Crimson Steel

Chapter Eleven - The Breaking Point

Clothes came off in pieces—half-torn, half-forgotten.

Avery didn’t remember how her sweater ended up across the room or how Colt’s shirt hit the floor, but she remembered his mouth—hot, rough, needy—trailing down her chest as if he was memorizing the shape of every breath she took.

He kissed her like he was starving for her. Like he’d waited years and refused to wait another second.

And maybe he had.

When he slid her panties down her legs with deliberate slowness, she gasped—more from the way he looked at her than the touch itself.

Like she was a storm he’d finally decided to walk into.

Like she was his, and nothing else mattered now.

“You’ve always looked like this in my head,” Colt murmured, thumb tracing the edge of her hip bone. “But now I get to see it. Touch it. Make you mine.”

She didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because then his mouth was on her skin again—neck, breasts, stomach—his hands pressing her into the mattress with more care than she expected, more heat than she could handle.

And when he slid inside her, slow and deep, every inhale burned.

Avery arched, fingers clawing at his back, her voice catching in her throat.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was real.

Raw.

Rough around the edges.

And so goddamn needed.

He moved with purpose, grinding deeper with every thrust, each one landing like a claim stamped on her soul. No words now—just breath and moans and bodies crashing into each other like they’d waited too long to finally break.

And Avery gave in.

Fully.

Without fight, without pride.

Because it wasn’t about surrender—it was about letting go of everything that came before this. Every high school mistake. Every missed look. Every wall built too high.

Colt pushed her over the edge with a hand gripping her thigh, his name leaving her lips like a curse.

And when he followed, face buried in her neck, breath hot against her skin—

It wasn’t anger or control that shook his voice.

It was relief.

Later, they lay tangled in the dark—bodies slick with sweat, breath finally slowing.

Avery stared at the ceiling, the weight of his arm heavy across her stomach, anchoring her in place.

She should’ve felt trapped.

She didn’t.

“You still hate me?” he asked, voice rough, low.

She closed her eyes.

“No,” she whispered. “But I still don’t trust you.”

His fingers traced lazy circles on her hip.

“Good,” he murmured. “Trust comes later.”

She didn’t reply.

But she didn’t move away either.

Because for now?

This was enough.

The morning crept in slowly—light bleeding through the blinds, casting narrow shadows across the sheets.

Avery woke first.

She lay still for a long time, her body sore in all the ways that told her last night hadn’t been a dream. Her thighs ached. Her lips felt swollen. Her skin carried his fingerprints like a secret.

Colt’s arm was draped over her waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep.

And for a moment, she just stared at the ceiling.

The night had been fire.

Desperate. Consuming.

But now—reality was back. And it was colder.

She could hear voices downstairs. Bikes revving. The club waking up.

And her?

She was in the club president’s bed, half-naked, makeup smudged, heart beating in places it had no business feeling.

Colt stirred behind her, breath warm on the back of her shoulder.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice low and sleepy.

She didn’t turn around. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “You regretting it already?”

She let that sit in the air between them. Heavy. Honest.

“No,” she said finally. “I’m just… thinking.”

Colt shifted, pressing closer, arm pulling her into him like muscle memory.

“Don’t overthink it, counselor.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You’re used to claiming things and walking away like it’s normal.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder. “I didn’t walk away.”

She closed her eyes.

“No. You didn’t.”

He sat up, sliding out of bed, bare and unbothered, grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor. She watched him dress, watched the way the light hit the tattoos across his shoulders. He looked every bit the man who’d ruled her body the night before—commanding, confident, in control.

She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

“What happens now?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” She sighed. “Was last night a one-time thing? Do I keep playing house in your room like a hidden mistress while your men watch me like a bomb that might go off?”

He walked to the edge of the bed, crouched in front of her.

His hand found her jaw, fingers gentle.

“You’re not hidden,” he said. “I already claimed you in front of everyone.”

“Yeah, you did. Right before you kissed me like a threat.”

“Because it was one.”

His voice softened just enough to make her heart flinch.

“But last night?” he added. “That wasn’t.”

She met his gaze and hated how much she still wanted him—even in the mess of it all.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he said. “That’s why we work.”

He stood, grabbing his cut off the back of the chair.

“I’ve got business downstairs. You stay up here. Door stays locked.”

“Colt—”

He turned at the door.

