whispers, voice still rough with aftershock. "Always so good."

I sigh into the desk, boneless, skin flushed, brain humming.

"I love you so much."

My lips barely move, just a breath of a smile as I nod, eyes closed.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Speechless?"

I smile again, smaller this time, and nod once more.

He chuckles—deep, satisfied, the kind that rumbles through his chest—and then he pulls out.

I whimper, body twitching from the loss, from the sheer sensitivity.

"Fuck," I breathe.

He laughs again, unbothered, and runs his hands down my back like he's trying to soothe me. But then he stills, quiet.

His hands settle on my ass. Warm. Possessive. Intent.

I don't even need to look. I know that silence. I know that focus.

He's staring.

At me.At his mess.At what he's done to me.

I bite my lip, shivering as I feel his thumb swipe through the slick at my rim—cum dripping out of me, and then he presses it back in.

I whine, body jolting, overstimulated and raw.

"Phi—"

He chuckles again, smug, voice like velvet dragged over a knife.

"What, baby? Too much?"

I nod quickly, gasping, muscles clenching around nothing. "Yes."

And then—

Smack.

He spanks my ass, just once, firm and sharp, right where I'm still trembling.

I yelp, hips jerking.

He just grins behind me, dragging his hand back over the mark, soothing the sting.

"Too much," he repeats, voice dark and sweet. "Exactly how I love you."

Then "Don't move," he says.

I roll my eyes against the desk, half-laughing, half-dead. "Like I can."

He disappears from behind me, and I wince when I feel the first cool swipe of a wipe on my sore, overstimulated skin.

"Careful," I mumble.

"Mmhm," he hums, not at all sorry, still chuckling as he tosses the used wipe aside.

He lifts me off the desk, and I let my body go limp against his chest, head falling into the crook of his neck.

He snorts as he peels crumpled documents from my back. "Fuck—your ass is literally stamped with a supply order."

I grunt into his skin, nuzzling in deeper. "Shut up."

He carries me over to the couch and sits down with me in his lap, both of us naked, marked, tangled together. I curl in closer, still trembling, still full of him in every way that matters.

He reaches for my blanket—my blanket, the one I always steal from the bedroom and leave around the office for days like this—and drapes it over both of us.

He kisses my head.

"Think we can get upstairs without anybody seeing us?" he murmurs, lips brushing my hairline.

I snicker, eyes still closed. "There are always people downstairs. Maids, security, probably half the men pretending not to hear me screaming."

He huffs a laugh. "They know better than to say anything."

"Mm," I hum, warm under the blanket, his arms around me, his hands rubbing up and down my body, his lips finding mine again and again like he can't not kiss me.

I let him.

I let him touch.

Because what a beautiful thing—to still be wanted like this.

After all the years, after a kid, after too many nights with guns and guilt between us—he still loves me loudly. Desperately. Obsessively.

Always reaching for me. Always needing me.

And it's easy to ride that high.

To let myself be held. To rest against his heart and feel him breathe like he only knows how to when I'm there.

Because this man—my husband, my anchor, my goddamn chaos—He can't live without me.

And I'll never make him try.

"Can we talk about Kaia's training now?" I casually whisper.

His whole body stiffens beneath me.

I shift, giving him a look. "Phii, come on."

He sighs, long and theatrical. "I'd rather not discuss our daughter while we're naked."

I snort, burying my face in his chest. "Nice deflection."

"Not a deflection," he mumbles into my hair. "It's called boundaries."

I roll my eyes but let it go. For now. There's time. We don't need to drag her into the afterglow.

I shift the weight off the topic, settling back into his arms. "Okay, fine. What's the plan for family vacation when Kaia's out of school?"

He hums thoughtfully, hand trailing up and down my spine. "Has Kaia mentioned anywhere in particular?"

I shake my head. "Just Disneyland. But Pai and Sky already claimed that one. They want to take her."

He groans.

"And Papa called dibs on taking her to Europe, so Paris is off the table too."

"Why is my daughter being passed around like a limited-edition toy?" he mutters, exasperated.

I laugh. "Because she's the only child in a family of emotionally unstable millionaires with abandonment issues and too much money."

He snorts. "You forgot deadly. Emotionally unstable, rich, armed millionaires."

I hum, pressing a kiss to his chest. "So what are our options, then? If Europe's off-limits and Disneyland's booked by her uncles, we staying in Asia?"

