Chapter 1232 Leader
Ross clamped a hand over her mouth, not gentle, just firm enough to muffle it while he set a punishing rhythm.
Each snap of his hips drove her higher up the wall, her nails raking down his back, leaving angry red lines.
He fucked her like he was trying to burn the need out of her—deep, relentless, no mercy. Bella’s eyes fluttered, then rolled back, whites showing as the first orgasm hit fast and vicious.
Her body seized around him, walls pulsing, thighs trembling so hard they nearly slipped.
"Ohhhh... God—again—don’t stop—"
Ross didn’t. He carried her to the bunk, dropped her face-down across the narrow mattress.
One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to arch her spine; the other gripped her hip, fingers digging bruises into soft flesh.
He thrust in from behind—deeper now, the angle hitting spots that made her sob into the pillow he pressed to her face to stifle the volume.
"Ughhh—yes! Right there—fuck—"
She came again almost immediately—back bowing, toes curling, a muffled scream vibrating against the fabric.
Ross kept going, pace brutal, sweat slicking their skin.
He flipped her onto her back, hooked her knees over his shoulders, folded her nearly in half.
The new position let him go impossibly deeper; Bella’s hands flew to the headboard, knuckles white, mouth open in a continuous stream of broken moans.
"Ahhhh—Ross—so good —too much—"
But she could. She always could.
Another orgasm crashed through her—then another overlapping, waves piling on until she was shaking uncontrollably, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, body slick and trembling.
Ross watched every second of it—eyes dark, control ironclad—timing his own release until she was boneless and gasping.
Only when she was utterly spent—chest heaving, limbs heavy, eyes glassy—did he let himself finish.
One final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a low, guttural groan as he pulsed inside her.
They collapsed together, sweat-cooled skin sticking, breaths ragged in the stifling quiet.
Ross rolled half off her, pulling her against his chest. His hand stroked down her spine—slow, almost tender now.
"You still with me?" he murmured, voice rough.
Bella laughed weakly, hoarse. "Barely. You trying to kill me?"
"Trying to keep you quiet," he said, pressing a kiss to her damp temple. "Nobody heard. Not even close."
She nodded against his shoulder, eyes closing. "Good. I kind of like it if they could all hear me scream again."
Ross’s jaw tightened for half a second. "Naughty. Soon but not yet."
He meant it. The secrecy wasn’t just about sparing feelings—it was about protecting the fragile equilibrium they’d all built.
Jenny was his daylight now, his steady thing in a world of rot.
Bella was the night shift: the chemical necessity he couldn’t ignore, the debt he paid in flesh and silence.
Across the base, in his cracked-open room, Sebastian hadn’t moved.
He’d heard it all—every muffled cry, every wet slap of skin, every choked plea that still carried just enough to reach him through the thin corridors and shared vents Ross hadn’t fully blocked from this direction.
The sounds were fainter than they used to be, deliberately smothered, but unmistakable.
Bella’s voice—high, desperate, blissed-out—cut deeper than any blade ever had.
Not because he hated her for it.
Because he still loved her enough to recognize the relief in every scream.
Enough to know she was finally quiet inside her own skin, even if it wasn’t his hands making it happen.
He didn’t cry tonight. The tears had dried up long ago.
Instead he lay there, hand pressed flat over his heart like he could physically hold the pieces together.
Breathing slow. Counting the seconds between her moans until they faded into heavy, sated silence.
When the room down the hall finally went still, Sebastian closed his eyes.
He didn’t get up. Didn’t confront. Didn’t rage.
He just waited for morning—when Bella would slip back to her own bunk, kiss his forehead like nothing had happened, and they’d both pretend the night hadn’t carved another small hollow in him.
Because in this world, love sometimes meant listening in the dark.
And letting the screams stay where they belonged
***
Another week slipped by in the slow, grinding rhythm of base life—patrols that came back bloodier than they left, fences patched with scavenged wire, meals that tasted more like survival than food.
And through it all, June felt the shift settle into her bones like damp cold.
The rumors had solidified into fact. Ross was all-in with Jenny now.
The women’s dorm talked about it openly: how he’d carry her coffee in the mornings like it was a ritual, how Jenny’s bunk in the women’s dorm had become mostly decorative, how the moans that drifted through the vents were unmistakably hers—lower, throatier, more possessive than Bella’s ever were.
Ross moved differently around Jenny too: a hand on the small of her back when they passed in the corridor, a private half-smile that never used to exist for anyone else.
June caught fragments of it every day.
She’d see them in the mess hall—Jenny leaning into his side, Ross murmuring something that made her laugh low and soft—and something sharp would twist in June’s chest.
Not jealousy, exactly. Or maybe it was. She didn’t want to name it.
What she noticed most was how Ross treated her.
The fire that used to crackle behind his eyes whenever they spoke—gone. Completely.
No more lingering looks that made her skin heat.
No more casual brushes of his knuckles against her arm when he handed her a clipboard or a spare mag.
No more that low, teasing drawl that used to say her name like a secret. Now it was clipped.
Professional. Impersonal.
"Will do, commander."
"Jobs done."
"Okay commander."
Just business. Just simple words. Just another soldier.
She should have been grateful. Relieved, even.
She had—had—a fiancé.
A promise ring still tucked in the inner pocket of her jacket, the metal worn smooth from months of nervous thumb-rubbing.
Then the apocalypse came—and in an instant, it shattered every plan they had ever made.
And now she’s craving for a man she shouldn’t.