9. Rose
Rose
My heart pounds against Cipher's shoulder as he carries me through the suddenly silent common room. Blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy—or maybe that's the shock of his declaration. You're mine. The words echo in my brain, setting off explosions of confusion and desire.
Upside down, my pelvis against Cipher’s shoulder, I catch glimpses of shocked expressions, knowing grins, and raised eyebrows as we traverse the room. My face burns with mortification, but it’s overshadowed by something else—something that causes a huge grin to break out across my face.
We move through the dim hallways and down a short flight of stairs. My body jostles against his with each step, my breasts rubbing against his back in a way that makes my nipples tighten wantonly.
Finally, we reach the heavy metal door to Cipher’s cave. We enter the surveillance room filled with the blue glow of monitors and then approach another door. Cipher punches in a code on the keypad with his free hand, never loosening his hold on me.
The second door slides open with a pneumatic hiss. Only once we’re inside does he set me on my feet, steadying me with his hands on my waist as I sway slightly from the blood-rush to my head.
His quarters are spacious but spartanly furnished, and I realize I’m standing in front of a king-sized bed.
Cipher's eyes are burning into mine, his massive frame blocking the exit. Something dark passes over his face. "I was wrong."
The simple admission steals my breath. "Wrong about what?"
"About thinking I could stay away from you." He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively back up until my legs hit the edge of his bed. "I've tried to keep my distance. To be good. I've failed."
His proximity is overwhelming, and the strong scent of whiskey on his breath is making my head spin.
His eyes search mine, looking for fear or revulsion. Finding neither, he lets out a shuddering breath. "You deserve better than me."
"I want you," I confess, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
The confession hangs in the air between us for one breathless moment. Then his mouth crashes down on mine, and the world dissolves around us.
This kiss is different from our first—hungrier, more desperate. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the contact. I respond instinctively, opening to him, my inexperienced lips moving against his with eager intensity.
When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I gasp, allowing him entry. The first slide of his tongue against mine sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. My hands fist in his shirt, trying to anchor myself as sensation threatens to overwhelm me.
"Christ, the taste of you," he groans against my mouth. “I can’t get enough. Never enough.”
His confession emboldens me. I press closer, my body flush against his, feeling his hardness against my stomach. The knowledge that I affect him like that—that his body responds to mine—is intoxicating.
His hands move down my back to my hips, gripping firmly as he walks me backward until my knees hit the bed. He breaks the kiss, his breathing as ragged as my own, eyes dark with desire.
“If you want me to stop, tell me now," he says, voice strained. "Tell me now, and I'll walk away. I won't touch you again."
The thought of him leaving, of returning to that cold distance, is unbearable. "Don't stop," I whisper. "Please."
A fierce hunger flashes in his eyes. “I’m not sure you know what you're asking for, Baby Girl."
"Then show me." I reach for the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head before I can lose my nerve. The cool air pebbles my skin as I stand before him in just my bra and jeans.
His gaze rakes over me, hungry and appreciative. "Beautiful," he murmurs, the single word making me flush with pleasure. "So fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you."
His hands hover over my skin, not quite touching.
“Um, I’ve never..." I start, then falter.
"I know, sweetheart." His expression softens. "I'll take care of you. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
The tenderness in his voice nearly undoes me. The look in his eyes—as though I’m something to be cherished. "I want everything with you,” I admit. “Everything.”
He growls low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "You'll have it, Baby Girl. Every fucking thing you want."
His fingers trace the curve of my collarbone, trailing down to the swell of my breasts above my plain cotton bra. "I need to hear you, need you to tell me what feels good."
I nod, unable to form words as his fingers slip beneath the straps of my bra, sliding them down my shoulders. He reaches behind me, unhooking the clasp with ease, then pauses, giving me time to object. When I don't, he slowly removes the garment, exposing my small breasts to his heated gaze.
Self-consciousness washes over me. I'm not voluptuous like Angel or curvy like Sophie. My breasts are small, and although I’ve gained a few pounds, my body still carries the leanness of years of malnutrition.
"Perfect," he breathes, as if reading my thoughts. "Absolutely perfect."