He pauses. "Japan again? She loved getting all the Sanrio she likes."

I smile. "She called the onsen her magical bathtub. And you know Papa's gonna have a meltdown if she eats mochi without him."

"So somewhere quiet. Warm. Private." He taps my hip. "What about the Maldives?"

I grin. "Ooooh  private villa with a slide into the ocean."

"Done."

And just like that, it's decided..

Just sun.Just sea.Just the three of us.

Before the world spins back up again.

Phi leans in, lips brushing my ear, voice low and full of trouble. "Ready for round two?"

I gasp, jerking back to look at him. "What—"

He grins, shameless, eyes dancing. "You're the one who said you wanted to take a break from murder and mayhem and fuck all day."

I open my mouth to argue—something about context and tone and my very sore ass—but I don't even get the chance.

He drops me onto the couch, reaches for his sweatpants and pulls them on like this is all very normal. Meanwhile, I'm left tangled in the blanket, blinking, wondering what the hell just happened.

Then he turns back to me, scoops me up into his arms again, draping the blanmket haphazardly over me.

"Phi!"

"We're gonna sneak upstairs," he says, grinning. "Think we'll make it?"

I glare. "I'm naked. You're in pants. Why can't I wear mine?"

He shrugs, the most infuriating man alive. "You won't be as fast as me. Besides... it's more exciting this way." His grin widens. "Wanna see how fast I can carry you out of here, up the stairs, and into our bedroom before anyone sees your ass?"

"Let. Me. Down." I squirm in his arms, kicking at air.

He just hugs me tighter. "Nope. Hold on, baby."

And then—he cracks open the office door, tilts his head, listens.

Silence.

He speedwalks into the hallway.

I bury my face in his neck, torn between mortification and laughter. "This is ridiculous—"

From around the corner we hear voices—Saifah and Win.

"—where the fuck is Rain, I could have sworn I heard him screaming ten minutes ago—"

Phi runs.

I laugh into his neck, trying not to choke on it, blanket barely staying wrapped around me, my legs curled tight around his waist.

He's bounding up the stairs two at a time, breathless, flushed, grinning like a delinquent.

And I'm giggling into his neck like a teenager in love with the most unhinged man in the country.

Which I am.

God help me.But I love him.

Phayu's POV

He's choking from laughter by the time I kick the bedroom door shut behind us, his whole body shaking, buried in the blanket like some ridiculous, beautiful smuggled package.

The sound cracks something open in my chest, clears the weight from behind my ribs.

It's light. Real. Him.

I drop him onto the bed and he rolls back with a messy laugh, limbs everywhere, eyes squinted, cheeks flushed. He looks young like this. Not the most terrifying man in the Bangkok underground when provoked.

Just my husband .

The same one I fell in love with seven years ago, all fire and teeth and softness.

I crawl onto the bed, over him, straddling him, and lean in, heart loud in my throat.

"Hi beautiful," I say, quiet, like a secret.

He wraps his arms around my back, blanket still tangled around his legs, and kisses me back slow, smiling against my mouth.

"Hi, Daddy."

I snort, forehead falling against his. "Even if it's going to break my heart, I'm hoping Kaia goes straight from Dada to Dad. If she ever calls me Daddy..." I shake my head. "I'll fucking lose it."

He bursts out laughing, slapping my chest like I've personally offended his entire bloodline.

"Phi!" he wheezes, face buried in my neck now, still laughing. "That's disgusting!"

"Hey," I grin, mouth pressed to his hair. "You started it."

He hums, still grinning, arms tightening around me.

And for a moment, we don't say anything else.Just breathe each other in.

"You smell like me," I whisper against his lips, voice low and wrecked as I rock into him again.

He spreads his legs wider around me, arms wrapped around my neck, and breathes out, "I like smelling like you."

It makes me groan, hips bucking, cock twitching where it rubs between us.

"Yeah? Want more of me?"

"Always," he whispers, without hesitation.

I kiss him hard for that because there's no version of my life where I don't give it to him.

He reaches into my sweatpants and wraps a hand around my cock, stroking slow and tight. I grunt into his mouth, shivering.

"Thought you were shy for round two," I murmur, teasing.

He shrugs, smug and beautiful, "What can I say? You're addictive."

