The Hero Returns with his Yandere Wife-Chapter 19 - 18

An Hour Later – Elena's Apartment

The alley fight clung to them like a second skin—sweat, blood, and the sharp tang of adrenaline still thick in their veins.

Ryn slumped onto Elena's worn couch, his messy black hair plastered to his forehead, the faint sting of his calf wound pulsing beneath a hasty bandage.

Elena kicked the door shut behind them, her black combat gear streaked with grime, her chestnut hair a wild tangle spilling over her shoulders.

She tossed her gloves onto the table, the clatter sharp against the quiet hum of the apartment.

Her steel-blue eyes flicked to Ryn, a spark igniting in their depths—hunger, challenge, something primal.

"You're a mess," she said, voice low and rough, stepping closer.

Ryn smirked, leaning back, his amber eyes meeting hers.

"Says the one who jumped first."

She didn't reply with words.

Instead, she closed the distance, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of him.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle, and she kissed him—hard, bruising, tasting of salt and defiance.

Ryn's hands slid up her thighs, rough palms catching on the fabric of her gear, pulling her closer.

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The kiss deepened, tongues clashing, a battle neither intended to lose.

Elena broke away, breathless, her grin sharp as a blade.

"Bedroom. Now."

Ryn didn't argue.

He stood, lifting her with him, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her down the hall.

The bedroom door banged open, and he dropped her onto the bed, the springs creaking under her weight.

She laughed—a low, throaty sound—kicking off her boots as he shed his jacket, the B-Class badge glinting briefly before it hit the floor.

Elena peeled off her shirt, revealing the taut lines of her torso, scars mapping her skin like a warrior's tapestry.

Ryn's gaze lingered, heat flaring in his chest, and he tugged his own shirt over his head, exposing lean muscle and the faint bruises of their trade.

She crooked a finger, beckoning him closer.

He obeyed, climbing onto the bed, his hands finding her hips as he pressed himself against her.

Her breath hitched as he kissed her neck, teeth grazing her pulse, her fingers threading through his hair to pull him tighter.

"Harder," she muttered, voice a command.

Ryn obliged, nipping her skin, leaving faint marks as his hands roamed—sliding under her waistband, teasing the edge of her pants.

Elena arched into him, impatient, shoving his shoulders down.

"Enough playing," she growled, yanking at his belt.

Clothes hit the floor in a hurried pile—pants, underwear, all discarded in the heat of the moment.

Naked now, she pushed him onto his back, her body hovering over his, a predator sizing up her prey.

Ryn grinned up at her, hands gripping her thighs as she swung a leg over his face.

She lowered herself, her heat brushing his lips, while her own mouth found him—hot, wet, unyielding.

They locked into each other, a tangle of limbs and desire, the 69 a messy, mutual claiming.

Her tongue worked him with fierce precision, drawing a low groan from his throat, muffled against her as he tasted her in return.

The room filled with their sounds—gasps, moans, the creak of the bed beneath their shifting weight.

Elena's hips rocked, pressing harder, her fingers digging into his thighs as she chased her edge.

Ryn matched her rhythm, relentless, his hands guiding her movements until she shuddered above him, a sharp cry breaking free.

She pulled back, breathless, her steel-blue eyes wild as she shifted off him.

"Not done," she panted, shoving him upright.

He sat up, and she climbed into his lap, facing him, her legs straddling his hips.

She sank onto him, a slow, deliberate descent, her nails raking his back as she took him fully.

Ryn's hands gripped her waist, his growl low and primal as she began to move—hard, fast, unforgiving.

The bed slammed against the wall, a staccato beat matching their pace, the air thick with sweat and heat.

Elena leaned back, bracing her hands on his knees, her body arching as she rode him with brutal intensity.

"More," she demanded, voice raw.

Ryn flipped her onto her stomach, the motion swift and rough, pinning her beneath him.

He entered her from behind, one hand fisting her hair, the other gripping her hip as he thrust—deep, aggressive, relentless.

She pushed back against him, meeting every move, her moans sharp and jagged, echoing off the walls.

The tension built, a coiled spring ready to snap, their bodies slick with exertion.

Elena's hands clawed the sheets, her breath hitching as she neared the brink again.

Ryn felt it too—the tightening, the heat—and he drove harder, chasing the release.

She broke first, a shuddering gasp tearing from her throat, her body trembling beneath him.

He followed, a low curse spilling from his lips as he spilled into her, the world narrowing to the pulse of their connection.

They collapsed, tangled and spent, the bed a wreck of twisted sheets and sweat-soaked fabric.

Elena rolled onto her back, chest heaving, a tired smirk tugging at her lips.

"Better than the fight," she muttered.

Ryn chuckled, brushing damp hair from his face.

"Barely."

She swatted his arm, laughing softly, the sound fading into the quiet of the room.

For a moment, they lay there, the chaos of Argon City a distant hum beyond the walls.

Next Morning.

The dining table was a modest slab of wood, scratched and worn, now holding a cardboard pizza box and grease-stained napkins.

They sat across from each other, clothed again—Elena in a loose tank top, Ryn in his rumpled shirt—hair still mussed from the night.

"You know," Ryn started, his tone lighter than usual, "there's this one girl in my part-time training class."

"She might actually have the potential to be A-Class or even S-Class someday."

Elena raised a brow, chewing a bite of pizza.

"Really? What's her name?"

Ryn tapped his fingers on the table, thinking.

"Mira... umm... something."

The name meant nothing to Elena at the time—just another recruit in Ryn's orbit.

"You're doing good work," she said, voice sincere.

"Helping amateurs understand their power, teaching them what's right and wrong and what to do and what not to do—that's something to be proud of, Ryn."

A faint blush dusted his cheeks, and Elena smirked.

"You're getting shy? Damn, I should compliment you more."

He groaned, taking a bite of pizza.

"Forget I said anything."

She laughed, bright and unrestrained, a fleeting warmth in the storm of their lives.

Present Time

The world blurred.

Heat pulsed against Elena's skin, her limbs heavy, pain a distant hum threading through her.

She was floating—no, being carried.

Firelight flickered, casting jagged shadows on cracked stone walls.

Ryn's voice pierced the fog, low and urgent.

"Stay awake, Elena. Don't close your eyes. Don't."

Her throat burned, words failing as exhaustion dragged her under.

But she managed a small, tired smile.

After all these years, it was Ryn carrying her this time.

That felt right.

Then, everything went black.