Chapter Thirteen #3
“Yes.” Her hands grip my shoulders like she’s terrified I’ll pull away.
And Christ, I should . This is reckless, a line I never should’ve let us cross.
She shifts against me, and fuck … The way she moves her hips, the way her thighs tighten around me, silently asking for more.
The noises she makes, small and desperate, go straight to my cock.
Every rational thought in my head short-circuits.
I tear my mouth away from hers, fisting one hand in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat.
I lick an imaginary line up the delicate column of her neck, slowly kissing my way back down.
My teeth scrape over her pulse point and she arches her body into me in response, her nails biting into my skin as she rolls her hips harder, needing more.
I hiss when her teeth catch my lower lip, tugging, and I’m done .
No more thinking, no more logic, just her and whatever the fuck this is we are doing.
My hands slide down, gripping her ass where it meets the backs of her thighs, and I pull her hard, dragging her body forward until her pussy is on my aching cock.
I want her to feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
She's so warm even through the layers of fabric separating us. The friction between us is filthy and feels so damn good, but it’s also torture. She keeps grinding, slow, deliberate, and I swear my fucking world tilts just from that small movement.
“You’re killing me,” I growl into her mouth. My control is unraveling.
I can’t remember the last time I let someone get this close to me. It’s been too long since I’ve let myself touch a woman, too long since I let myself feel anything. And Charlotte, fuck. She’s everywhere. Her scent, her warmth, the way her body moves against mine like she was made for it.
I push the shirt up over her shoulders and over her head leaving her completely bare from the waist up. Leaning forward, I take one rosey pink nipple between my teeth.
She gasps, hips jerking forward as I suck hard, my tongue swirling around the hard peak until she’s panting. Her hands fist in my hair, pulling just hard enough to hurt.
“Silas—”
I switch to the other breast, biting lightly before soothing it with my tongue.
She grinds down again, and I begin to pull her against me then push her away, making her ride me.
The tip of my dick hitting her clit on each pass through the layers of fabric.
My fingertips brush against the fabric covering her pussy and I can feel her wet heat through the sweatpants, fuck, she’s soaked.
“Fucking greedy little thing,” I snarl, dragging my teeth along her collarbone.
She moans, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Please.” She doesn’t even know what the hell she’s asking for. But the way she’s shaking, the way she’s begging… I'm going to give it to her. I slide one hand between us, palming her through the fabric, pressing just enough to make her whimper.
“You want to come like this? Riding my hand?” I murmur against her throat.
“I want to come riding your fingers.”
That’s the last goddamn straw.
My hand slides up, fingertips skimming the waistband of her sweatpants before slipping beneath.
The first brush of my fingers against her pussy has me wishing I was about to slide my cock inside of her instead of my fingers.
I push my middle finger inside her, and she meets every thrust as I knead my palm into her clit.
The noise she makes is half-moan, half-sob, and the sound alone nearly undoes me.
I don't know who's unraveling faster. Her under my touch, or me watching her fall apart. And that's the problem.
I can feel my control slipping with every ragged breath she takes. My cock throbs painfully against the zipper of my pants, precum soaking the inside of my boxers as she rocks her hips into every touch wanting more.
She fists my hair tighter, her back arching as I add a second finger, curling them just right.
Her thighs tremble around my wrist, her breath hitching in that desperate, uneven way that lets me know she's close. Her hips jerk. Once, twice, and then she’s shuddering, a broken cry leaving her lips as she clutches at me.
Fuck. Watching her let go like this, feeling her pussy clench so tight around my fingers.
It’s too much.
" Silas— "
My name falls from her lips as she comes. Her orgasm crashes over her like a fucking wave. Her body goes rigid, and I watch her face, my jaw clenched, as pleasure courses through every inch of her body. Her head is thrown back, mouth parted.
Beautiful.
Ruined.
And mine.
I don’t know if it’s the possessive thoughts that trigger it, or the way her spent body falls on mine, trusting me in a way that no one else would.
No… No… No…
The pressure is building fast, too fucking fast . The heat coiling low in my gut. I try to pull back, to get my head on straight, but her hand fisted in my hair pulls me right back to her mouth.
