Bound By His Rules

Five

( Brian's POV )

The lake stretched out before them, its surface a mirror of the heavy sky, rippling faintly under the weight of the wind. Ava's breath still trembled from the kiss, her lips tingling with the taste of Brian, salt and smoke and something deeper, something that felt like a mistake she couldn’t stop making.

His forehead pressed against hers, his breath warm and uneven, fanning across her skin. Her hands were still tangled in his jacket, fingers curled into the worn fabric as if letting go would unravel her completely.

“Ava, ” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, like he was trying to talk himself out of something. His thumb grazed her jaw again, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice sharp but fragile.

“Don’t say my name like that. Not when you’re about to tell me to leave again.”

His eyes, dark and stormy, locked onto hers. “I’m not telling you to leave.”

“Then what are you doing?” Her words were a challenge, but her body betrayed her, leaning closer, her chest brushing against his. The heat of him seeped through her sweater, warming the places she’d tried to keep cold.

Brian’s hand slid from her jaw to the nape of her neck, fingers threading into her hair. His touch was firm but careful, like he was holding something he wasn’t sure he deserved. “I’m trying not to ruin this.”

She laughed, a soft, bitter sound. “Too late for that.”

His grip tightened, just enough to make her pulse jump. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You don’t know how hard it is to stop.”

“Then don’t,” she said, reckless and raw. Her hands slid up his chest, over the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his collarbone. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and unsteady, matching hers.

“Stop fighting it, Brian. Just for once.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, she thought he’d pull away again, retreat behind that wall he was so good at building. But then his other hand found her waist, pulling her closer, and the air between them ignited.

His lips crashed into hers, not slow this time, but hungry, desperate, like he’d been starving for her and only just realized it. She kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him down to the damp grass with her. The cold ground pressed against her back, but all she could feel was him, his weight, his heat, the way his body fit against hers like it had been carved to belong there.

“God, Ava,” he groaned against her mouth, his hands sliding under her sweater, fingers splaying across the bare skin of her stomach. His touch was electric, sending sparks skittering through her, waking every nerve. She arched into him, her breath catching as his thumb brushed the sensitive skin just below her ribs.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. She didn’t care about the consequences anymore, didn’t care about the lines they’d crossed or the ones they were about to. All she wanted was him, here, now, in this moment where nothing else existed.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with something that went beyond desire, something that felt like surrender. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made her chest ache.

She nodded, her hands reaching for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. “I’m sure.”

He helped her, pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. The sight of him, bare-chested, skin flushed in the cool air, muscles taut and shadowed, stole her breath. She reached out, her fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone, down to the hard curve of his chest, feeling the heat of him under her touch. He shivered, his eyes never leaving hers, and the intensity of his gaze made her feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her clothes.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent heat pooling low in her belly. His hands found the edge of her sweater, and she lifted her arms, letting him peel it off. The cold air hit her skin, but his hands were there immediately, warm and sure, sliding over her shoulders, down her arms, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of her neck, soft at first, then harder, teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp. Her hands found his hair, tugging gently, urging him closer. His kisses trailed lower, along her collarbone, down to the edge of her bra, each one deliberate, like he was mapping every inch of her with his mouth.

“Brian,” she breathed, her voice barely audible, lost in the rush of sensation. His hands slid to her back, deftly unhooking her bra, and when it fell away, his breath caught. He looked at her like she was something sacred, something he wasn’t supposed to have but couldn’t resist.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and the raw honesty in his voice made her heart stutter. His hands cupped her, thumbs brushing over her skin, and she arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sound seemed to unravel something in him, because his kisses grew more urgent, his hands more insistent, sliding down to the waistband of her jeans.

She fumbled with his belt in return, her fingers trembling with want. The leather gave way under her hands, and she pushed his jeans down, her touch grazing the hard lines of his hips. He groaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating through her, and then his hands were on her jeans, tugging them down with a roughness that made her pulse race.

The grass was cold against her bare legs, but his body was warm, pressing against her, shielding her from the wind. His lips found hers again, kissing her like he was drowning and she was air, his hands roaming her body, learning every curve, every dip. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, feeling the hard length of him through the thin fabric still between them.

“Ava,” he said again, his voice strained, like he was holding himself back by a thread. “If we do this...”

“We’re already doing it,” she cut him off, her hands sliding down his back, nails grazing his skin just enough to make him hiss. “No more excuses.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he kissed her harder, his hands slipping beneath the last barrier of her underwear, tugging it down with a reverence that made her heart ache. She mirrored him, her fingers deft and sure, and when there was nothing left between them, the world seemed to narrow to just this, just them, just the heat of their bodies, the rhythm of their breaths.

He paused, his eyes searching hers one last time, giving her a chance to pull back. But she didn’t. She reached up, pulling him down to her, her lips brushing his ear. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, and that was all it took.

He moved with her then, slow at first, deliberate, every touch a question and an answer. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her body arching to meet his, and the world dissolved into heat and sensation. The cold grass, the distant ripple of the lake, the weight of their mistakes, all of it faded until there was nothing but the way he felt, the way he moved, the way he whispered her name like it was a prayer.

She lost herself in him, in the rhythm they found, in the way his hands anchored her even as they set her free. Every touch, every kiss, every shuddering breath was a confession of everything they’d tried to deny. Her nails dug into his back, urging him faster, deeper, and he obliged, his control fraying with every gasp she let slip.

When the release came, it was like a wave breaking, pulling them both under. She cried out, her voice mingling with his low groan, their bodies trembling together as the world spun and settled. He collapsed against her, his weight grounding her, his breath hot against her neck.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The wind whispered through the trees, and the lake lapped softly at the shore, but all she could hear was the thud of his heart against hers.

“Ava's ,” he said finally, his voice raw, vulnerable in a way she’d never heard before.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Not yet.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple, and they stayed like that, tangled together in the grass, the world quiet except for the truth neither of them was ready to face.

Because some fires don’t burn out. They consume. And they were already ashes.