Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
SOREN
Somewhere between Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, Ava gave up the fight. The fire’s burned down to glowing embers, soft orange light filtering across the room. Her TV screen has dimmed to that blue screensaver with the bouncing logo, the movie long since over.
One second, she was curled up with her knees tucked beneath her, making snarky comments about Edward’s tragic cheekbones, and the next, she was out cold.
Ava’s draped across me, her cheek pressed to my chest, her body slack and warm across mine, one of her hands resting over my stomach.
I haven’t moved for hours. I should shift.
Stretch. At least cover us with a blanket.
But I can’t seem to do anything but hold her close and watch the firelight dance across her face.
She’s beautiful, peaceful, she belongs here, curled into me. God, I never want this one night to end.
Every so often, I trace her features with my gaze—those full lips, the faint crease between her brows even in sleep, like she’s still a little suspicious of rest. Of comfort. Of me.
I don’t want to move. If I do, she’ll wake, and the moment will break.
Carefully sliding my hand from her waist, my fingers brush over bare skin where the hem of her shirt has ridden up, exposing soft, creamy skin. My thumb grazes the warmth there, soft, tender, memorizing her by touch alone.
Ava stirs. A soft noise escapes her lips, then her lashes flutter open. With one hand braced against my chest, she pushes herself up. Autumn-colored eyes dart toward the fireplace, the bouncing blue screen, and finally, to me.
For a few beats, Ava only stares down at me. The light in her eyes regards me in the most tender way, as if she’s letting me glimpse the part of her she guards from the world, like everything could collapse around us and she’d still keep looking at me.
“You fell asleep,” I say, hoping she won’t retreat, but stay, right here, tucked into me.
When I think she’s about to peel herself off me, that light in her eyes sparks into a blaze, and before I’m able to form a single word—
Ava kisses me.
Fierce.
Without caution. Without brakes.
Gentle hands cup either side of my face, holding me in place like she’s scared I’ll disappear.
My heart flips at that thought. This trusting, uninhibited rendition of Ava has always been the inevitable conclusion for me.
Always.
I don’t pretend to play it cool. I kiss her back. I’ve been starving for those lips since we left Salem. And now, drenched in firelight, interwoven together on a couch with Twilight long forgotten and Ava Bell pressed against me, I’m never letting her go.
Ava’s lips are soft, sweet, curious, and hesitant all at once. They move like she’s testing the shape of surrender, like she’s afraid of wanting too much and doing it anyway. When her mouth parts beneath mine, I realize it’s not restraint—she wants to drown. To get drunk on this kiss. On me. On us.
Ava lifts herself to straddle me, knees bracketing my thighs. My hands instinctively settle on her hips as her body sinks down onto me. At the same time, my hips rise a little too eagerly. There’s no mistaking it, she feels my rock fucking hard, fully aroused cock, absolutely aching beneath her.
She halts for half a second. Shit, there it is—the change. Her mental demons scramble to catch up with her body, the logic crashing in, that old Ava defense system blinking red.
No Bells, stay with me.
Taking control, I draw her back down and kiss her with long, deep, drawn-out strokes of my mouth that taste like possession but melt into devotion. I could spend forever here, sustained by her lips alone.
And then—
Ava does the weirdest thing. She pulls back so that she’s gazing down at me again, then grabs my hand and puts it on her boob. Over her shirt. Right on top. Palm-to-fabric contact. Suddenly, we’re back in middle school, and I upgraded to second base with her parents in the next room.
To say I’m confused—not to mention delighted—would be an understatement. My face must show it because she avoids my gaze completely.
Cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling in tiny, embarrassed breaths, Ava’s most definitely nervous and very much unsure of herself. I get it. She’s out of practice. Out of her depth. But damn, if it isn’t the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
The number of men she’s been with could fit on one hand—actually, a few fingers.
That inexperience? This trust? I have to be careful.
I’m not just touching her right now—I’m rewiring her, etching myself into places no one’s earned the right to go in a very long time.
She’s let so few in, and somehow, I’m one of them.
The fact that she’s giving me this drives me fucking feral.
Ava affects me in ways I can’t explain. She possesses a fragile magic I don’t want to break.
And I want to murder the men who helped her build these carefully constructed walls.
The one who made her feel like she now has to stay in complete control, carry the risk, read every signal before it explodes in her face, treating intimacy as a field of fire ants she has to tiptoe through barefoot.
My free hand slides around her waist to cup the back of her thigh, and I hitch it higher, opening her to me. The moment my dick presses deeper, her breath breaks.
“Tell me this feels right?”
Ava arches, her body answering me before her voice ever could.
That gasp, those tiny shivers, each desperate roll of her hips is all mine.
But she’s still hesitating, unsure if she should give in completely.
And damn, if she isn’t stupidly hot and adorably flustered, with pink chinks, her breath shallow.
She’s standing at the edge of a cliffside, the bottom holding everything she craves… and fears.
“Yes,” she exhales, a word that sounds more like surrender than permission.
I let my hand stay. Press gently, show her I’m here, that I get it before I rise off the pillows to meet her where she is. Our gazes connect for the briefest second, then I kiss her temple, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth.
She sighs. The tension in her shoulders gives.
One more inch.
My hands find the hem of her sweatshirt, and wait. She nods. I lift it over her head in a slow sweep.
Well. That’s one way to end my blood circulation.
