20. Skylar
Chapter 20
Skylar
" S kylar," he growls against my lips, the sound vibrating through me. His kiss is desperate and searing. I'm a moth to his flame; no, I am the dry kindling, and Austin Rhodes is the conflagration threatening to consume me whole.
Heat radiates from where we touch, spreading like wildfire through my veins. I'm unraveling, and it feels like freedom, like falling, like flying.
Then he's peeling back layers of clothing, stripping me of anything that isn't him. Theo's sweatshirt becomes an obstruction, an unwelcome barrier, and Austin shoves it over my head with rough impatience. The fabric bunches around my wrists, momentarily trapping them until the garment yields.
Austin's lips trail a scorching path down my throat, branding me with each open-mouthed kiss. Possessive. Hungry. His breath is hot on my skin, and it's like he's marking his territory with every press of his lips against my collarbone, my chest. I'm burning up, consumed by the fire that's Austin Rhodes.
"More," I gasp, not recognizing my own voice—breathy, desperate.
"I want to give it all to you," he murmurs against my fevered skin, his voice a low rumble.
With deft hands, he shoves my shorts and panties down in one go. The fabric bunches around my thighs, then slides, inch by tantalizing inch, until gravity claims them, leaving them in a heap at my feet. My heart pounds, every nerve ending alight with anticipation and the sheer rightness of Austin's touch.
Then, without warning, he grips my thighs and lifts me. My back arches reflexively, seeking out his heat, his strength. He carries me effortlessly, each step he takes resonating through me. But as we approach my bedroom door, panic flares within the haze of desire.
"Wait—shit, the door," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
His stride doesn't falter. "I know."
"Elodie..." The name tumbles from my lips, laced with concern.
"Focus on me. Just me." He commands, yet there's an undertone of reassurance that stills the fear in my veins.
"Please," I breathe out, my plea hanging between us.
My back hits the wall with a thud that reverberates through my bones. Before the shock can simmer into fear, Austin's body is against mine, an unyielding barricade between me and everything else. His hand snakes behind me, and the door slams shut with a finality that echoes in the suddenly enclosed space.
"Right now, you're mine ," he growls, each word a brand searing through the fog of my consciousness.
His lips crash against mine, an all-consuming force that leaves no room for protest. Not that I want to protest. The world narrows down to the taste of him, the heat of his mouth pressing with a desperate hunger that resonates deep within me. There’s no room for doubt or guilt, only the need for him, for this, for us.
Fingers fumbling, I reach for his shirt, hating the barrier of fabric between us. He seems to understand, catching the urgency in my touch. With a fluid motion, his hands grip the collar at the back of his neck, and the cloth rips away, pulled over his head in one smooth motion.
The coarse texture of stubble grazes my fingertips as they trail along Austin's jawline, down the column of his neck. His skin is a map of heat and desire beneath my touch. A low groan vibrates in my throat as I explore the hard planes of his chest. My nails scrape lightly, marking him with my need. Each inch I cover leaves a craving for more—more contact, more of him.
"Sky," Austin murmurs, his voice rough like gravel, as if it is being pulled from the depths of a primal hunger. His hand finds my breast; fingers splaying wide before he cups me, his palm warm and possessive. He thumbs over my nipple, and it tightens instantly, aching for more attention.
I can't help but arch into his touch, craving the pressure, the pleasure. His hips roll against mine in a rhythm dictated by pure instinct. Every push of his erection against me jolts lightning through my veins.
His mouth descends to my nipple, tongue tracing circles that leave me gasping and clawing at his back.
"More," I find myself whispering again, the word torn from the chaos of my thoughts. More friction, more of his touch, more of this intoxicating loss of control.
He obliges without hesitation, switching to my other breast with an open-mouthed kiss that draws a whimper from my lips. He gives me exactly what I need without hesitation. Two fingers thrust inside me, stretching, filling, while his thumb seeks out my clit.
"Fuck my fingers. Make yourself come." His command is laced with authority and an edge of raw need that mirrors my own.
I obey, moving against him with abandon, riding the waves of pleasure he offers. My hands grasp at his shoulders, seeking leverage, desperate. Each stroke of his fingers pushes me closer to oblivion, each circle of his thumb fans the flames higher.
"Ah, Austin..." My hips move on pure instinct, each roll and thrust a desperate chase after the pleasure that coils tighter within me. The world fades until there's nothing but the raw sensation, the heat of his body against mine, and the insistent pressure where I need it most.
"Please," escapes my lips in a breathless whisper, though I can't articulate what I'm pleading for—more, less, harder, never stop. His digits curl and uncurl inside me, an exquisite torture, drawing moans from deep within my throat that quickly turn into desperate cries. I'm so close, teetering on the brink of release.
