Chapter Six
Addie
He’s back to pumping into me, wildly demanding, and I don’t hold back. I’m practically bucking against him, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more of him. Desperate for far more than the deep thrust of his cock, but for something else, something unnamed that I know reaches far beyond the burn of lust. Something far more primal that is a part of the lifebonding process. I’ve felt this before with him, but never like this—never so intense, never so all-consuming.
He must feel it too, as he tears his lips from mine, his long hair draped around his shoulders and around mine as he stares down at me, his dark eyes wild, hungry, tormented—and yes, he feels it too. A part of me reads that torment as him not wanting me, as him being incapable of denying me.
But there’s no turning back now. No reason to be found for either of us. He thrusts into me—a long, deep, sensual stroke of his cock that has me arching into him, tilting my hips to take more of him. To be closer to him. Riding on the edge of release, I wrap my legs around his legs, moaning as he kisses me, his tongue velvet pleasure. The combination of his tongue and his hips shatter my control, and I tumble over the edge, my sex clenching and spasming around his cock, my body shaking with the intensity of my pleasure. With a guttural groan, Creed drives into me, buries his face in my neck, and trembles with his release.
He collapses into me and me into him, but I’m aware of the way he protects me from his body weight and the way he shelters me. I hate him and I love him in the aftermath of what we have shared, and I don’t know what to do about it. With each second, there is an unraveling of passion into another kind of explosion. It starts slow with a burn in my chest and belly, the hurt of the past blasting into the present.
“Let me up,” I order, pressing on his chest, suddenly claustrophobic. We had sex. That’s all. It changes nothing. I don’t want what could come after—the pain, the heartache—all over again.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he dares to purr near my ear, his big body not about to allow mine to budge. “What’s the rush?”
He lifts himself to his elbows and forces me to do what I don’t want to do—stare into his eyes. Those damn eyes that always trick me into thinking that nothing but the moment matters. When he looks at me like he is now, I believe we have something real, not manufactured in a lab or by way of his manipulation, when I know better.
My throat goes all cottony, my tongue thick. “I have a flight to catch. I need to get ready.”
“You aren’t taking that flight.”
“Of course I am,” I say. “We need that hard drive.”
“We don’t,” he says. “Brock told Lucian he knows nothing more than we do.”
“He could have been lying,” I argue, acutely aware of the fact that he’s still inside me. “We can’t take that chance. The return flight is a perfect opportunity to get that drive.”
“The only place you’re going is to Sunrise City, where I know you’ll be safe.”
“Temporary safety isn’t safety at all. I can’t find Red Dart in Sunrise City, and what am I supposed to tell my father?”
“Whatever you need to,” he growls, apparently not pleased with that question. “Be creative.”
“And then we don’t get that hard drive and the data on Red Dart.”
“We’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way, or we both know you would never have come to me in the first place. For two years, you didn’t give a damn about where I was or what I was doing. What right do you have to tell me anything now?”
His jaw clenches, his eyes brimming with anger—looking as if he’s about to explode—like he might actually, for once, break his calm composure and yell back at me. And I want him to. I want him to say what is on his mind and to let me inside that hard shell of his. But it doesn’t happen. He rolls off me and leans against the headboard.
“You’re not getting on that plane,” he repeats.
For a moment, I lay there, the dampness between my legs stealing all my thoughts. We didn’t use a condom. I’m not on the pill. I’m not even sure it would work with this lifebond between us, either. A breath quakes from my chest, and I force that worry away for the time-sensitive problem. “I am getting on that plane, Creed, and you can’t stop me.”
Ignoring my nudity, I scramble off of the bed and rush toward the closet, but I don’t make it even a step. In a flash, he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress and pulling me between his thighs. And damn my body for its insistence that fucking this man is all that matters. Awareness rushes over me, heat spearing my body even before he turns me to face him, my nipples inches from his face. His hands brand my hips. His cheek rasps against my breasts, his lips against my nipple.
I shiver, and damn him, I’m struggling to think, let alone argue my point and remember why I need to get dressed. His tongue laves my nipple, and it’s all I can do not to dive my fingers into his dark hair. I crave this man, his strength, even his arrogance, even knowing he’s going to hurt me again. I think he does, too.
Clinging to what resolve I have left, angry at my weakness, I shove on his shoulders. “Damn it, Creed. Stop trying to manipulate me. I’m not having sex with you again.” As if I’ve said absolutely nothing, he suckles my nipple, his silky dark hair erotically tickling my skin. Desperate to stop him before I no longer possess the will, my hands go to his head. “Stop, Creed!”
He tilts his chin up, a challenge in his eyes. “Is that what you really want?”
“What I want and what needs to happen are two different things. I’m getting dressed, and I’m leaving.”
“No, you are not.”