Chapter 36 Darla
Darla
I wake up to the feeling of being safe, then a split second later, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion from the war we’ve been living through.
I lie still for a long moment, tangled in cool sheets that smell like him, his arm a heavy, possessive weight around my waist. The last week has been a chaotic blur.
A bombing at the Holloway building rocked the entire town.
Grim, exhausted faces greeted the guys when they returned to the clubhouse.
That night, Malachi tortured Donovan to find out the location of his siblings and Alice Brighton before finally killing the bastard.
We’ve all been running on adrenaline and caffeine for days, a small army working to help with the cleanup downtown, the clubhouse a constant, buzzing hub of controlled chaos.
The bank job East and Malachi planned in the war room is sitting on the back burner now after the Holloway bombing and everything that happened with Donovan.
Malachi pushed the heist, and Ruby’s shot at the branch manager, back until the heat dies down.
Last night was the first time East and I were able to come back to his house, the first time we’d been truly alone since it all went down.
A warm, heavy arm tightens around my waist, pulling me back against a hard chest. East stirs behind me, his breath a hot whisper against my neck.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs in a gravelly voice thick with sleep.
“For a minute,” I whisper back, melting into his hold. “It’s quiet.”
“Thank fuck for that,” he groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “First real sleep I’ve had in a week. It’s good to be home. In our own bed.”
The words—our own bed—land with a quiet, earth-shattering weight.
My breath catches. I haven’t slept in the guest room since the night I finally told him my secret.
The secret I thought was going to destroy us only brought us closer together.
My few things have migrated into this room, into his closet, his drawers.
Without discussion, without a single word, I’ve moved in.
This space, his sanctuary, has become ours. This is home.
He must sense the change in my breathing, the way my heartbeat stutters, because his arm tightens around my waist, pulling me even closer.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice.
A shiver runs through me, caught between desire and the urge to voice my truth. “Just…” I begin, but the words falter in my throat. Just realizing I’m falling in love with you. Just realizing I never want to leave this bed.
He reads the tension in me instantly, the way my muscles tighten under his touch.
His hand moves from my waist sliding in a slow, hot path down my stomach.
The calloused skin of his fingers is a stark, delicious friction against my soft skin.
He brushes against the delicate lace of my panties, a silent question.
I give a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, a full-body surrender.
He hooks a finger into the fabric, tugging them down my legs, his gaze following the movement, hot and possessive.
Then his fingers find their way between my thighs, parting me, exploring the slick, swollen folds of my pussy.
I gasp, my back arching off the mattress as his thumb discovers my clit.
“Let me make it quiet for you,” he whispers, his thumb establishing a slow, relentless rhythm against my most sensitive spot.
His touch detonates through me, a jolt of pure, white-hot electricity that fractures my senses.
My world narrows to the feel of his thumb, circling, pressing, a merciless, perfect torture.
A low, guttural moan escapes my lips, a sound I don’t recognize as my own.
Trying to bite it back, I shove a corner of the pillow into my mouth, the taste of cotton mixing with the heat of my desire.
I crave this. I crave him. My hips move on their own, a desperate, rocking motion, chasing the pleasure he’s so expertly building.
East’s grip on my hip tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh with a bruising intensity, branding me as his.
He works me with a relentless, knowing precision.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls against my neck, his breath hot and ragged, sending a fresh wave of shivers across my skin.
“Don’t hide from me. Let me hear you. Fucking scream for me.
” His words are a command and a release all at once, and I let the pillow fall away, my head thrashing against the sheets.
He slides a finger inside me, and I cry out.
The feeling of being filled, stretched, is a shocking, incredible pleasure.
His fingers are so warm, so sure. His finger curls, pressing against that spot deep inside that I didn’t even know I had, and my whole body jolts.
“So wet for me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a thick rasp.
He adds a second finger, scissoring them, filling me completely as his thumb continues its merciless assault on my clit.
The combination is too much. It’s an overload.
The pleasure builds, a hot, coiling spring winding tighter and tighter in my belly.
My breath comes in ragged sobs, my body trembling on the precipice.
I am his to command, his to break. “East—please—” I choke out, the words a surrender.
He doesn’t stop. He just moves faster, deeper, his fingers pushing me higher, forcing me to take more than I think I can handle. I am completely his. I submit.
The orgasm doesn’t merely crash over me—it obliterates everything in its path.
My spine arches violently off the bed, my muscles seizing as waves of pure, agonizing pleasure ripple through my core with such force that stars explode behind my closed eyelids.
I shatter, sobbing his name, clawing at the sheets, desperate for something to anchor me as he continues his merciless assault, his fingers working me with an unyielding rhythm that wrings every last, shuddering tremor from my quaking body.
When I finally collapse, utterly destroyed and panting, my limbs trembling, he yanks me over to face him, rolling me onto my back as he comes over me.
His eyes are black with a ravenous hunger that steals the breath from my lungs.
Through tear-blurred vision, I meet that fierce gaze, feeling the weight of his desire wrap around us like a heated blanket.
He enters me then. Not the frantic claiming of the alley, but a slow, deep glide that feels like a promise.
My pussy, still pulsing and overly sensitive from my orgasm, clenches around him, impossibly tight.
He’s so thick, so hard, filling me completely.
A low, long hiss escapes my lips as I take all of him. He feels incredible.
He stays buried to the hilt, just letting me feel him inside me, letting my body adjust to the sheer size of him. Leaning down, his mouth captures mine in a slow and possessive kiss, his tongue mating with mine as his cock sits heavy and deep inside me. Every part of me is claimed at once.
“You feel that, Darla?” he growls against my lips, his voice a low, brutal rasp. “That’s me. All of me. This is where I belong.”
He finally moves, a slow, deliberate rhythm that is less about a frantic release and more about a deep, soul-shattering connection.
With every slow, deep thrust, he’s showing me.
You’re mine. You’re safe. I’m not leaving.
His hands are gentle but firm, one tangled in my hair, the other splayed across my stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles just above my navel.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, if that’s even possible.
“So fucking good,” he groans, his hips rocking, the sound of our bodies slapping together a wet, hypnotic rhythm in the quiet room.
“Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock, princess.” I meet his thrusts, my need building again in a slow, simmering fire.
His control is absolute. He’s a playboy, a man who knows his way around a woman’s body, and he is using every bit of that knowledge to devour me.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to watch my face.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he rasps, his eyes black with lust. “Completely wrecked for me.” He reaches between us, his thumb finding my clit again, already pebbled and hard.
He circles it, a slow, relentless pressure, as he continues his deep, steady thrusts.
The dual sensations are too much. My breath catches on a sob.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper.
“Come for me again.” I shatter again, and a wave of pure, white-hot pleasure crashes over me.
My name is a broken sound on his lips as my inner muscles pulse and milk his cock.
The sight of me, the feel of me, is what finally breaks him.
He roars my name, a primal, guttural sound, and comes, his hips slamming into me in a final, violent surrender, his release a hot, pulsing flood deep inside me.
He collapses on top of me, his weight a heavy, sated blanket, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
I’m boneless, trembling, my arms barely having the strength to wrap around his back.
We’re both panting, our bodies slick with sweat.
The silence in the room has transformed, now filled with the heavy scent of sex and the erratic sound of our hearts beating in a matched rhythm.
He doesn’t pull out. He just holds me, his breathing slowly evening out, and in the quiet dark, I finally, truly, feel safe.