Chapter 11
Selina
"I need you." His voice cracked. “Need to lose myself in you. Make up for hurting you.”
I pulled back, the doctor in me taking over. “It’s too dangerous. If you seize again …”
“I won’t.” His uninjured hand cupped my face, thumb making gentle circles on my cheekbone. “I know it. And if I’m wrong, then bring me back like you did before. I only want to exist right here.”
My chest hurt. His words tore me.
“We should rest,” I managed, trying to convince myself as much as him. “You’re injured, we’re both exhausted.”
“Selina.” Just my name, but it made my breath catch.
His bandaged hand rested on my knee, the white gauze a reminder of everything broken between us. The red marks on my throat throbbed, but when I met his eyes, I saw only the man who’d fought his way back, not the weapon who’d put them there.
“Please.” The word left his mouth on a breath. “Let me feel something real again.”
I nodded once, barely moving.
I let his lips find mine, giving in. He kissed me hard, desperate, consuming. His mouth took, didn’t ask. I matched him, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.
When he broke away, we were both breathing hard. “Look at me.” His voice came out rough.
I opened my eyes to find him staring, predatory, possessive, but vulnerable. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head to my throat, lips on the marks he’d left earlier. I shivered.
“I’m sorry,” came against my skin, breath hot.
“Don’t,” I said softly. “Just be here now.”
His uninjured palm gripped my thigh, fingers digging in as he pulled me closer onto his lap. Heat pooled low. His bandaged hand rested at my waist, careful despite everything.
He was holding back. Every muscle tight. His breathing turned ragged against my neck as his lips moved down my collarbone.
When he raised his head again, his eyes had darkened to storm gray. He studied my face hard enough that I felt naked, not just of clothing but of every defense.
“I want to mark every inch of you,” he murmured against my lips, a threat and a promise.
My pulse kicked, my body responding to the edge in his voice. I should have been afraid, should have pulled away. Instead, I arched against him, inviting it.
His thumb traced my lower lip, eyes locked to mine. “I need to taste you.” His voice had dropped to a growl, chest vibrating. “Need to have you. Now.”
I nodded, past analysis or caution. “Yes…”
He gripped my sweater and tore it open. Buttons hit the wall. His bandaged hand stayed at my waist while his good one pushed the fabric from my shoulders.
“Christ,” he said under his breath, looking at me. His mouth was on me, hot against my collarbone. He bit down, then licked, working down my chest.
I gasped at his teeth, then his tongue. Each touch burned, his need feeding mine until I was arching into him, desperate.
His hand slid up my back, found my bra clasp. The garment fell away, and his lips closed over me, heat blooming. I cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders as he used his mouth on me.
He pulled back to check my face, his eyes wild but searching. Whatever he saw made him dip back down, hands everywhere, gripping my thigh, sliding up my side, tangling in my hair.
I couldn’t catch my breath, didn’t want to. Each touch was possessive, hungry, starved. His good hand cupped my breast, thumb rough while his mouth worked the other.
When I rolled my hips against him, he groaned into my skin, feral. The bandages on his hand rasped against my waist as he pulled me harder against him.
“More,” I rasped, a voice I barely recognized. I pulled him up and crushed my mouth to his. “I need more.”
He stripped the rest off me fast, skirt yanked, tights peeled, panties dragged down my thighs with his knuckles at the inside of my knees. Cool air hit. Warmth answered. He lifted me, set me on the bed, and followed, weight braced on his good hand so he didn’t crush me.
“Open,” he commanded, lips moving down my torso.
I let my knees fall. He settled between them, shoulders pinning my thighs wide.
The first touch wasn’t his mouth. His thumb traced where thigh met pelvis, unhurried.
Then his lips at the inside of my knee, the back of my thigh, the high place.
He tasted me carefully, quick samples that turned deliberate fast.
My pulse hammered. He slid his bandaged hand up and pressed two fingers there, gauging. The rough gauze rasped my skin.
“Breathe for me.”
I exhaled a rough breath. Took another, deeper. He counted with his fingers at my neck.
His mouth finally found me. His tongue parted me gently. I cursed. He groaned, quiet, tasting me.
“Fuck,” came against my skin. “You’re warm.”
Warm wasn’t right. I felt molten. He licked again, slower, and I watched him change, eyes unfocused, movements even, a pattern sliding into place. Programmed touch. Mechanical rhythm.
“Specter.”
His head lifted. Gray eyes locked to mine.
