Chapter 29
MORGAN
The house is quiet in a way that feels different tonight. It’s the kind of quiet that comes after something terrible almost happens and then doesn’t. The pipes shift somewhere in the walls, and outside a car passes slowly enough that its headlights sweep across the window before fading away again.
I stand, staring at my reflection in the dark glass. Every time I breathe in, I see flashes of that attic again. The look in her eyes when she realized it was me standing in front of her.
I should go.
That’s the instinct talking. Leave before things get complicated, before attachment starts digging roots.
It’s what I’ve always done…but I know it’s too late for that.
Behind me, soft footsteps cross the floor.
I don’t turn right away; I already know it’s her. Her arms slide around my waist from behind. For a second I just stand there while her forehead presses between my shoulder blades. Her breath is slow but uneven, and something in my chest loosens in a way I don’t like examining too closely.
Relief, that’s what this is.
I cover her hands with mine. “You should be asleep,” I say quietly.
“I can’t,” she answers, voice small but honest.
I turn, and she steps closer immediately, like distance feels wrong now. The lamplight catches the faint bruise along her cheek, and something sharp moves through me again. She looks exhausted, fragile around the edges, but her eyes are steady.
She’s still here.
My hands settle at her waist, our foreheads touch without thinking, breaths falling into the same rhythm, and for the first time since this started, my mind finally slows.
Her fingers bunch in my shirt.
“I was scared.” The magnitude of admitting that to her is huge.
Her eyes close briefly. “I know.”
No excuses or defensiveness, just an understanding that even though it was out of her control, I still need to say them.
My mouth brushes her temple. “You’re mine,” I murmur.
She nods once.
That’s enough.
I guide her toward the bedroom slowly, not rushing, just moving because standing still suddenly feels impossible. The house is dim, soft light spilling across rumpled sheets, everything familiar but different now.
She watches me the entire time, like she needs proof I’m real.
When I reach for her, she comes willingly, hands sliding over my shoulders, breath catching as she presses closer. There’s no urgency in it, just need.
I guide her to the bed, our clothes shedding in quiet motions—her shirt over her head, revealing the soft swell of her breasts, nipples already tightening in the cool air.
My hands ease her pants down her hips, fingers hooking into the waistband and dragging the fabric along her smooth thighs until it pools at her ankles.
She steps out of them, kicking them aside, and I shed my own shirt, and pants just as quickly, the urgency simmering beneath the tenderness.
Skin meets skin, my body covering hers as I lower her onto the rumpled sheets.
Her warmth seeps into me, her legs parting instinctively to cradle my weight.
I start at her neck, lips brushing feather-light kisses along her collarbone, then down to her chest. My mouth closes over one nipple, tongue flicking the hard bud before I suck it deep, teeth grazing just enough to make her arch beneath me.
She gasps, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me closer as I lavish attention on the sensitive peak, rolling it between my lips until it's glistening and swollen.
I switch to the other, giving it the same treatment, my hand cupping the first breast, thumb strumming the wet nipple in rhythm with my sucking.
Trailing lower, my kisses pepper her ribs, her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel before I settle between her thighs.
“I'm here,” I whisper against her flesh, my breath hot on her inner thigh. “Stay with me.”
The scent of her arousal hits me, musky and intoxicating; her pussy already glistening with need. I spread her thighs wide, knees pressing against the mattress to hold her open, exposing her completely—pink folds slick and swollen, clit peeking out.
My tongue laps at her slick folds first, tasting the tangy salt of her juices as I drag it from her entrance up to her clit.
She moans, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through her body, her hips bucking up to chase more contact.
I circle her clit with slow, deliberate strokes, teasing the hood before pressing the tip of my tongue directly against the nub, flicking it side to side.
Her breath quickens, thighs quivering as I delve deeper, tongue thrusting into her tight hole, then retreating to suck her swollen clit between my lips.
My fingers join in, parting her lips wider to expose every inch, one digit sliding along her seam before pushing inside her heat.
She's soaked, walls clenching around my finger as I curl it upward, stroking that spongy spot that makes her jolt.
