Chapter 29
Rafe
Cecelia stood from the couch, her naked body glowing in the midday light streaming through the penthouse windows.
Her eyes—those fucking devastating green eyes—never left mine as her fingers moved to my belt, taking over where I'd left off.
I fought to control my breathing as she slid the leather free from its loops with a deliberate slowness that made my already painful erection throb against my zipper.
This beautiful, maddening woman was going to be the death of me, and I couldn't bring myself to care.
“My turn,” she whispered, her voice still raspy from her earlier cries. She tossed my belt aside then moved to the buttons of my shirt.
I stood perfectly still, barely breathing as her fingers worked their way down my chest, exposing more skin with each button she freed. When she reached the last one, she pushed the fabric off my shoulders and slid it down my arms before dropping to the floor beside my discarded belt.
Her breath caught as she took in my tattoo sleeve, her fingertips hovering just above the inked skin as if asking permission to touch. I nodded once, and she placed her palm flat against my bicep where the fallen angel's broken wing splintered into drifting feathers.
“You never let me see these properly,” she murmured, tracing the outline of the wing with a feather-light touch that sent shivers racing down my spine.
Her fingers trailed lower, following the path of the tattoo down to my forearm where the pocket watch's gears spilled toward my wrist. “They're incredible.”
There was something in her voice—a reverence, an appreciation that seemed to go beyond mere physical attraction.
She circled around me, her hands never leaving my skin as she explored the intricate artwork that decorated my left side.
When she reached the sheet music ghosting across my shoulder, her touch became even lighter, as if she could feel the notes beneath her fingertips.
“Did it hurt?” she asked, pressing a kiss to the fractured Roman numeral clock spreading across my chest.
I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure as her lips moved against my skin. “Yes,” I admitted. “But that was the point.”
Looking up at me, understanding flickered in her eyes. She knew, somehow, that the pain had been part of why I'd chosen such extensive work. Physical pain to drown out the emotional kind.
“They're not just beautiful,” she said, her hands moving to the button of my slacks. “They're you.” She popped the button free, then slowly lowered the zipper. “All the broken pieces that somehow fit together perfectly.”
As she eased my slacks down my legs, I stepped out of them and kicked them aside, leaving me in nothing but my boxer briefs. She hooked her fingers into the waistband, knuckles brushing against my hipbones as she slid the fabric down.
I hissed at the sensation of cool air on my overheated skin, and my cock jumped slightly as her warm breath ghosted across the tip.
For a moment, I thought she might take me in her mouth—part of me desperately wanted her to—but she surprised me by straightening and pressing her body fully against mine instead.
“You're beautiful,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her face against my chest where she could surely feel the thundering of my heart. “So fucking beautiful, Rafe.”
Beautiful. Not handsome, not hot, not any of the empty compliments I'd heard from countless women over the years.
Beautiful. And the way she said it—like she meant it, like she was seeing something in me beyond the carefully constructed facade I presented to the world—cracked something open inside my chest.
I'd brought her into my life as a solution to a problem. And now here she was, naked in my arms, calling me beautiful like she actually saw me.
Really saw me.
The realization that I was falling for her—had already fallen, if I was being honest with myself—stole my breath. This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen.
And yet, as she tilted her face up to mine, lips parted in invitation, I couldn't bring myself to regret a single choice that had led us here.
I captured her mouth in a kiss that was equal parts hunger and gratitude while my hands slid down her back to cup her ass and pull her more firmly against me.
Her soft breasts pressed against my chest, her nipples hard points of contact that made my cock twitch where it was trapped between our bodies.
“Turn around,” I commanded when we broke for air.
She complied immediately and I relished in the shiver that ran through her when I guided her back to the couch and placed her so she was on her knees with her arms braced against the back cushions.
The position left her ass perfectly presented to me, her spine a graceful curve that led my eyes from the nape of her neck to where her thighs parted slightly.
“Fuck, look at you,” I breathed, my hands skimming up the backs of her thighs to cup her ass cheeks. “Perfect.” I squeezed the firm flesh, spreading her slightly to get a better view of her pussy.
Unable to resist, I leaned down and bit the soft curve of her right cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to make her yelp in surprise.
“Rafe,” she gasped, looking at me over her shoulder with wide eyes.
I soothed the spot with my tongue, then straightened to run a finger through her wetness from behind. She was drenched, her body more than ready for what I had planned. I slipped one finger inside her then added a second when she pushed back against my hand with a needy sound.
“So tight,” I murmured. “So fucking wet for me.”
She moaned, her head dropping forward between her arms as I established a slow, steady rhythm with my fingers. Her inner walls clenched around me each time I hit that sweet spot, and I knew I could make her come again just like this if I wanted to.
But I wanted more. Needed more.
“I want to feel you,” I told her, my free hand running up her spine to tangle in her hair. “No barriers between us. Just you and me.”
