Breach - 6

Chapter Six:

Mine to Protect, Mine to Ruin

11:45 A.M.

Punishment.

Cain shoved Saxon down onto the desk. The wood groaned beneath them.

“Hands flat.”

Saxon obeyed, breathless.

Cain ripped his joggers down. No prep. No lube. Just spit and fury and the sharp edge of jealousy turned into pure, sexual violence.

He shoved two fingers into Saxon, twisting, stretching.

Saxon moaned, “Fuck—”

“You want pretty boys with soft hands?” Cain growled. “You want compliments and giggles?”

Saxon’s head dropped forward. “No. I want you.”

Cain spat on his cock, lined up, and slammed in.

Saxon cried out, body arching, fingers clawing at the desk.

Cain gripped his hips so hard he’d leave bruises. “Say it again.”

“I want you—fuck—Cain—”

Cain pounded into him, brutal, merciless, possessive.

“This is mine,” he snarled. “You are mine.”

Saxon’s moans turned to cries. Raw. Desperate.

Cain pulled out halfway—then drove back in so hard the desk shook.

Saxon nearly sobbed. “I’m yours—I’m fucking yours—please—don’t stop—”

Cain leaned down, lips brushing Saxon’s ear.

“If you ever flirt with him again,” he whispered darkly, “I’ll tie you up, edge you for hours, and come on your face while you beg.”

Saxon’s cock twitched.

Cain smirked.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Saxon whimpered. “Yes—fuck—yes, I would—”

Cain grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and bit down on his neck, leaving a mark deep and dark.

Then he fucked him harder—so hard Saxon screamed, lost in the chaos of pain, ownership, lust.

And when he finally came, it was explosive—Cain didn’t even touch him. Saxon just shattered, gasping Cain’s name like it was the only word he’d ever known.

Cain came seconds later, groaning deep, spilling inside him.

He didn’t pull out.

He stayed buried.

Breathing hard. Jaw clenched.

Saxon was trembling beneath him, a puddle of sweat, come, and wrecked pride.

But he was smiling.

“I knew you were jealous.”

Cain pulled out slowly, watched the slick drip from between Saxon’s legs.

“You did that on purpose.”

Saxon looked over his shoulder. “I’d do it again.”

Cain reached forward and slapped his ass. Hard.

Saxon groaned. “Again.”

Cain slapped the other cheek. “Slut.”

Saxon turned fully and grabbed Cain by the shirt, pulling him into a filthy kiss—tongue, teeth, sweat.

When they broke apart, breathless, Cain whispered, “Don’t make me lose control like that again.”

Saxon grinned. “I will.”

—

12:31 P.M.

Saxon was back in bed, sprawled face-down, ass red and lips swollen.

Cain stood at the doorway, re-adjusting his holster.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Saxon mumbled, cheek pressed to the sheets.

Cain looked back. “Just for an hour.”

“You’ll miss me.”

Cain smirked. “I’ll be watching.”

Saxon groaned. “Pervert.”

Cain walked out.

But he wasn’t smiling anymore.

Because there were things moving outside this estate—plans, faces, names—and someone had broken past the outer sensors during the distraction.

Someone who didn’t trip a single alarm.

Someone who wanted Saxon alive.

For now.

—

Elsewhere…

In a dark room, a laptop screen glowed.

A grainy still image played on repeat:

Saxon, bent over the desk.

Cain buried inside him. “Perfect,” a voice murmured. “Let them think it’s love.”

”Then take it all.”

—

01:06 A.M.

Cain’s phone lit up with a silent alert.

Security breach. Sector 9.

No motion alarms. No trip sensors. No visible intruder on the feeds. Just a silent ghost slipping between shadows and static, straight through the most vulnerable wing of the estate.

The east quarter.

Where Enzo was posted.

And Saxon… asleep, unguarded.

Cain was on his feet before the second alert hit.

This was no accident.

—

01:09 A.M.

The halls echoed with Cain’s footsteps as he sprinted toward the east wing. His earpiece buzzed with static. No contact. No eyes.

Then—

Gunfire. One shot. Close range.

Cain’s stomach dropped.

Enzo.

He turned the corner and froze.

Enzo was slumped against the wall, blood slick down the front of his shirt, a hand pressed to his ribs, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

“Fuck—” Cain dropped beside him, yanked off his jacket, and pressed it to the wound. “Stay with me.”

Enzo winced. “They knew—where I was. They waited.”

“Who was it?” Cain growled.

Enzo’s lips twitched. “Didn’t see their face. But they were fast. Like you.”

Cain clenched his jaw. “I’ll get you out.”

“Forget me,” Enzo hissed. “Saxon. They’re after him. You need to—”

Cain was already gone.

—

01:12 A.M.

Saxon’s Room

Saxon stirred from sleep, naked beneath the silk sheets, when he felt the shift in air—like gravity pulling wrong. The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Then—

A blade glinted near his throat.

“Don’t move,” a voice whispered from the shadows.

A woman’s voice.

Soft. Cold. Familiar.

Saxon’s blood went cold.

“Rena,” he breathed.

The lights flicked on.

She stood at the edge of his bed—leather-clad, knife in one hand, a gun holstered beneath her jacket. Her smile was poison.

“Hello, Sax.”

Saxon sat up slowly, blanket sliding down his chest. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Rena’s smile widened. “I get that a lot.”

She moved closer, dragging the knife across the nightstand, nails tapping the wood.

“You look good,” she purred. “All filled out. Still reckless. Still letting dangerous men inside you.”

Saxon didn’t move. “What do you want?”

Rena tilted her head. “Oh, sweetheart. This isn’t about what I want. It’s about what you took.”

“I didn’t take anything.”

“No,” she whispered. “But he did.”

She touched the knife to Saxon’s collarbone.

And pressed.

Hard.

—

01:14 A.M.

Cain burst through the door, gun raised.

Rena didn’t flinch.

She had Saxon by the hair now, the knife against his throat, her eyes calm and smiling.

“Cain,” she purred. “Always crashing in at the perfect moment.”

“Step away,” Cain said, voice like stone. “Now.”

Rena chuckled. “Still so serious. Still pretending you’re in control.”

Cain took a step forward.

Rena pressed the knife deeper. Saxon hissed.

“One more inch, and I open his throat,” she said lightly.

Cain paused.

“You don’t want to do this,” he said.

“I do. I really do.” Her eyes locked on him. “But I want to hurt you more.”

Cain clenched his jaw. “Why?”

Rena’s gaze softened. “Because he was mine first.”

Saxon froze.

Cain blinked.

“You loved me,” she whispered to Cain. “You kissed me. Fucked me. Promised me the world.”

Cain’s expression didn’t shift. “I lied.”

Rena laughed. “I know. And now you’ll bleed for it.”

She shifted—too fast to follow—and hurled the knife at Cain.

Cain ducked, rolled, fired once—clean through her shoulder.

Rena screamed, staggered, then leapt through the window with a crash of glass, disappearing into the night.

Cain rushed to Saxon.

Blood. Not deep, but the line across his collarbone bled fast.

“I’m fine,” Saxon muttered. “Enzo?”

“Alive. Barely.”

Cain cupped Saxon’s face. “Did she touch you?”

Saxon nodded. “Just the knife. Nothing else.”

Cain growled and kissed him—rough, wild, furious.

Then he pulled him into his arms.

“Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”