Chapter 34
He was kneeling on the floor between her thighs, but in one powerful move, she found herself off her chair and straddling his thighs, her own knees squeezing into his sides as he clutched her against him, as his mouth crashed into hers.
He was wild, practically feral, as his mouth ravaged hers, tongue and teeth and lips clashing.
Nadja wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed, holding him as close to her as she could as the taste of funnel cake flowed over her tongue and down her throat.
Her fingers and toes tingled from the sheer power of his desire. For me, she distantly thought as he sucked hard on her neck just below her ear.
“Fuck,” she gasped, mindlessly grinding against his pelvis, but because of the angle of their bodies and the muscles of his thighs, she couldn’t get the contact she wanted. She whined, a high, keening sound that had him freezing, his hands clutching her ass.
“What do you need?” he asked, his lips against her ear. It was a light enough contact to feel almost ticklish and she shuddered.
“I don’t know,” she panted, even though she damn well did.
She wanted to grind against his denim-covered cock until she screamed and he finished in his pants.
Then she wanted to rip them off of him and swallow him so far down her throat that she could die from it.
She wouldn’t care. She wanted him to fuck her so hard that she’d have rug burn on her back and carpet fibers in her hair and not be able to walk straight for twelve house And then she wanted to climb on top of him and tuck her face under his chin and sleep for days.
“Nadja,” Robbie said, still unmoving, as if he’d been spelled and immobilized. “What do you need?”
“I—”
“What does my mate need?”
“I’m not your mate. You can’t keep saying that. I can’t—”
He kissed her. It wasn’t the ravenous, clumsy kiss of before.
It was slow and deep and sweet, as if he were savoring her, like she was the last bite of ice cream clinging to a spoon and he was making sure to get every single bit of her.
She sobbed into his mouth. Why was he so sweet?
Why couldn’t he have kept on being rough and desperate?
It would have been easier to keep him at arm’s length.
But this? Kissing her like she was the most precious memory he’d ever have was torture.
She put her hands on his chest and pushed, breaking the kiss. They were both breathing hard, but where her eyes were wide, his were focused, locked on her.
“I’m going to ask again. What does my mate need?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head over and over again, as if she could dislodge the image of him staring at her, seeing her, with his long, unkempt hair and his beard that had burned her chapped lips.
“Okay then,” he said, shifting his hands under her thighs to lift her off.
She wanted to protest. Every single cell in her body screamed that he couldn’t, that she was sorry, that she’d do anything if he’d just let her stay there, let her keep clinging to him like one of those fish that adhere onto the bellies of sharks.
“Shhh,” he said, lifting her back onto the wingback chair.
“Robbie,” she said, her voice hoarse and breaking.
“Shhh,” he said again, reaching for her foot, taking it onto his lap and carefully untying the shoelaces of her sneaker.
He pulled the shoe off and gently placed her foot back on the ground before reaching for her other foot, repeating the meticulous, slow unlacing and removal.
He skimmed his hands up her shins, over her knees, across the distance of her thighs and up to the waistband of her jeans.
He unbuttoned them and drew down the zipper.
“Up,” he said, pulling on the waistband of her jeans.
She lifted her hips, and he drew them over her ass and down her legs with all the slow teasing of a burlesque dancer.
She was entranced. His eyes were on his work, and she wished he would look at her face while he did this, while he stripped her bare, even while she was so grateful at the same time that he wasn’t looking at her face. He would see too much. He always had.
He pulled the jeans off of her legs, one at a time, before folding them carefully and placing them on the coffee table behind him. And then his hands were on her bare skin, skimming up the way they’d come until they were at her hips.
With gentle strength, he pulled her hips forward and then pushed her chest so that she was leaning back in the chair.
He lifted one leg so that it was slung over the arm of the chair and then took the other and placed it over his shoulder, leaning in, pressing his nose to the damp gusset of her panties and inhaling deeply.
A growl reverberated in his chest, and Nadja swore she could feel it against her cunt.
She sucked in a breath, the room redolent with the smell of funnel cake, with the taste of sugar and fat and decadence.
Her legs trembled and her hands shook. Without lifting his head from the apex of her thighs, he reached and grabbed one of her hands, placing it on top of his head and pressing down hard until she closed her fingers around a handful of his hair.
He groaned and licked a long stripe against her cotton-covered cunt.
“Robbie,” she moaned.
“Shhh,” he said again. She felt the heat from the word, from his mouth, against the damp fabric, against the very core of her.
He licked her again, pressing the cotton between his tongue and the tissue-thin skin of her pussy.
She gripped his hair tightly, and he pressed in harder, rubbing his nose against her clit and making her gasp from the terrifying pleasure of it.
He inhaled deeply again, nuzzling his face, his nose, his mouth against her cunt, the fabric barrier soaked now.
Robbie growled again, an animal sound that came from deep within him, a sound she’d heard for the first time tonight. It made her inner muscles clench against nothing and she whined.
“Shhh, baby,” he said, mouthing at her clit the way he’d kissed her, slowly and thoroughly and deeply. “I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to protest that it wasn’t going to be okay.
He would have to leave her and that nothing would ever be okay again, especially not after this, after having him one last time, after having heard him call her his mate, something she hadn’t known she’d wanted and yet apparently had.
She’d wanted it so bad that just hearing the word—mate—made her pulse pound in her throat.
But with a dizzying quickness, he took the gusset of her panties in his fists and ripped them apart, burying his face in her uncovered cunt like he’d been starving and she was the first food he’d seen in weeks. The metaphor was painfully ironic as that was what he actually was for her.
She cried out as he sucked her clit into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth.
“Robbie,” she panted, her chest heaving, her fingers wrapped around the long hanks of his hair, pulling so hard that she worried about hurting him, but every time she pulled, he groaned as if it was the best feeling in the world.
