Chapter 15 #2
Curled on the couch in sweats, damp purple hair hanging over her shoulder, eyes heavy, but alive.
Relief crashes into me so hard I have to catch myself on the wall.
She lifts her head, gives me the softest smile, and it undoes me. Madison clocks the look on my face, then waves everyone out. One by one, the suite empties until it’s just us.
I cross the room, fists still balled tight as I take in every single thing about her, cataloging her body for the smallest damage. My voice comes out rough.
“Angel. Tell me you’re okay?”
Ingrid tries for a smile, but I see the crack in it. “I’m fine. Really. Things like this happen sometimes. Security handled it.”
Her casual tone doesn’t land. Not when I can still hear the muffled voices in the next room. For the last two hours she was out of my reach, and all I could imagine was someone slipping past the walls meant to keep her safe. Someone taking her away.
I close the gap between us, taking her hand and pulling her away from the couch. It’s hard enough that she blinks, but I need to feel her. The words scrape out of my throat, raw, “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You have no idea how fucking scared I was. I thought–”
“You thought what?”
I shake my head, refusing to put that fear into words.
Instead I lead with my body—the one thing I’m sure of and that never fails me.
I pull her into me, into my arms, and I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in.
The rest of the world may still be moving, but none of it matters.
Only her. “You’re mine,” I whisper, voice breaking with it. “And no one touches what’s mine.”
She leans back just enough to search my face. “Yours?”
“Fuck yes,” I say firmly, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.
It lands between us like a thunderclap. We’ve been dancing around it for weeks, pretending it didn’t matter what we were. Playing it cool, like the games were enough. But tonight stripped all of that away. I almost lost her before I even had her. That thought makes me reckless.
“I want you, Ingrid,” I tell her, the truth laid bare in my chest. “I’ve wanted more since the first night I met you. Tonight just made it crystal clear. I don’t want almost. I don’t want halfway. I want you.”
Her breath catches, lashes trembling. Then she nods. “All I thought, when security surrounded me, was if I’d get back to you.”
That’s all the permission I need. My mouth is on hers, rough with relief, with the crash of adrenaline still roaring through me. She kisses me back like she needs it just as badly, like she felt the same fear. Her fingers clutch at my shirt, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.
By the time we stumble into the adjoining bedroom, I’m half mad with possessive need. The need to remind myself she’s here, she’s safe, that she’s mine. The door slams behind us, and I press her back against it, mouths fused, hands tangled in her hair. Her little gasp makes my control snap.
“Ingrid,” I groan against her throat, tasting her skin. “You do something to me. Something I can’t explain.”
She tilts her head, inviting me deeper. “Show me.”
I lift her in my arms, carrying her toward the bed like there’s nothing else in the world. The city, the threats, the chaos outside–it all falls away. It’s just her. And me. And the raw, undeniable truth that this woman belongs to me.
I lay her down gently on the massive bed, wrinkling the pristine white sheets, then immediately cage her in with my body, braced over her.
“The concert was incredible,” I tell her, nipping at her bottom lip, “you’re fucking incredible.
” Our lips crash again, but this time slower, deeper.
I kiss her like I’ll never run out of time.
As much as I want her hard and fast, I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment. I’m going to savor every single second.
Her hands trail down my chest, fingers splaying against my shirt, tugging at the hem until I strip it off and toss it aside. Her eyes roam over me, hungry, and I swear I could combust just from that look.
“It’s like your muscles have muscles,” she says, skimming her fingers over the V that carves along my hips and dip below my waistband. Her touch sends a jolt straight to my cock, the throb making it hard to think.
I press my mouth to her neck, her pulse thundering beneath my lips. “You like my body, Angel?” I rasp, nipping lightly at her skin. “You can have it. Do whatever you want to me.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her hips arching against me.
She’s so hot and horny, and fuck if I’m not right there with her.
I lift her shirt, revealing a lacy lavender bra.
Her nipples press at the sheer satin, and I rub a thumb over the peak.
She moans and the sound rips a groan from me in return.