She stilled for a moment, then turned her head to look at me again. “I'm not on birth control.” she admitted with a flush to her cheeks.
The thought should have given me pause. Should have been a splash of cold water on the heat building between us. Instead, a primitive part of me—a part I'd never known existed—surged forward with a possessiveness that shocked even me.
“I don't care,” I said, the words escaping before I could stop them.
And I meant it. The thought of my child growing inside her sent a bolt of pure want straight to my cock.
But that wasn't fair to her, wasn't something I had any right to decide for her.
“I can get a condom if you need me to,” I added quickly.
She held my gaze for a long moment as her eyes searched mine. Then she shook her head. “We don’t need one.”
Those words, combined with the trust in her eyes, nearly brought me to my knees. Instead, I removed my fingers from her body and after using her wetness to coat my cock, I positioned myself at her entrance.
With one hand on her hip, I pushed forward in a single, smooth thrust that had both of us groaning.
The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever felt before—hot, tight, wet perfection.
I stilled once I was fully seated inside her, my forehead pressing against her shoulder blade as I fought for control.
“Fuck, Cecelia,” I ground out, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip. “You feel incredible.”
She whimpered as her body trembled slightly beneath mine. “Move,” she begged, pressing back against me. “Please, Rafe. Move.”
I began with shallow thrusts, withdrawing just an inch or two before sliding back in. The teasing rhythm had her squirming beneath me as she tried to take me deeper with each stroke. I deliberately kept my pace torturously slow, savoring each small sound she made.
“More,” she demanded, her voice breaking on the word. “Please, I need more.”
I increased the depth of my thrusts but maintained the slow pace. “Patience,” I whispered against her ear, leaning over her back to nip at the sensitive skin just behind her earlobe. “Let me enjoy you.”
With a moan, she clutched at the couch cushions as I continued my measured assault on her senses. When I felt her growing restless again, I slid one hand around her hip and between her legs to find her clit.
“Yes,” she hissed, her head falling forward again as I circled that sensitive spot. “Just like that.”
Gathering some of her wetness on my fingers, I slowly withdrew them from her and trailed them back between her ass cheeks to the tight ring of muscle there. She tensed slightly when she realized my intention but didn't pull away.
“Trust me,” I murmured, using the pad of my middle finger to apply gentle pressure to her entrance without pushing inside. “I'll make it good for you.”
She relaxed incrementally, her body still gripping my cock like a vise as I continued to move inside her. When I felt her push back against my finger, I increased the pressure slightly, allowing just the tip to breach her.
“Oh,” she breathed, the sound somewhere between surprise and pleasure.
Encouraged by her response, I pushed my finger in a bit further, timing the movement with a particularly deep thrust of my cock. The sight of her taking me in two places at once nearly shattered what little control I had left.
“That's it,” I encouraged her, increasing my pace slightly as she began to rock back against me with more urgency. “Take what you need, baby.”
Her movements became more frantic, her breathing more labored as she chased her release.
I matched her rhythm, thrusting deeper, harder, while my finger continued its careful exploration.
When I felt her begin to tighten around me, I moved my free hand back to her clit and circled it with firm pressure.
“Come for me,” I commanded, my voice strained with the effort of holding back my own release. “Come around my cock, Cecelia.”
Her entire body went rigid, her inner walls clamping down on me with a force that nearly pushed me over the edge. She cried out as the orgasm tore through her. Her fingers dug into the couch cushions and her back was a perfect arch of ecstasy as she rode out the waves of pleasure.
Only when I felt her body begin to relax did I allow myself to seek my own release.
I withdrew my finger from her ass and gripped both her hips again, pulling her back against me with each thrust as I chased the building pressure at the base of my spine.
It took only a few more strokes before the tension snapped and my orgasm crashed through me with an intensity that forced a guttural cry from my throat.
I continued to move inside her with slow, shallow thrusts, drawing out every last aftershock for both of us until we were both trembling with oversensitivity.
When I finally stilled with my body draped over hers, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't experienced in years—maybe ever. It wasn't just physical satisfaction, though heaven knew that was part of it. It was something deeper, more profound. A feeling of rightness.
Careful not to crush her with my weight, I maneuvered us onto our sides and wrapped my arm around her waist to keep her pressed against me. Her hair tickled my nose as I buried my face in the crook of her neck and breathed in the scent of her that I'd come to crave.
“I'm never letting you go,” I whispered against her skin.
“Good,” she whispered back. “Because I don't want you to.”
We lay like that as our breathing slowed and our heartbeats synchronized. Outside, the world went on, oblivious to the seismic shift that had occurred between us.
But I knew. And as Cecelia drifted toward sleep, I made a silent promise to both of us. This wasn't temporary. This wasn't just convenience or mutual benefit.
This was real. And I would do whatever it took to protect it.
To protect her.