Chapter Twenty-Seven Larissa
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LARISSA
PERSEVERE.
So much of my education with Tula consisted of scenarios like this.
Well, not quite like this. It’s the ability to persevere under all circumstances that I continue to channel in the hours I can’t sleep, thanks to the constant throb between my legs.
The ache growing more unbearable as the hours pass and my new hunger taunts me.
Just when I feel I’m close to managing it, all the resolve I gain shatters with the remembrance of how it got there.
Of how good it felt while collecting each finger-shaped bruise and bite.
My resentment for the man somewhere outside the tent wanes a little more with the truth I saw in his expression last night—that he lives as a ghost, haunting himself.
Though he doesn’t at all fuck like a ghost.
He fucks like a man who played his game of life, didn’t get the outcome he wanted, and is stuck dwelling in the host. Seemingly biding his time while raging at his fate.
Rage I thrust myself up against last night, along with his most profound truth—that he’s still grieving her.
As if a single day hasn’t passed since she died.
In knowing that, I force myself to put the name to his rage and grief for the first time—Delphine.
In all our time together, I never truly felt her with us until last night, and only after he took me. While she wasn’t there when we were intimate, she made her presence known in his twisted face of regret.
Can I fault him for that? Can I hate him for it?
Have I ever really known love?
Tyler’s pain—the sheer magnitude of it—tells me I might never have experienced or known love at all.
Resentment I know well. But if the passion that exists in him simply due to losing her is any indication, he wasn’t a coward while living it.
If his rage is anything to gauge by, he lived his former life fiercely.
But in seeing it, feeling it, I find myself less able to hold onto the grudge I have for him, instead growing more curious. To love someone with such passion, so intently. To be loved like that, what would it be like?
Though it takes me half the morning, I finally manage to persevere against the mystery of the man I sought out.
Opting to iron out salvageable plans of seeing this through without his help and getting to the life I envisioned last night.
Getting lost in another man’s mystery means losing focus.
No matter how powerful the connection we have—which he denied and will continue to—I’m determined to persevere on my own.
As of now, it’s just a matter of when.
It’s when I finally get lost behind the pages of one of Tyler’s strategy books that I feel a rush of air and a presence hovering at the entrance of the tent.
“Are we leaving?” I ask, not bothering to look up.
“No.”
When he begins stalking toward me, I hold up a hand in protest.
“I beg you, please, not another morning-after talk. Can I just pass indefinitely on the next time you decide to kill me, but end up fucking me instead?”
The ridiculousness of that statement nearly has me laughing, but it’s my sore body that keeps it inward. Truth is, I’m in real pain. The kind of sore that deserves a morphine drip. Still … worth it.
When he doesn’t reply, I look up to see him hovering over me, eyes tracing me carefully before he extends his hand. “Come on, it’s ready.”
“If the next murder attempt you have lined up today is dramatic or requires energy, I prefer you to just shoot me. I’m freezing.”
His eyes roam my mud-crusted hair and neck as he keeps his hand extended out to me. Ignoring it a second time, I flip another page.
“Larissa.” He speaks softly, so softly that I force my eyes up. “Come on.”
Confused by his tone and probing eyes, I lower my book and slowly take his hand, wincing at the discomfort between my legs and in my aching everything as I stand. I don’t miss his eyes soaking in every bit of pain he can sense.
“What’s ready?” I ask to divert his attention.
“Your shower.”
All animosity I have left disappears at the idea of that comfort. “I’ll risk a bullet for that, but if you’re messing with me—”
“I’m not,” he states, his voice different … affected?
I eagerly look to him for direction as he leads me through the woods for a few short minutes. Past a row of overgrown shrubs, I spot a tiny aluminum curtain. Once we reach it, he pulls it back to reveal a plastic shower head.
“How does it work?”
“Modern-day miracle for hardcore campers. Do you want a lesson, or do you want to shower while the water is hot?”
“Such a fucking charmer.”
Kicking off my sneakers and socks, I strip quickly, the biting cold unforgiving under the thickening cloud cover.
Naked in seconds, Tyler’s eyes drop to the bruises and bites on my neck and breasts.