He flicked his tongue against her clit so rapidly that she shrieked from the stimulation. She was so sensitive already and he’d only just begun.
“Robbie,” she said, her words sticking in her throat, “Robbie, I need…”
Something. She didn’t even know how to say it. She needed more. More fullness. More pressure. More heat. More of him.
He nodded against her cunt, his tongue dipping into her channel as his nose rubbed against her clit.
It wasn’t enough. She squirmed and whined again in protest but then he shoved two thick fingers into her core, the digits sliding easily into her slick tightness.
He drew back enough to look at her, his fingers curled so that they rubbed against her g spot with every thrust. He pistoned his fingers in and out of her with a speed that had her gaping at him, watching his muscles flex and bunch with the effort.
She felt the rising tide of her climax and pulled his hair, shoving his face down to her pussy once more.
He groaned against her clit, sucking on it gently, his thrusting fingers gone still.
She groaned, so close, so very close to the edge and yet not close enough.
“Robbie, she said, breathy and desperate. “Robbie, please.”
He nodded, curling his fingers harder in that come-hither motion and moving them slowly in and out of her as he tongued and sucked on her clit.
Her orgasm began as heat. Pure, nuclear heat that began in her feet and skull and radiated outward, moving toward her core, where they’d meet in the middle, where they’d detonate.
She gasped when the feeling broke over her, when her muscles clenched against his fingers rhythmically, over and over again, as her body shook and her cunt felt like it was on fire.
“Robbie!” she shrieked, pulling his head back by her grip on his hair when the sensation became too much.
His beard was soaked with her wetness, and he licked his lips slowly, never breaking the hold his eyes had on hers. The fan turned on, the hum of electricity the bass line for the percussion of their heaving breaths.
“Robbie,” she said, whispered to him, to the room, to this bigness between them that she couldn’t understand.
“Doc,” he said and slid his fingers out of her sheath, lifting them to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze locked on hers the entire time. “What do you need?”
What did she need? Certainly not to feed. Her body was vibrating with energy for the first time in weeks. Full and powerful and strong and near bursting. But she wanted more. She’d always want more.
If this was the last time, she could be greedy. She’d allow herself that.
He cocked his head to the side in an almost puppy-like way. “What does my mate need?”
“I’m not your mate,” she said again, which felt more itchy and wrong every time she said it.
He narrowed his eyes at her, scratched at his chest. Good god, he was still fully clothed. Kneeling on the floor between her naked thighs, inches from her naked cunt, her shirt pulled up to her chin to reveal her bralette. When had he done that? She hadn’t even noticed.
“What. Does. My. Mate. Need?”
He was kneeling high now, his eyes level with hers, his stomach pressing against her still quivering core.
“Stop calling me that,” she said. “It hurts when you call me that.”
“It hurts when you tell me not to.”
She felt the tears rising again, hot and unbidden.
She blinked, trying to clear them, and he pulled her close to him, pulled her off the chair, on top of his body, until she was sitting on his thighs again as she’d been before.
He tugged on the hem of her shirt, drawing it over her head.
Her bralette followed next. And then she was naked in his lap.
Her palms rested on his chest, and beneath them, she felt the steady pounding of his heart.
“Doc,” he said. “You’re—”
She cut him off with a kiss.
She kissed him while she yanked the T-shirt over the heaps of his shoulders, breaking the kiss only long enough for the neckline to clear his chin and lips.
She reached between them and unbuttoned his pants, drawing down the zipper.
But she couldn’t reach what she wanted from this angle, couldn’t reach him.
And she needed to feel the heaviness of his cock in her hands again, needed to distract him from this conservation, to stop him from calling her his mate, from breaking her heart every time he did.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said, shifting their bodies so that he could lay back and push his pants and boxers over his hips and down.
“I know what I’m doing, too,” she said as she lined the head of his cock up with her entrance and lowered herself slowly down. “I’m fucking you.”
“Nadja,” he said, his hands gripping her hips. He held her still, preventing her from rising, from riding. He held her pelvis down against his so that she couldn’t move any more than to squeeze him with her body. “Look at me.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes, clenching against him with her inner muscles as hard as she could, disobeying him in every way possible. Because if she didn’t, if she looked at him, if he called her his mate one more time, she’d break. For good.
He sighed.
“Fine. We’ll do it my way then.”
She didn’t have time to ask what that meant before he rolled, flipping their positions so that he covered her, his cock thick and hard inside of her and his body hard and heavy atop her, pressing her into the floor with his weight, even though he rested his forearms and elbows on the floor on either side of her ears.
She gasped and writhed, needing him to thrust. Needing him to fuck her into the floor, through the floor if he could manage him. Anything to distract her from so much feeling that she thought she might die from it.
“What does my mate need?” he asked.
“I’m not your mate,” she protested, gasping for air.
“Let’s just pretend, then. What does my mate need?”
“Everything!” she shouted. “I need everything!”
He loomed over her now, pressing up to his hands so that his torso lifted off of hers. She wanted to weep from the loss of contact and weight. But he grinned down at her, smug and smirking and insufferable. She wanted to bite him.
And so she did, turning her head and sinking her teeth into his forearm, the closest bit of him that she could reach.
His smile widened, revealing his teeth, glinting and dangerous looking in the lamplight.
“My mate wants everything,” he purred.
Her teeth were still tight against his skin, not breaking through but certainly bruising. She wanted to mark him, to hurt him the way he was hurting her with this “mate” business.
He balanced on one hand and took her jaw in his other hand, turning her face to look up at him. And then he bent down and whispered in her ear, “My mate gets everything she wants.”
With that, he pulled back and thrust into her so hard that she shouted her relief to the ceiling tiles.