But Austin, damn him, knows the power he wields. Just as the world begins to shatter, he withdraws his fingers, leaving me gasping and bereft. "No, don't—"
The protest dies as he maneuvers me effortlessly, my back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. Before I can catch my breath or voice another complaint, he's there, his mouth replacing where his fingers had been.
"Ah, fuck," I hiss, tangling my fingers in his hair, holding him to the pulsing heat between my legs.
He groans against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. His tongue is relentless, and I'm lost again.
"Please, Austin, don't stop," I beg, my walls clenching in anticipation, my body yearning for the release he's more than capable of granting.
The world narrows to the sensation of Austin's mouth on me—the insistent tug of his lips, the skillful dance of his tongue. I'm a livewire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he devours me with a hunger that echoes my own. My fingers tighten in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as I guide him deeper into my madness.
"Ah—Austin!" The cry rips from my throat, unbidden, raw. My hips buck against his face, seeking more, always more. He obliges, the pressure of his mouth increasing, his tongue a relentless force that sends me spiraling. My body clenches around nothing, desperate for release, and when it comes, it's cataclysmic.
I shatter, stars exploding behind my closed eyelids, my lungs seizing in a breathless climax.
For a moment, there's only silence and the loud drumming of my heart in my ears. Then the absence of warmth between my thighs registers, and I peel open my eyes to find Austin rummaging through my nightstand. His movements are hurried, purposeful, but when he turns to me, frustration etches his handsome features.
"Condoms," he growls, the word a command more than a question, his voice laced with that same authoritative edge that makes every fiber of my being stand at attention.
With a languid motion, I wave toward the dresser across the room, still too dazed to articulate where the small foil packets are stashed. There's a brief flicker of annoyance in his piercing blue eyes before he strides over to the dresser, muscles rippling under his taut skin. A part of me, the part not lost in the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, admires the power coiled within him, the sheer maleness that he exudes without even trying.
Austin locates the foil packet, making quick work of tearing it open with his teeth. The sound of the wrapper giving way sends a new wave of anticipation coursing through me. He rolls the condom onto his impressive length, and I can't help but swallow hard. Fuck, he's thick. Thicker than Theo—a thought that triggers an involuntary shiver.
As he turns to stalk back toward the bed, my eyes are riveted on the primal intent etched in every line of his body. He's all controlled power and raw masculinity, and it commands my full attention.
But then, the image of Theo flashes in my mind—his gentle green eyes, the softness of his touch. And Cohen. A pang of guilt gnaws at my insides, murky and unsettling.
"Skylar," Austin's voice rumbles, slicing through my turmoil as he looms over me. His piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, heavy with desire and something darker, something possessive.
I should be thinking about the complications, about the promises unspoken and the tangled web of relationships. But all thoughts scatter as Austin aligns himself with my body, the tip of him pressing insistently at my entrance.
His gaze never wavers from mine as he settles over me, and for a breathless moment, we're suspended in the charged space between action and consequence.
Then he thrusts into me, to the root, in one swift, brutal motion that tears a scream from my throat. Every inch of him stretches me, filling me in a way that obliterates reason and memory. There's only here, only now, only the searing connection as he claims me with a fierceness that resonates deep within my bones.
Austin's hand is pressed firmly over my mouth. There’s a warning heavy in his gaze as he pins me with a look that could scorch the earth. "Quiet, Skylar," he growls, his voice a low rumble of command. "We wouldn't want one of them to come check on you, would we?"
I can only shake my head, breaths coming in ragged gasps, as he leans back. The withdrawal is an agonizing tease, every muscle in my body tensing in anticipation. And then he slams back inside, so deep, so full, it borders on pain and pleasure.
My eyes roll back, a strangled cry clawing at my throat, muffled by the strength of his hand. I'm at the mercy of his rhythm, the brutal pace he sets as he ruts into me. Every impact of his hips against mine is a symphony of raw, primal need.
"Look at you, trouble," he snarls, his voice thick with lust. "So fucking tight for me. You like that, don't you? Taking all of me."
I can't speak, can't think, reduced to nothing but sensation and need. The bed creaks under the force of our coupling, his dominance unyielding and absolute. There's no gentleness—only the potent mix of power and desire as he claims me.
"Can you feel how hard you make me?" he taunts, fingers digging into my thigh, leaving marks that will remind me of this moment long after he's done. "This is what you do to me, Skylar. No one else...just you."
His words feed the fire inside me. There's no room for anything else, not guilt, not questions—just the relentless pursuit of climax that builds with every thrust of his hips, every stroke of his cock inside me.
The tempo of Austin's hips against mine is relentless, a symphony of flesh that drowns out every thought.