I pull the fabric aside, freeing her tit so I can see her–taste her–sucking the tip between my lips. She purrs, hips rising, and I do the same to the other, yanking the lace aside, staring down at her gorgeous body.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, running my hand down her side. Ingrid isn’t a tiny girl. She’s a woman with curves and hips and full, incredible tits. Her back arches, and I reach behind her, unhooking the scrap of lace with practiced ease, and tossing it aside. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
I take a deep breath, trying to slow down just enough to savor it. Cupping her tits I add, “One day I’m going to fuck these.” I exhale. “But not today.”
Sliding my hand over the curve of her hip, slipping my thumb beneath the fabric of her sweats. Every movement is intentional, deliberate. I’m not rushing this and I’m sure as hell not going to be careless. I need her to feel exactly how much this means.
Pushing the sweats down, my fingers trace the delicate edge of her lace underwear, she gasps, hips jerking. I pause, holding her gaze, waiting..
“Please,” she whispers.
I strip her down, every inch of revealed skin making my control unravel further.
She’s laid out beneath me, flushed and perfect, and I can’t stop telling her how beautiful she is, how much I need her.
I don’t know if she’s got a praise kink, but when I touch her between her legs she’s slippery wet, just from sucking on her tits and telling her how good she is for me.
I rise up, pushing off my jeans, grabbing a condom out of the back pocket.
I don’t come back right away, instead I fist my cock and watch her.
Studying those smooth hips as they rise and fall, rutting into the air.
Her colorful hair is splayed across the white pillowcase, fanning out like a halo.
Her skin is flushed, some from my mouth, from the scratch of my beard, but mostly from want.
Ingrid Flockton wants me. I’m not going to fuck this up.
“You going to do anything with that?” she asks, eyeing my erection. I give it a long stroke, feeling it all the way deep in my balls.
“Just trying to make sure I don’t come in one pump.”
She looks like she doesn’t believe that, but I’m damn near the edge.
I climb back on the bed, ripping the condom with my teeth.
Propped on her elbows she runs her thumb over the tip, spreading pre-cum across the head.
I nearly fumble, dropping the condom and taking her right there, but our eyes meet and I swallow, “You’re playing with fire. ”
“Good,” she falls back, spreading her thighs. “I want to get burned.”
Shifting over her, her hand flattens against my shoulder and I notch between her legs.
There’s this moment where the working parts of my brain vanishes, lust taking control, and I fight with it, wanting to remember everything, because there’s this little voice in the back of my head whispering, “This is it, man. This is the last first time.”
It should freak me out, but instead it spurs me on, and when I finally push into her, the world stops. Her hand slides down my back, nails digging in, her mouth opens on a cry, and I bury my face against her neck, my jaw clenched tight.
“You gotta let me in, Angel.”
She exhales, muscles releasing, and I ease the rest of the way in.
“Good?” I ask.
“So good.”
Rocking into her, I can’t decide where to look. Her sexy little mouth, the shifting bounce of her tits. The way I fit into her perfectly. I take it all in, absorb every last moment, because it’s never been this good.
Ever.
The rhythm builds between us, tension snapping tighter with every thrust, but I don’t give in too soon.
I hold her there–keep her right at the edge–making her feel every second, every ounce of my claim.
Her moans fill the room, raw and desperate, my name spilling from her lips like it’s the only word she knows.
“Come on me,” I grit out, nerves frayed, the need to see her unravel clawing at my chest. “I want to feel you come while I’m fucking you.”
I duck my head, flattening my tongue over her nipple, teasing and claiming at the same time. Her hips arch up in answer, body trembling, pulling the trigger I’ve been holding tight. And then she breaks–shattering against me, clutching at me like I’m the only thing tethering her to earth.
Her release rips through both of us, and I keep driving into her, owning every cry, every pulse of her body as mine. I don’t last much longer, rocking into her with a final, pulsing thrust.
That feeling, the way our bodies sweat and slide together, it’s a vow, seared straight into my bones.
She’s mine.