I eat her pussy slowly and torturously, alternating between long, languid licks that cover her entire slit and rapid flicks on her clit that have her panting.
I add a second finger, pumping them in and out, the wet squelch of her arousal filling the room as I suck harder, humming against her to send vibrations pulsing through her core.
Her thighs tremble around my head, muscles tightening as the pressure builds, her moans turning into desperate whimpers.
I don't let up, my tongue lashing her clit relentlessly while my fingers fuck her deeper, twisting to hit every sensitive wall.
Her body tenses, back bowing off the bed, breath hitching in sharp bursts.
Then she comes on my tongue; her pussy convulsing wildly, juices gushing out in hot spurts that flood my mouth and drip down my chin.
A sharp cry rips from her throat, raw and unrestrained.
Her hands fist the sheets as waves of pleasure crash through her, inner muscles fluttering and squeezing my fingers in rhythmic pulses.
The need for more lingers, a desperate pulse thrumming through us both after her shattering release on my tongue.
Her chest heaves, skin flushed and dewy with sweat, and she shifts beneath me, eyes locking onto mine with that raw, unfiltered hunger that strips away all pretense.
There's no hesitation in her gaze—only the fierce want we've both carried since I found her earlier today, the weight of our separation fueling this fire.
Without a word, she slides down the bed, her body gliding over the sheets until her feet touch the floor.
She sinks to her knees, the cool hardwood pressing against her skin, but she doesn't flinch.
I stand, rising from the mattress, my cock hard as granite at the sight of her like this—vulnerable yet utterly trusting, her hands resting lightly on her thighs, breasts rising and falling with quick breaths.
The dim light from the bedside lamp casts shadows across her curves, highlighting the faint sheen of her earlier juices still glistening on her inner thighs.
She parts her lips slowly, pink tongue extending like an offering, waiting with a quiet intensity that makes my pulse race.
“Give it to me,” she murmurs, voice husky and edged with plea. “Mark me like you did before.” The words hang in the air, charged with the memory of the shower, that forbidden warmth we'd shared under the spray, turning something taboo into the deepest bond.
I step closer, her body drawing me in, my hand reaching down to cup her jaw gently, thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. “Remember, umbrella and I stop.”
“I know,” she whispers.
My cock hardens fully now, thick and heavy, the tip brushing against her waiting tongue, a bead of pre-cum smearing across the soft surface.
I let go, the warm stream of piss starting as a gentle flow, hitting her tongue first in a steady arc that fills her mouth quickly.
She holds it there for a moment, cheeks hollowing slightly, eyes watering but locked on mine—steady, unwavering, a silent affirmation of her consent.
The sight of her like this, kneeling and accepting, sends a jolt straight to my balls.
She swallows some, the gulp audible in the quiet room, her throat working visibly as the liquid slides down.
The rest spills over, trickling from the corners of her mouth, down her chin in rivulets that trace paths over her collarbone and splash onto her breasts.
Golden trails mark her skin, dripping from her hardened nipples, pooling in the valley between her tits before sliding lower to her stomach.
It's messy, intimate, the scent sharp and primal, mixing with the musk of her arousal.
My hand stays gentle in her hair, fingers threading through the dark strands not to force but to steady her, to connect us in this act that's as emotional as it’s erotic.
She doesn't pull away; instead, she leans in slightly, catching more of the stream with her lips, letting it wash over her until the flow eases to a dribble.
My cock twitches, throbbing at the raw submission in her eyes, the way she's owning this part of us, turning vulnerability into power.
I pull her up then, hands under her arms to lift her effortlessly, her body soft and pliant against mine.
Our mouths crash together in a deep kiss, tongues tangling fiercely as I taste the lingering salt of myself on her lips; bitter and warm, mingled with the sweetness of her earlier release.
She moans into me, arms wrapping around my neck, pressing her marked breasts against my chest, the wet trails smearing between us.
I walk her backward to the bed, lowering her onto the rumpled sheets with care, her legs parting to welcome me as I settle between them.