31. Maren
Maren
I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me from the counter, my legs still locked around his waist. The weight of me doesn't slow him down as he carries me toward my bedroom, his mouth never leaving mine.
My back hits the mattress with a soft thud. Riggs stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His hands remove my shirt before I can even blink.
The cool air raises goosebumps across my skin as he tosses it somewhere behind him.
“You're so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his eyes taking in every inch of me.
I almost laugh but the reverence in his eyes stops the sound in my throat.
He kneels at the foot of the bed, his hands gently wrapping around my ankles. His touch is feather-light as he lifts one foot, pressing his lips to the inside of my ankle. My pulse jumps at the unexpected tenderness.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
His eyes flick up to mine, dark with desire. “Worshipping you.”
Something sharp and sweet twists in my chest at his words. I've been called many things in my life. Dangerous, broken, psychotic but never something worthy of worship. Not until him.
His lips trace a path up my calf, each kiss deliberate and unhurried. When he reaches the sensitive spot behind my knee, I can't help the small gasp that escapes me. He smiles against my skin, lingering there a moment longer before continuing his journey.
By the time he reaches my inner thighs, I'm trembling. Not from cold or fear, but from the restraint it takes not to grab him by the hair and direct him where I want him.
As if sensing my impatience, he pauses, his breath hot against my skin. “Let me have this,” he murmurs. “Let me show you.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
His mouth moves higher, his hands spreading my thighs wider. When his lips finally press against my center, I arch off the bed, a strangled sound tearing from my throat.
“That's it,” he encourages, his tongue circling my clit with maddening precision. “Let me hear you.”
I grip the sheets, my head thrown back as he works me with his mouth. It's too much and not enough all at once. I want to pull away, to run from it. But his hands hold me steady, anchoring me to the moment.
Just when I think I can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving me gasping.
“Tease,” I accuse, shifting restlessly.
His laugh is warm against my skin. “Patience,” he murmurs. “I've been wanting to taste every inch of you since the moment I saw you.”
“You've already tasted plenty,” I remind him, thinking of all the times his mouth has been on me before.
“Not like this.” He nips at the soft skin of my stomach. “Not when you know.”
“Know what?”
His eyes meet mine, serious now despite the intimacy of our position. “That you own me. Body and soul. And fucking heart, Maren.”
Something flutters in my chest. Something dangerous and beautiful. I reach down, running my fingers through his hair, gentler than I've ever been with him before.
He turns his face into my palm, pressing a kiss there. Then his mouth is moving again, trailing up my ribs, between my breasts. When his lips close around my nipple, a gasp escapes me, my back arching into his touch. My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
He works his way upward. Each touch is like a benediction, a silent prayer against my skin. His mouth traces the hollow of my collarbone, the column of my throat, the underside of my jaw.
My eyes flutter closed as sensations overwhelm me. This isn't just sex or desire. It’s love, at least I think it is. It has to be.
When his lips finally reach my face, he pauses. I feel his breath against my cheek, warm and steady. His fingers brush my hair back from my forehead with such gentleness.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
I open my eyes to find his face inches from mine, his gaze intense and unguarded. There's no mask there, no pretense. Just Riggs, laid bare.
“I love you,” he says again, the words hanging in the air between us. “I love every fucked-up, beautiful part of you.”
My chest constricts, lungs forgetting how to work. It's too much—the way he's looking at me, the weight of his words. I can't breathe through the flood of emotion.
He's loving me out loud, with words and touch and that look in his eyes that says I'm everything. And I'm drowning in it.
“Riggs,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper. It's the only word I can find.
His thumb traces my cheekbone. “I know,” he says. “It's scary as fuck.”
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, surprising us both. “Yeah,” I agree. “Scarier than anything we did tonight.”
His smile is soft, understanding. “Scarier than anything I've ever done.”
He presses one more kiss to my lips before moving away. My body already misses his warmth as he slides down between my legs again. I can feel his hands spreading my thighs wider, his breath hot against my skin.