“I don’t do half-measures, Avery. You’re in this now. You stay in it until I say otherwise.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And Avery sat there in silence, hair messy, heart loud in her chest, wondering just how deep she’d let herself fall.

And whether she’d survive it.

The room smelled like him.

Smoke. Leather. s*x.

Avery sat on the edge of the bed for a long time after Colt left, blanket clutched around her like it could hold her together.

She looked around—really looked this time.

His space was clean, functional. Spartan. Nothing soft, nothing sentimental. Except for the small box still tucked away at the top of the closet.

She never imagined her life would circle back to this.

Not here.

Not in his bed.

Not in a world she tried so hard to leave behind.

But what stunned her most wasn’t that she ended up back in this place.

It was that it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt… inevitable.

And that terrified her.

With a slow exhale, she pulled herself to her feet and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

The mirror didn’t lie.

Her makeup was smudged. Her hair wild. A faint mark—his mouth, his teeth—on her collarbone. She touched it lightly, then shook her head.

What the hell are you doing, Avery?

She turned on the water, waited for it to run hot, and stepped into the shower.

Steam curled around her as she stood under the spray, eyes closed, letting it wash over her. She picked up the soap and started to scrub—not gently. Not slowly. Like she could scrub away the truth sitting under her skin.

She could still feel him.

Inside her.

All over her.

And for a moment, she let the memory rise—his weight, his voice, his hands. The way he looked at her like he had every right to break her apart and keep the pieces.

A rush of heat spread through her gut. Not shame. Not guilt.

Just need. Still simmering under the surface.

She rinsed off, bracing her hands on the tile, eyes stinging.

Thank God she was on birth control.

They hadn’t stopped.

Not once.

Not to ask.

Not to think.

Not to protect anything but control.

Her chest tightened. Not with fear. But with the sharp reminder that nothing about this could be half-measured. Not with Colt. Not in this life.

Everything here came with risk.

With consequences.

She shut the water off and stepped out into the cool air. Wrapped herself in a towel and wiped the steam from the mirror. Her reflection stared back—different somehow. Eyes darker. Shoulders straighter. Like she wasn’t the girl who walked into this club days ago anymore.

She wasn’t.

She wasn’t sure who she was now.

But she was starting to feel like someone new.

And that was almost more dangerous than anything Colt had promised.

A knock at the door made Avery jump.

She tightened the belt of her coat around her waist and forced a steady breath before opening it.

Cal stood on the other side, sunglasses perched on his head, hands casually in the pockets of his worn black hoodie.

“Morning,” he said. “Boss figured you could use some air.”

She raised a brow. “Did he now?”

Cal shrugged. “You’ve been locked up like a damn hostage. His words, not mine.”

“Sounds like him.”

He offered a wry smile and stepped aside to let her out. “Stretch your legs. Clear your head. But stay close. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t start s**t. And for the love of God, don’t wander.”

Avery gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

They walked in silence at first, out through the rear hall, past the garage, toward the back lot where a few bikes sat under the morning sun.

The cool air hit her skin, refreshing and sharp.

She inhaled deeply, grateful for the clean burn in her lungs.

Even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

Like every person she passed—even those not looking directly at her—knew.

Like they could smell Colt on her.

She’d pulled her hair back. Chose a high-collared coat. Long sleeves. Minimal makeup. She’d scrubbed her skin until it stung, just to erase the flush that wouldn’t quite leave.

Still, she felt exposed. Raw in ways she couldn’t explain.

Cal noticed. Of course he did.

“You okay?” he asked after a while.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“That’s your opinion.”

Cal chuckled. “You get used to the way they stare.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” she said quickly.

His tone softened. “That’s fair.”

They reached the edge of the yard where the gravel met open field. She paused, folding her arms over her chest, eyes scanning the wide expanse beyond the fence.

“It feels different,” she muttered.

“What does?”

“Everything. The way they look at me. Like I’m marked.”

Cal hesitated, then said, “You are.”

She turned toward him, startled.

“You think Colt would’ve brought you back here,” he continued, “let you stay in his room, sleep in his bed—hell, let you breathe his air—if you weren’t his now?”

“I didn’t agree to wear a collar.”

Cal gave her a knowing look. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t put it on anyway.”

Avery said nothing. Because part of her hated how right he was.

“You wanted air,” Cal added gently. “This is it. But when you go back in there, remember—you’re not invisible anymore. Whether you like it or not, you’re at the center of this now.”

She swallowed hard.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.