Pink bra. Perfect tits. Curved, full, flawless. And they are begging to be touched, tasted, and devoured.
Did I mention they’re fucking magnificent?
A primal noise juts out of me, and I don’t even try to hide it because fuck, my mouth is watering.
“Ava…” Her breathing quickens as I run my fingers over the soft tops of her breasts. Reaching the straps of her bra, I slip them off her shoulders. “You’re gorgeous,” I whisper, unhooking the back with practiced ease.
The fabric falls away, baring her to me, and every ounce of clever confidence I thought I had evaporates.
Tight little nipples. Glowing skin. Fuck, she’s stunning. And right now…she’s all mine.
I stare, awestruck, useless, my throat working around words that won’t come. My hands hover as though I’ve forgotten how to touch.
Huffing out a breath, I laugh a little. “Now I’m the awkward one.”
She chuckles, moving her hands to my shoulders just as I duck my head to take her nipple into my mouth gently, giving her every chance to stop me.
Thank fuck, she doesn’t.
I suck on one, then the other, swirling my tongue, teasing, giving each equal playing time while Ava grinds over my raging hard cock. Her fingers knot in my hair as she makes a sound that might be a gasp, or might be my name. Might be both.
“Breathe for me.” If this is all we do tonight, if this is as far as it goes, I’ll still count it as the best night of my life because this is her letting me in.
But I’m far from being done. Not if she wants more.
Slowly kissing up the slope of her breast, to the curve of her neck where her pulse flutters against my lips, one hand holds us together while the other trails down her side.
Over her ribs. Her waist. Hips. When I reach the edge of her leggings, I pause, letting my fingers rest there, testing the waters.
Ava lifts her hips. Barely. The motion tells me everything.
My fingers tease the skin at her waistband—so slowly—until the heat of her seeps into my skin.
She shifts again, grinding harder this time. My fingers dip inside her leggings and move down to her entrance. She’s soaking wet.
Ava whimpers. “Oh God.”
Pressing my lips against her throat, I murmur, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I don’t,” she answers immediately.
Obeying her wishes, I press gently against her clit, coaxing more of those helpless, breathtaking sounds from her throat.
Jesus, I want to fuck her. Of course I do.
That’s not happening tonight, though. This isn’t about me.
Tonight, I’m going to peel Ava open with my hands.
My mouth. My patience. Layer by layer. I’ll give her everything she doesn’t ask for—security, and bright fucking stars behind her eyelids when she breaks apart on my fingers.
Or my tongue. We’ll see how far she lets me go.
Ava moans, “Soren, please.”
I give in to the only urge that matters. My fingers pinch the tiny nub. Her entire body arches on top of me. She’s gasping now, needy and gripping me tight. I’ve never wanted to make someone come this badly in my life.
I work her clit easily. It’s swollen and begging for attention. The tip of my finger circles it lightly, pressing a little harder as her legs tremble.
“There?” I whisper, kissing her jaw.
She nods frantically, a red flush creeping all the way down to her neck to her chest as I toy with her entrance, coating my fingers in everything she’s giving me before pushing one finger in, then two, and she squeezes so tight around me it’s like her body’s trying to keep me.
Jesus, she’s wet.
Ava’s fucking strangling my fingers, and all I can think about is how it’s going to feel splitting her open on my cock.
“Soren, that feels–” Ava moans into my mouth.
I don’t let her finish. My lips crash to hers, blocking the rest of that sentence with one deep and all-consuming kiss.
She’s so hot, so fucking perfect. Curling my fingers, I learn the rhythm of her hips, the way her breath hitches when I get it right.
Ava’s close. Her body speaks to me. It’s in the way her thighs shake, the desperate little gasps she lets out with every stroke.
I drive into her, two fingers buried to the hilt, stretching her until she’s whimpering.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby.” Pressing my forehead to hers, I pump my fingers in and out while my thumb works her clit. “Let go, Ava. I’ve got you.”
Her body goes taut, shudders, her thighs clamp around my hand as she cries out my name. Unhurried, I keep moving her through it, sweet and idle, until she’s soft and trembling beneath me.
Once her breathing returns to normal, my fingers slip free, slick and shining, and I bring them to my mouth to lick every last drop off.
“Fucking delicious,” I growl. “Next time, I’m going to have your legs over my shoulders while I lap up every moan you make with my tongue.”
Ava lets out a shaky sound that lands somewhere between scandalized and please do that immediately.
I kiss her again—filthy and affectionate altogether—because damn, I’m becoming addicted to this, to her.
And as my lips devour hers, I’m sealing a promise I haven’t dared to say out loud yet—one I’ll spend forever keeping if she lets me.
Ava peels back and hits me with a surprise blow. “Why wait for next time? Why not now?”
Everything comes to a screeching halt, and my pulse punches the inside of my throat as it does. This woman managed to flip the power dynamic in one sentence. And those two questions vaporized whatever thread of control I was clinging to.
Not quite believing I heard her right, I pull back to see her face, her eyes dark and steady on mine, and fuck me—I’ve never wanted someone, or something, as much as I want Ava Bell’s pussy dripping on my tongue.
“What?” I ask, clarifying because I’m not walking away from that.
“Why not now?” she repeats.
A wicked smile spreads across my face. I’m not going just to lick Ava. I’m going to shatter her…slowly. Break her into a million fragments, that only I’ll know how to hold together.