“Planning to cum all over my floor again just from eating me out?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbows to look at him. “Because you did a shit job of cleaning it up last time.”
His laugh vibrates against me, sending a jolt of pleasure up my spine. “Worth it,” he murmurs against my inner thigh. Then without warning, he pushes two fingers inside me, his mouth latching onto my clit.
“Fuck!” The word tears from my throat as my head falls back. My hips buck against his face, but his free arm holds me down, pinning me to the mattress.
His fingers curl upward, finding that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. The dual sensations of his mouth and his fingers is almost too much to bear. I'm teetering on the edge already, my body wound tight as a spring.
“Riggs,” I gasp, one hand tangling in his hair. I don't know if I'm trying to pull him closer or push him away. My body can't decide if this pleasure is something to chase or run from.
He hums against me; the vibration sending another shock wave through my system. His fingers work faster now, his tongue relentless. There's no teasing anymore, just the single-minded focus of a man determined to take me apart.
And he does. The orgasm hits me like a freight train, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me. I'm vaguely aware that I'm saying his name, over and over like some desperate prayer. I can't think. I can only feel.
White-hot lightning flashes behind my eyes, spreading outward through every nerve ending. My vision fractures into prisms of color—indigo, crimson, gold—colors I've never seen before, colors that don't exist in this world. My ears ring with music that isn't there.
Time stops, it stretches, loops and then shatters.
I'm floating and falling and dying and being born all at once. Every cell in my body vibrates at a frequency that threatens to tear me apart. My skin is too small to contain whatever this is. This supernova exploding inside me.
Riggs' name turns to nonsense on my tongue as the waves keep coming, relentless, merciless. I taste copper and realize I've bitten my lip. I taste salt and realize I'm crying.
This is what drowning must feel like, but I don't want air. I want to sink deeper.
My fingers dig into his scalp, my thighs trembling around his head as he works me through it, never letting up, never giving me a chance to catch my breath. The pleasure borders on pain now, but I can't tell him to stop. I don't want him to stop.
I've never felt so fucking alive.
Riggs crawls up my body, his mouth slick with me. He looks fucking wrecked—pupils blown, hair a mess from my hands, that cocky half-smile playing at his lips before he kisses me.
I taste myself on his tongue, salty and sweet. There's something possessive about it that makes my stomach flip.
His weight shifts over me as he breaks the kiss, his breath coming in ragged pants against my neck. I feel his hand slip between us, positioning himself at my entrance. He's so hard, so hot against me that I can't help but roll my hips, seeking that friction.
“Maren,” he groans, his voice strained. “Look at me.”
I do, and the raw need in his eyes nearly undoes me. He reaches for my hands, threading our fingers together like we're two halves of something finally made whole. I feel the calluses on his palms, the strength in his grip as he guides my arms above my head, pinning me to the mattress.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. The hot, hard length of him settles between my thighs, and I can feel him twitching against me, alive with want. He shifts just barely, and the tip of him presses right against my core.
Our eyes lock, his burning into mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. His hands tighten around mine, our fingers fused together like we're sharing one pulse, one heartbeat. I'm pinned beneath him, but I've never felt less trapped.
When he finally pushes inside me, it's achingly slow. I feel every inch of him as he fills me, stretching me, claiming me. My breath catches in my throat as he seats himself fully inside me, the sensation so overwhelming that for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice breaking on that single syllable.
He's watching my face, cataloging every reaction, every flutter of my eyelids, every parted gasp. I'm still sensitive from before, my nerve endings raw and exposed. Each drag of him inside me sends aftershocks rippling through my body.
“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice strained with restraint. “So perfect. So mine.”
“I love you,” I whisper, the words escaping before I can catch them.
Riggs freezes above me, his body going completely still. For a horrifying moment, I think I've ruined everything.
Then his eyes soften, and he presses a kiss to my temple, so gentle it almost hurts. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I love you,” I repeat, surprised by how easily the words come now. “I love you, and this, but—” My hands push against his chest, creating space between us. “Please fuck me like you hate me right now.”