"Come on, baby," he grunts, the filthy encouragement spurring me on. "I want to feel you come around my cock. Do it. Come for me, Skylar."
And I'm close, teetering on the edge, spiraling towards oblivion under the weight of his body.
"Come, Skylar," he orders, his thumb finding that tender nub between us, circling with a precision that borders on torture. "Now." The command in his voice is absolute.
My body obeys before my mind can process the command. The climax hits like a meteor strike, incinerating all sense of self as the pleasure sears through me. I'm scattered to the winds, each piece of me alight with ecstasy, and for a fleeting second, I swear my spirit detaches, hovering above this tangled web of limbs and sweat-drenched sheets.
Austin's groan rumbles through his chest, a primal sound that vibrates against my skin. He follows me over the edge. His release is a thing of raw beauty, etched into my mind. I watch, fascinated as tension lines his face, the normally controlled CEO surrendering.
It's an image I want to capture, to replay over and over, memorizing the way he looks at the pinnacle of vulnerability.
But then it's over—the intensity fades, and he pulls away, stepping back from the bed as if shedding the intimacy with the condom he discards. The sight of him, retreating from me, sends a fresh jolt through my system, one that has nothing to do with desire or satisfaction.
"Wait..." My voice is a hoarse whisper, but he doesn't hear, or maybe he chooses not to. He strides away, leaving me sprawled and bare, the echoes of our passion lingering in the air like a ghost.
The bathroom door clicks shut, then swings open again. His movements are efficient, the silence heavy between us. He approaches with a warm washcloth, and I can't muster the strength to do anything but watch him. There's a tenderness in his touch that belies the fervor of moments ago, as he cleans me up with careful hands. He doesn't speak, and neither do I.
There’s an intimacy to this. At least…I thought there was. But now he’s grabbing his clothes and slipping them on. He’s not even looking at me. I should say something—anything—but my voice is trapped behind the lump in my throat. With each button he fastens, it's as if he's sealing away the heat of our encounter, leaving nothing but cool distance in its wake.
He's at the door now, turning the handle, and still, I lie there—a rag doll discarded after playtime. The click of the latch punctuates the end of whatever this was, and he's gone, footsteps fading down the hall.
Alone, I stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of what's just happened. What does this mean? My mind races to Cohen. And Theo. Guilt gnaws at me, an unwelcome intruder in the aftermath of ecstasy. I've crossed lines I can't uncross, and now I'm adrift in the consequences.
Breathing in deeply, I try to settle the turmoil churning inside me. The raw intensity of being with Austin—it's unlike anything I've ever felt, but at what cost? I've opened a Pandora's box of emotion, and I'm not sure I'm ready for what's about to spill out.
I drag myself upright, the room tilting on its axis. My chest feels tight, my heart an erratic drumbeat echoing the chaos in my head. What do I even want?
The sheets cling to my skin, reminders of what just happened. Austin's scent lingers, a ghost that won't be exorcised.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing away the images that haunt me. A tear escapes, tracing a warm path down my cheek. It's a rare show of vulnerability, one I quickly quash with a shuddering breath.
"Get it together, Skylar," I mutter to myself.
The shrill ring of my phone slices through the silence. An unknown number flashes on the screen. My heart skips a beat. I hesitate, the last vestiges of peace slipping away. With a shaky hand, I swipe to answer.
"Hello?" My voice is foreign to my own ears.
"Skylar Deveraux?" The voice on the other end is formal, detached.
"Speaking."
"I'm calling on behalf of your father's estate. My name is Richard Calloway, your father's attorney. I regret to inform you that he passed away earlier today."
The words hit like a freight train. The phone slips from my grasp, clattering against the hardwood floor. My father. The man whose approval I could never win, whose shadow I've been trying to escape my whole life. Gone.
I'm numb, caught in the eye of a hurricane. All the anger, the hurt—it's still there, but now there's nowhere to direct it. What am I supposed to do with all these feelings? They're mine to carry, alone.
My father's death doesn't erase the past, but it closes the door on any future reconciliation. Whether I wanted one or not, the option is gone.
"Miss Deveraux?" The voice calls from the phone, distant and insistent.
I bend down, fingers trembling as I pick it back up. "Yes, I'm here."
"I'm also calling regarding the reading of the will. The firm is handling the estate. As his only child, you're expected to be present."
A bitter laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. Of course. Even in death, my father finds a way to pull me back into his orbit.
"Miss Deveraux?"
I swallow hard, forcing my voice into something steadier. "Thank you for the call, Mr. Calloway. I’ll be in touch."
I end the call without another word, staring at the screen like it might offer some kind of answer. But there’s nothing. Just silence.