“Here,” he said, fingers pressing my pulse. “I’m right here.”
His mouth returned. He licked from my entrance to clit, paused to check my face, then did it again harder.
I grabbed the sheet. He didn’t rush. He built me slowly, light flicks, then a circle, then a suck that made me cry out.
He watched every reaction and adjusted. When my hips rolled, he pinned them with his shoulders, tongue matching.
When my breath hitched, he eased off, let me chase it, then gave it back.
“Good,” he murmured into me, voice ragged. “Keep breathing.”
He slipped one finger along me, not entering, just gathering and bringing it to his tongue. He moaned, low, and the sound did something to my insides.
“More,” I rasped. “Eat my pussy.”
He laughed against me, dark and quiet. His thumb found my clit, steady pressure while his mouth went lower, tongue tasting my entrance before pressing in.
I tightened around him, hips lifting. He felt it.
One finger slid in slowly, perfectly curled.
He stroked the front wall while his mouth worked my clit with measured suction.
“Fuck, yes…”
His fingers at my throat tightened carefully. “Stay with me.”
I locked on his face. He watched mine. Every breath I drew sharpened his focus, each exhale grounding him as much as it undid me. He built me methodically, patient as a metronome, my pulse under his touch, my sounds in his mouth.
He pulled away right when everything tightened. Air rushed in. My hips chased him; he was gone.
He dragged his mouth across the inside of my thigh, leaving heat. I looked down; my skin shone, trembling. Half-moons marked his shoulders where my nails had dug in, angry crescents.
He sat back on his heels, eyes satisfied, like he’d won something. I’d never seen him look so sure.
“Not yet. I want to hear you ask properly.”
“That’s not fair…”
“Nothing about this is fair. Say please, Doctor.”
The title hit hard. He didn’t touch me, and that made it worse.
Every nerve wanted him. My training wanted posture, a measured response; all I had were rough breaths and a body begging.
His gaze tracked every twitch in my thighs, every inhale, focused like before a fight.
Only now, I was the weapon and he wouldn’t pull the trigger.
My voice came out rough.
I needed control back. I grabbed his shoulders and shoved. He let me. He rocked back on his hands, teeth bared, permission and warning in one.
“Stop playing games. I know what I want.”
“Show me what you want.”
I climbed into his lap, knees around his hips, his body solid under me.
I took his mouth and didn’t give him a second, tasting salt and heat and restrained trembling.
My palms moved over his chest, found his throat, his jaw.
I rolled over him, set a rhythm that turned need into friction, pressure, drag that made my head tip back and pulled a rough sound from him.
He let me. Thirty seconds, maybe less, where I ran everything: my pace, my kiss, my hunger.
I wasn’t a doctor or a careful woman. I was a body that knew what it needed and took it.
His hands slid to my waist, too gentle, and then everything shifted.
No, not everything. Him.
He pivoted, using my momentum to set me down. The world flipped. My back hit the mattress, wrists caught and lifted above my head. His fingers wrapped them, not cruel, but so sure I couldn’t pull free.
He looked down at me, the desperation from before gone, replaced by control. His eyes had steadied.
“My game. My rules. You don’t get to rush this.”
Heat flared low, frustration mixing with the charge of being held by someone who knew how. I tugged once. Useless. He tightened just enough for my pulse to jump, then eased, reminding me.
I twisted my hips, chasing friction. He held me still with his weight and a knee slid between mine, widening me until I couldn’t speak. I dragged in air that didn’t help.
“I know what I want,” I ground out, throat raw. “And I want it now.”
He studied my face carefully, measured my breaking control, the way need had stripped my composure. His mouth hovered near mine and didn’t touch.
“Ask,” he ordered, quiet authority in his voice. “And I’ll decide how you get it.”
“Please.”
It scraped coming out. He watched it happen.
“Please, what?”
“Make me come.” My wrists pulled in his grip. “Then fuck me.”
His mouth curved. The bandaged hand slid from my wrists to my throat again, not choking, only measuring. He pressed two fingers over my pulse, eyes on mine.
“Keep me here.”
“Stay,” I whispered. “With me.”
He lowered, shoulders pinning my thighs wide again.
His gaze held until my breathing steadied under his fingers.
Then he dropped, tongue dragging through me.
He didn’t rush. He licked me in slow lines that had my calves tightening, my hips lifting despite his weight.
He sealed his mouth over my clit and sucked once, deep, and I made a sound I’d never made.
“Good,” he murmured against me. “That’s it.”