I kick off my sweats completely, bare beneath him now, and the blanket we dragged up with us gets shoved aside.

Then he flips us, quick and confident.

His body stretches over mine, long and lithe and pale, still flushed from before. He has a few scars—faint, scattered—reminders of our past life, the wild years, but otherwise he's untouched. No tattoos. No ink like me.

He leans over me, chest brushing mine as he reaches into the drawer beside the bed and grabs the lube. I lay back, one arm tucked under my head, giving him the reins for once, the other hand stroking slow up and down the inside of his thigh.

His hands are already back on my cock—stroking, twisting, slick and warm.

I groan again, hips twitching. "Fuck, Rain..."

My thumb drags over his hip, then lower, grabbing a perfect handful of his ass.

"You sure you don't want a tattoo?" I murmur, eyes drinking him in.

He grins without missing a beat. "There should be parent in this house that needs to give a strong lecture when Kaia turns sixteen and suddenly wants one."

I narrow my eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He just smirks. "Exactly what you think it means, Daddy."

I growl, sit up, grab his face, and kiss him like I'm about to remind him who exactly owns who.

"You gonna ride me now?" I murmur against his lips, breath hot, hand tight on his waist. "Bounce on my cock?"

He moans into my mouth, hand already reaching down, wrapping around the base of my cock, lining himself up.

Then he sinks down—slow, easy, already stretched from earlier, so fucking warm, so tight I groan like I'm breaking apart.

We moan into each other, mouths open, breath shared, bodies locked.

I fall back onto the bed, dragging him down with me, his chest against mine as he gasps and rolls his hips.

I grip his ass, hard, feeling every grind, every shift of his muscles as he starts to move—grinding down on me like he's trying to melt me inside him.

And then he plants both hands on my chest, sits up, and starts fucking himself on my cock.

Slow at first.

Up. Down.Stretch. Squeeze.

Then faster.

His thighs slap against mine, ass bouncing, cock flushed and dripping between us, his body working like he's starving for it.

I slap his ass, hard enough to sting.

"That's it. Just like that. Ride my cock, baby."

He moans louder, hair falling into his face, sweat slick on his skin.

"Harder. You can do better."

He bounces, gasping, moaning helplessly, fucking himself down on my cock harder, tighter.

"Oh—oh fuck, ungh—Phi—so good—"

I growl, watching him lose control, watching him ride me like he was made for this.

And I know I'll never get enough.

And then he slows...Not because he's tired.Because he knows what it does to me.

He starts grinding instead of bouncing, rolling his hips in tight, deliberate circles, dragging my cock inside him in a way that makes my jaw clench, my breath stutter, my hands fist into the sheets.

"Rain—" I growl, warning.

He just smirks, mouth parted, flushed and glistening, and grinds down again, slow and deep, making me feel every inch of him—tight and wet and fucking perfect.

I snap.

Grab him. Haul him down onto my chest, blanket be damned.

My arms wrap around him, locking him to me. One hand gripping the back of his neck, the other splayed low on his back, anchoring him down.

I plant my feet on the bed, dig in

And start fucking up into him.

Hard.

Each thrust slams into him, lifts his body with the force of it, makes him gasp against my neck, hands scrambling for something to hold on to.

"Phi—!"

I don't stop.

Can't.

He asked for this. He earned this.

His moans grow sharper, higher, each one punched out of him with every stroke of my cock driving up into him, deeper and faster.

He pants into my mouth, lips slack, forehead pressed to mine, and he looks—fuck—he looks wrecked.

Eyes glassy. Face flushed. The kind of euphoria that makes you forget your name.

Then he whispers, voice barely there, broken with pleasure, "Fuck, I'm gonna cum... you're gonna make me cum, Phi—god, just like that, oh god—"

I grunt, thrusting up harder, deeper, pounding into the perfect clench of him, sweat slick between us, chest to chest.

"Yeah?" I pant into his mouth, breathless. "You gonna cum all over me? I don't even need to touch you?"

He nods, biting his lip so hard it goes white, his whole body trembling.

I lick into his mouth, tongue chasing his, hot and filthy, devouring every gasp.

And then I feel it.

That sudden, violent clench around my cock.

His body locking up, thighs trembling, spine arching against me as he screams into my mouth—no words, just sound—

And he cums.

Hard.