Shoulders going rigid, he soaks in the marks on my stomach and thighs before slowly turning his back.
I roll my eyes at his attempt to grant privacy, considering half my body is bruised in evidence that he didn’t miss an inch of it last night.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” he bites out, this tone carrying something else. Heat and … resignation?
Stepping behind the curtain, far too enthusiastic to spend precious seconds deciphering his headspace, I spout my reply. “Ready!”
Shivering, I damn near hit my knees when hot water streams out of the shower head.
“Madonna! My God!” I moan in ecstasy as a hand holding a tiny green bottle and a small washrag appears over the curtain.
“It’s nothing fancy.”
“I couldn’t care less,” I exclaim, pouring an overly generous amount of the soap into my rag and vigorously bathing. After making my initial pass, I suds up my hair, calling out to him. “So, where did this come from?”
“I forgot about it.”
“Hmm,” I moan as the cascading water starts to alleviate the ache in my tight limbs.
“Be quick,” he warns, “there’s a limited amount of hot.”
“Really?” I groan in disappointment.
“The rest of the water will be lukewarm at most.”
“Understood,” I chime, too joyful about the torrent streaming over me.
“Well, grazie,” I admonish, moving the curtain slightly so he can see I’m sincere, and rinsing my hair just as the water begins to trickle.
Groaning in disappointment, I tilt my face up to clear what I can of the soap as I voice it. “Oh no, is it go—”
My question is cut short when my nipple is surrounded by a warm, wet mouth.
Opening my eyes, I’m met with a nuclear amount of heat in Tyler’s return gaze as he grips my hips and pulls me flush to him while sucking feverishly.
When I arch my back to grant him more access, his groan vibrates along my broken skin.
Still fully clothed, latched to my nipple, he bends, twisting the knob at the top of a nearby water jug.
A stream of lukewarm water begins to pour, and he partially soaks himself while keeping me under the spray.
Releasing my breast, he gently takes the rag from my hand and slowly kneels.
Entranced by the sight of him at my feet, I get lost in his tender eyes and movements as he starts to bathe me.
Starting at my toes and calves, working his way methodically up to my thighs, he covers every inch of me in his featherlight touch. Erasing the remnants of the caked mud while trailing kisses along every bruise and bite. Eyes closed, his heated sounds reverberate along my skin.
Entranced, I watch until he reaches my pussy, gently running the rag along it before pulling my clit between his lips and gently suckling. Gripping his thick hair, I brace myself against him as he gently laps at my core before pulling away and slowly standing, metal-tinted eyes boring into mine.
Feeling the apology he’s not voicing, he runs his palms over my breasts before lowering them to rest on my hips. When the water starts to slow, he keeps me trapped under a stare so intense that I lose my breath.
As we face off, he sweeps hypnotizing thumbs up and down my hips, the hum between us growing in my chest and burning my throat.
Outside of sex, it’s the most intimate we’ve ever been.
My heart hammers that truth into me as his wet lashes clump together while he soaks in the evidence of last night.
His cock growing harder in his jeans as he stills on the bite marks that encase my lips.
Cursing heatedly, he gently dips, tracing them with the tip of his tongue.
Within my moan, our tongues tangle, and I’m off my feet, wrapped around him as his forearms cradle me.
My body bare against his soaked shirt, he covers every inch of bruised skin with soft, worshipful kisses as he begins walking me back toward the tent.
Our mouths become carnal, fevered as I begin to lap at the water at his neck while he maps the bruises at my throat with possessive lips.
Drinking in every droplet, as if his thirst is unquenchable.
Shivering in his strong hold due to the rampant desire coursing through me, along with the cold, he presses his forehead to mine as he hastens his steps.
I move in to latch onto his mouth, but he denies my kiss, as if doing so will interrupt his judgment.
Once inside, he stalks us toward the pallet and gently lowers me to stand.
As I move to lie down, he stops me with a palm to my chest before quickly refolding a blanket.
Once it’s replaced, his order comes out more of an ask. “Lie down.”
Confused, trembling in both cold and anticipation, I sink down while gazing up at him. Though faint, the brass in his eyes remains as he blazes a path down my naked body. And as if willed, my legs fall open in summons.