Cal looked at her, serious now. “Then figure it out fast. Because whatever’s coming next? You’re gonna need every ounce of that strength.”

When Avery stepped back into the clubhouse, the air felt thicker than when she left. Less noise. Fewer people in the common room. Just that familiar hum of pressure under the surface—like the place was holding its breath.

And then she saw him.

Colt.

Leaning against the doorframe to the hallway, arms crossed, one boot braced back against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

She froze, every nerve on edge, and adjusted the belt on her coat like it would shield her from the weight of his stare.

He pushed off the wall slowly and walked toward her.

His presence swallowed the space between them in seconds.

“You went out,” he said.

“I was escorted,” she replied flatly. “By Cal. Your idea, remember?”

His eyes dragged down her body—not in hunger this time, but in assessment. Coat. Hair. The flush in her cheeks. The tension in her jaw.

“You look different.”

She swallowed. “Fresh air’ll do that.”

“No,” he said. “You’re carrying something.”

She tried to brush past him, but he caught her wrist—not rough, not forceful. Just enough to stop her in her tracks.

“You’re quiet,” he said. “You don’t do quiet unless you’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling,” she bit out.

He tilted his head, reading her like a map. “You feel exposed. You’re wondering if they all know what we did last night.”

She yanked her wrist free. “Do they?”

“I don’t give a damn if they do,” he said. “But I care if you’re walking around looking like prey.”

That hit her sideways.

“I’m not prey.”

“You smell like it right now,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ve got guilt all over you. Shame in your eyes. Like you’re afraid someone might call you out for what you wanted.”

She flinched.

Colt’s gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t force you into my bed, Avery. You crawled into it. Just like you crawled onto me. So stop walking around like a victim in a silk coat.”

That cut.

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

Then whispered, “I’m trying to figure out who I am here, Colt. Last night—what we did—that was…”

“Real,” he finished.

She looked away.

“I don’t know if I can be this girl. The one who lives in a clubhouse. Who belongs to the man everyone fears.”

Colt stepped in fully now, hands sliding to her hips, gripping—not to trap, but to hold her still.

“You don’t have to be anyone but who you are.”

“But you—”

“I don’t need you to be like them,” he said. “You think I’d want a copy of every girl in this place? You’re here because you’re not one of them. But you’re mine, Avery. That hasn’t changed.”

His lips brushed hers, soft and brutal all at once.

“I won’t let you pretend we’re something we’re not. Not after the way you begged me last night.”

She went still in his arms, breath sharp, eyes flashing.

“You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re mine,” he said. “So stop hiding like it’s a secret.”

Cal didn’t say much on the way back in. Just gave her a nod and walked ahead, checking corners like he always did. It was routine. Normal.

But nothing felt normal to Avery now.

She was guided back through the main hall, through glances that felt sharper than usual. No one said anything. No one had to. She felt it under her skin.

By the time Cal opened the door to Colt’s room and motioned her inside, her stomach was twisting itself into knots.

“Let him know if you need anything,” Cal said before pulling the door shut behind her.

She stood there for a moment—still in her coat, boots tracking dust onto Colt’s rug, heartbeat too loud in her ears.

Then she exhaled and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She didn't regret it.

Not the s*x.

Not the night.

Not the way he made her feel like her body had been waiting for his touch since they were teenagers too stubborn to admit it.

It had been good. So damn good. It was Colt. Of course it was.

But what she hated was this—this lingering burn under her skin, like she’d done something wrong just by enjoying it. The whispers behind closed doors that hadn’t even happened yet but echoed in her head anyway.

She wasn’t like these women.

She didn’t f**k in public hallways and laugh about it at breakfast. She didn’t live out loud in the way this club did—lawless, loud, shameless.

And yet now, she was one of them.

Or at least, they saw her as his.

That alone made her feel bare.

Her fingers curled around the edge of her coat, the thick fabric clutched like armor.

Colt knew. He saw her spiraling before she could even name it. Told her flat out—he wanted her because she wasn’t like them.

She was different.

That’s what pulled him in. What made him want to own her in the first place.

But being different in a place like this?

It meant being seen.

Too clearly.

Too openly.

Too much.

Avery lay back slowly, her eyes tracing the ceiling.

She’d been fighting to survive in his world since she came back.

And now that she was finally in his bed—claimed, kissed, consumed—she realized something else entirely.

She didn’t know if she belonged here.

But she wanted to.

And that scared her most of all.