All over me. Between us. Hot and messy and desperate, coating our stomachs as I fuck him through it, his body jerking with every aftershock, still milking me.

It's perfect.He's perfect.And I'm not stopping until I give him everything back.

"Good," I growl against his mouth, still panting. "So fucking beautiful... painting me... making me yours."

I kiss him again, slow, deep, let him ride the wave of his orgasm, his body twitching in my arms, still slick and clenching from the aftershocks.

Then I shift, breath rough.

"Now?" I whisper, nipping at his jaw. "It's my turn."

He whines, sensitive, but lets me move him, pliant in my arms as I lift him off my chest and flip him onto his stomach.

"Arch that ass for me, baby."

He moves slow, drunk off pleasure, sinking to his elbows, knees spreading, back arched just how I like it—offering himself up, ass high, slick and perfect.

Fuck.

He's stunning.

I kneel behind him, lean in, bite the swell of his ass, and he moans, gasping into the sheets.

Then I grab my cock, still slick and aching, and slide right back in—one stroke, buried to the hilt, both of us moaning at once.

"Throw that ass back on me, beautiful," I snarl, grip tightening on his hips. "Fuck my cock."

And he does.

Pushes back on me slow at first, then faster, looking over his shoulder with that fucking look—those sultry eyes, blonde hair plastered to his cheek, face flushed and dewy from sweat and sex.

He looks ethereal. Unreal. Like sin carved into something holy.

I lose control.

Grab his waist. Slam into him.

Hard.

Relentless.

His moans get louder, mine deeper, the room echoing with the filthy, wet sounds of skin, breath, and need.

The pressure coils fast and tight in my spine, my balls, my gut.

"Fuck—"

I thrust deeper, faster, riding that last edge—

And then I pull out, grip tight on his ass, and cum, spilling hot across his cheeks, his back, marking him mine.

My body collapses over his, spent, heart pounding against his spine as I kiss his shoulder, breathless.

He sighs, soft, warm beneath me.

And I smile, lips against his skin.Home.

Rain's POV

We don't bother cleaning up.

Because when Phi tried—when he lifted me off the bed and carried me to the bathroom, wiping at the mess with some vague sense of responsibility—he ended up fucking me again.

Pressed up against the tile, water still running, my legs around his waist and my forehead on his shoulder.

After that, we just gave up.

Collapsed back into bed like we weren't two ruthless mafia warlords, like Phi didn't have an entire international corporation waiting on his signature for god knows what.

Like I didn't have half a dozen burner phones on silent and at least three messages from the Bangkok syndicate I've been intentionally ignoring.

None of it mattered today.

Because today, we made time for us.And somehow, we always will.

Somewhere in the afternoon—sun bleeding through the windows and our bedroom thick with the scent of sex and sweat—we finally shower.

Phi changes the sheets while I just sit on the couch like a corpse, body jelly, muscles humming.

I watch him move—still maddeningly graceful, unfazed, smirking as he airs out the room like he didn't just fuck me into oblivion twice before noon.

How he can still walk is a mystery.

I pick up my phone to text Papa—ask him to pick up Kaia from school—because let's face it, I'm not moving from this room.

But Phi glances over his shoulder and says, "Don't worry. I'll go get her."

That brings it all back.Kaia.Her training.Her future.

The conversation I've been circling all day.

And now that he's calm, fed, and smug from his conquest—I might finally get some real answers.

So I wait.Let him fold the blanket.Let him feel in control.

And then I ask—Softly, but clearly—

"Phi... can we go back to talking about Kaia's training?"

He exhales, long and quiet, and comes to sit beside me. The couch dips under his weight, familiar and grounding. He's in his usual uniform—black tank, grey sweatpants—casual, soft, but the kind of soft that still looks like it could kill a man.

Still deadly.Still mine.

He pulls my legs across his lap, hands warm and firm as he starts massaging the knots out of my thighs. His thumbs dig in, methodical, patient.

I take a breath. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it first," I say quietly. "I just... after everything that happened, and then this morning—seeing her smiling while we sparred—it felt like the right time. Like she was ready."

He keeps his eyes on my legs, silent for a moment, before sighing again. "I'm not mad," he says finally. "I was just... scared."

He pauses, thumbs stilling on my skin.