His hands cup my breasts, and I gasp at the sensation—the rough calluses on his palms creating delicious friction. When his thumbs brush over my nipples, my knees nearly buckle.
"Sensitive," he murmurs, watching my reaction closely as he repeats the motion. "Good to know."
He lowers his head, replacing his thumb with his mouth, and the wet heat of his tongue against my nipple tears a moan from my throat. My hands fly to his shoulders, gripping tightly as pleasure courses through me.
"That's it," he encourages between gentle sucks. "Let me hear you, Baby Girl. No hiding."
His attention to my breasts leaves me trembling, a strange pressure building in my lower belly. I'm dimly aware of him lowering me to the bed, my back meeting cool sheets as he continues his ministrations.
He takes his time, learning every inch of my upper body with hands and mouth until I'm writhing beneath him. Only then does his hand move to the button of my jeans.
“You good?” he asks, waiting for my nod before proceeding.
He unbuttons my jeans with agonizing slowness, sliding the zipper down tooth by tooth. The sound seems abnormally loud in the quiet room. He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging gently.
"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart."
I comply, heat flooding my face as he slides my jeans down my legs, leaving me in just my plain cotton panties. His eyes darken as they take in the damp spot at the center.
"Already wet for me," he says, voice rough with approval. "Such a good girl."
The praise sends a fresh wave of arousal through me. I love how he calls me that, like I'm doing something right just by existing.
He stands, pulling his t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and I gasp at the sight of his torso. Thick muscle ripples beneath skin marked by an intricate network of scars—some raised and angry, others faded with time. A tapestry of suffering etched into flesh.
I reach out, tracing a particularly vicious scar that runs from his collarbone to his sternum. "Who did this to you?"
Pain flickers in his eyes. "Men who thought they could break me."
I continue my exploration, fingers skimming over each mark with reverence rather than revulsion. "Did they?"
His expression darkens. “Yes.”
I sit up, pressing my lips to a circular scar near his heart.
A shudder runs through him at the contact. "Rose..."
I don’t stop. I kiss another scar, then another, working my way across his chest. His hand cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
I look up at him, suddenly bold. "Let me see all of you."
His jaw tightens, but his hands move to his belt buckle. The clink of metal seems to echo in the room as he unfastens it, then unbuttons his jeans. He pushes them down along with his boxer briefs in one smooth motion, stepping out of them to stand naked before me.
My eyes widen at the sight of him—the powerful thighs dusted with dark hair, the impressive length of his penis jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls. He's bigger than I expected, thicker, and a flutter of nervousness replaces some of my bravado.
He sees the flicker of uncertainty in my eyes. “Hey, we can stop anytime," he reminds me. "There's no rush."
"I don't want to stop," I say truthfully. "I'm just... you're…so big.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Don't worry, Baby Girl. I’ll make it good for you."
He lowers himself to the bed, his weight dipping the mattress as he stretches out beside me.
His hand skims my side, coming to rest on my hip, thumb stroking the sensitive skin above the waistband of my panties before his fingers slip beneath the cotton, sliding through the wetness he finds there.
I gasp at the intimate touch, my hips bucking involuntarily.
"So responsive," he murmurs approvingly, circling my entrance before moving higher to find the bundle of nerves at my center. "And so wet for me. Such a good girl."
The praise combined with his skilled touch sends pleasure spiraling through me. My thighs fall open, giving him better access as he continues his exploration.
"That's it," he encourages as my breathing quickens. "Let go for me, Baby Girl. Show me how good it feels."
His finger slips inside me, and the unfamiliar intrusion makes me tense momentarily. He stills immediately.
"Relax," he soothes, pressing kisses along my jaw. "Just feel."
Gradually, my body yields to his touch. One finger becomes two, stretching me gently as his thumb continues to circle my clit. The dual sensations build rapidly, pressure coiling tighter and tighter at my core.
"Cipher," I gasp, clutching at his shoulders as something inside me begins to fracture.
"I've got you," he promises, increasing the pressure and speed of his ministrations. "Come for me, Rose. Let me see you."