"Both of you are the only things I give a shit about. And I don't ever want to fail you, Rain. Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve this life. You're good with Kaia, you're her world. And me?" He swallows, jaw tightening. "I don't have much to give except safety. Protection. And if I can't even do that..."

"Hey."

I sit up a little, reach out, press my palm against his cheek before he can spiral further. "Shh. Don't say that."

He looks at me, eyes dark and heavy, and I hold his face firm in my hand.

"Kaia worships you, Phi," I say softly. "She loves her Dada more than anything. She wants to be strong like you. Half the time she's running around the house pretending to be you—hands behind her back, trying to 'command' the guards."

That gets a quiet snort from him, his mouth twitching just a little.

"She talks about you all the time," I go on. "Even when you can't make it to her recitals or her school plays, she never gets mad. She tells me, 'Papa, Dada's busy working and building stuff. He's building the world for me.'"

He drops his head, breath catching, and I squeeze his face gently until he looks back at me.

"Phi, she doesn't see the man who thinks he fails us. She sees her hero. The one who shows up, who keeps us safe, who makes the monsters afraid to breathe in our direction."

I lean in, forehead to his.

"You didn't fail her. You didn't fail me. You saved us. And that's what she'll always remember."

He exhales against my mouth, quiet, and finally—finally—his shoulders start to loosen.

PHAYU'S POV

"I fucked up," he says, voice low. "I kept seeing her as me when I was younger. How Papa trained me. The drills. The discipline. The knives in the woods and callouses on my hands by the time I was six."

"But Kaia's different. She has a legacy to inherit. She's not just some assassin's son getting bonding lessons with his old man. I was trained out of love, sure—but it was also survival. She's not surviving. She's living."

He looks at me, and there's guilt in his eyes, but something like clarity too.

"She has a great childhood. She's happy. I didn't want to touch that. I wanted to give her the same thing I had, maybe better. But now I get it. We can give her that—and also prepare her. Not the hard stuff. Not yet. Just the basics. The fun stuff. Something she can do with Saifah and Win, run around and feel like a little warrior with her uncles."

He exhales slowly. "Phi... she already knows how to identify different types of guns."

I blink.

"She was never going to grow up normal," he says, eyes closed. "Not in this house. Not with us. And it just... it took Kora for me to see it."

Then, quieter—almost sheepish—I  add, "Would this be a bad time to say I've commissioned a bracelet for her? With a tracker in it."

He snorts and rolls his eyes.

"I was already expecting that," he mutters shaking my head with a grin.

I  grin, and I swear I feel the weight lift from both our chests.

Because now?Now we're back in sync.Now we start making plans.Together.

Rain's POV

I straddle his lap, legs snug around his waist, my palms bracing his face as I press our foreheads together. His hands go instinctively to my thighs, grounding, but his eyes are still heavy—haunted by shadows I thought we buried last night.

I don't let him look away.

"We can't give that woman any power over us," I whisper, voice firm, breath mingling with his. "Not a single thought. Not a single ghost of space in our home."

He swallows, eyes on mine, and I feel his hands tighten just slightly around my legs.

"Kaia is happy, Phi. She's safe. She's thriving. And we're okay."

I kiss the tip of his nose, soft and deliberate.

"From now on, we move on. No shadows in our bed. No blood on our hearts. Kora is nothing. She's never been anything. Not to Kaia. Not to us. She has no space in our family—never did, never will."

His breath shudders against my lips, and I see something ease in his eyes.

"You and me, Phi," I whisper, softer now, reverent. "Till Infinity."

And he nods.Like he believes it.Like it's truth.Because it is.

Phayu's POV

I drive to Kaia's school, hands firm on the wheel, the soft sting of Rain's fingernails still etched across my back—fresh marks from a morning that nearly ended in silence, but didn't.

When they drove off this morning, I was a mess. Mind spiraling. Guilt gnawing through every breath. Thinking of all the ways I could've lost everything.

But that's why Rain and I work.

Why we're not just husbands—we're life partners, soul-bound in every sense that matters.He knows how to hold me at the edge of ruin and pull me back with nothing but truth and touch.

I pull into the school parking lot, shift the engine off, and step out.

Black tank. Black joggers. Boots. Hair tied back. Shades on. Broad, inked, unmistakable. I know I don't blend in. Don't need to. I stand there in the sun like a silent wall and wait.

Then I catch a flash of blonde curls—bouncing, untamed—threading through the sea of little uniforms.

She probably thinks it's Rain waiting for her, like usual.

But when she sees me—really sees me—her eyes go wide and she gasps, mouth parting in surprise.

And then she runs.

"Dada!" she yells, feet pounding the pavement, backpack bouncing, arms flung wide.

My heart stutters.

That sound—just that one word, that voice calling for me like I'm her whole world—It wrecks me.

I crouch just in time to catch her.

And in that moment, everything else fades.

Because this...This is everything.

She's a whirlwind the moment I've got her in my arms.

Talking a mile a minute—words tumbling out so fast I barely catch them.

"Dada!! Did Papa tell you to come? Did you bring snacks? Can we get ice cream? I want to show you the swings—the big one! And—and I want to show  you to my friends and show you my spot under the tree and—"

I'm still crouched in front of her, just watching. Letting her burn through the excitement, that hyper little glow she always gets when she's happy.

When she finally slows, I just smile and say quietly, "I missed you."

Her grin softens, and she throws her arms around my neck. "I missed you too, Dada."

And that? That alone is enough to ground me.

But then—

A small voice chimes in beside us.

"Woah, Kaia... is that your Dada?"

Kaia turns, beaming, and points toward the girl who asked. I recognize her immediately—Lilly. The one who chews the heads off her gummy bears first.

I rise to my full height, and Lilly takes a tiny step back, eyes wide.

"Woah," she says again. "Kaia... he's so big."

Kaia's grin only stretches wider. She squares her shoulders, like she's proud of it.

"He's really strong," she declares. "He can carry me with one hand and Papa with the other."

I chuckle, crouching again, but she's not done.

"He builds big places too. Malls and schools and houses for people to live in. My Dada is famous."

Something in my chest pulls tight—because the pride in her voice is so genuine, so fierce, it knocks the air from me.

I don't deserve her.But I'll earn her.Every day.

I brush her hair behind her ear and murmur, "Ready to go home, tiger?"

She nods quickly—then pauses. "Can we get ice cream first?"

I crouch lower, so we're eye to eye.

"Of course," I say, brushing my knuckle under her chin. "And how about tonight, I take you on a Dada-Princess date? Just you and me. You get to dress up like my little lady."

She jumps, squealing. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Then she spins to Lilly and announces, bursting with excitement:

"I'm going on a date with my Dada tonight!"

And just like that, I know I'm doing this more often.

Not because I owe her.Because I want to.

Because making her feel like this—seen, loved, chosen—is the only legacy that ever really mattered.

I strap her in her car seat, pressing a kiss to her forehead before closing the door gently. She's already kicking her feet and humming something under her breath.

By the time I get in the front and start the engine, she's ready.

"How was school, tiger? Anyone mean to you?"

She shakes her head, curls bouncing. "Nope!" she chirps, then launches straight into it.

She tells me everything—everything.

How her new teacher smells like cotton candy and "not like old crayons like Ms. Kora."How she shared her lunch with a girl whose mum forgot to pack hers.How she and Lilly fought over who gets to be the queen of the monkey bars and then made up during recess.

She even mentions Rocky.I skillfully, intentionally, tune that out.

We pull into the ice cream shop, and I swear the attendant nearly drops their scoop when a six-foot tattooed man in a black tank walks in holding the hand of a five-year-old ball of sunshine.

She makes me try every flavor.

Every. Single. One.

I'm pretty sure I blacked out halfway through the third round of sprinkles.

But she's grinning. And laughing. And making some other kid jealous over her ridiculous swirl tower.

And I'd do it again.

We drive home slow, music low, her ice cream long gone, her eyes fluttering sleepily as she sucks on the last of the cone.

By the time I carry her upstairs—because of course she falls asleep halfway through the second turn of the driveway—I already know what I'm walking into.

Rain.Upstairs.Waiting.

In bed.Legs very much out of commission.

I push open the bedroom door and there he is, lounging with a book like he didn't spend the whole morning wrecked and wrecking me in return.

He lifts a brow. Smirks. "You survived?"

I raise Kaia in my arms slightly. "Barely. Your daughter had me trying seventeen types of sugar."

Rain laughs softly. "Because she had you wrapped around her finger."

"She gets it from you," I say, and Rain's smile only deepens.

Yeah.

Coming home to this?Worth every minute.