This can’t happen. But she lets out this tiny, broken moan, still fucking herself on my fingers, and it fucking happens.
My hips snap up and I come hard with a choked-off curse, my cock pulsing as I spill hot, sticky cum inside my boxers like a goddamn teenager.
It hits me so hard my vision blurs at the edges, my fingers dig into her hips and I know there will be bruises tomorrow.
My forehead drops to her shoulder as I stifle a groan against her skin, my breathing ragged.
Shame, satisfaction, embarrassment all start warring inside of me.
Judging by the way her fingers trail lightly through my hair as she tries to kiss me again, she's not even aware of what she’s just caused me to do, how much power she just wielded over me.
Or how dangerous for me that makes her.
"Charlotte, get up." I need her off me. I’m not about to admit what I just did, this was all a mistake anyway. I pick up her shirt from where I had tossed it and hand it to her.
“Why?” She starts kissing my jaw and my control wavers for just a few moments before the mess in my boxers is snapping me back to reality. My hands go to her shoulders, pushing her away from my chest a little harder than I intended.
"Because you’re drunk. Because I’m drunk. Because this—" I gesture between us, "is a fucking disaster waiting to happen."
She jerks back, clutching the shirt to her chest. The hurt look on her face twists something inside of me. I’m such a fucking asshole.
"But I thought… You di dn’t—"
"You thought wrong. This isn’t…” I drag a hand down my face.
I’m pissed off at myself and I’m taking this out on her.
I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t have a lot of cards to play here.
"You don’t do shit like this, Char. Getting involved with someone like me…
You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re drunk, and trauma does fucked-up shit to your head. "
"Would you stop saying that? I know exactly what I’m doing."
"This isn't what you want. You're confused."
"Don't tell me what I want." Her fingers run through the hair on my chest, tugging slightly. "I'm not some fragile thing that needs protecting all the time. I've survived my whole life without anyone looking out for me."
I grip her wrists, pulling her hands away and behind her back. I can’t let her touch me, I don’t have the willpower to push her away again. "That's exactly my point. You've never had someone looking out for you. You're mistaking your gratitude for something else."
She struggles against my grip. Hurt… Frustration… Anger… I can’t tell what she’s feeling. "Is that what you think this is, Silas?” Her voice rises with every word. “Gratitude?"
That clears things up. Anger it is then.
"Stockholm syndrome, trauma bonding… I don’t fucking know, take your pick.
" I hold her at bay, trying to ignore the way my dick begins twitching again in response to her movements on my lap.
"You're latching onto the first person who's shown you any kind of attention and kindness. I'm trying to protect you."
She stops struggling against my hold, "Protect me from what exactly? From everyone else, or from yourself?"
The question is uncomfortably accurate. I loosen my grip on her wrists but don't let go completely .
"Both," I admit. "You're too young." I could ruin her in ways she doesn’t understand yet.
“You didn’t have a problem with my age two minutes ago.”
I take a deep breath and exhale through my nose, then lift her off my lap, setting her gently on the couch like porcelain about to crack. "Put your shirt on, Charlotte."
She doesn’t move at first, just watching me with those goddamn blue eyes.
Finally, she stands turning her back to me as she pulls the shirt down over her head.
The fact she feels the need to hide from me now makes me feel like an even bigger dick.
She doesn’t say another word to me as I lead her back to the bedroom.
She walks straight to her side of the bed without a fight.
I secure the cuff on her wrist and grab my phone off the nightstand where I had left it.
"I’ll be back." I tell her and leave the room without another word. I head straight to the front door, the screen door slamming behind me on my way out. The night air is cold against my heated skin. Leaning against my truck, I tip my head back to stare at the stars.
I fish a cigarette from the crumpled pack in my pocket, needing the nicotine to work its magic and calm my racing thoughts.
I raise my hand to shield the flickering flame of my Zippo from the wind to light the cigarette hanging from my mouth.
That's when I catch sight of something dark staining my skin in the dim glow from the flame.
I tilt my hand closer to the flame to get a better look.
There is no mistaking the rusty red color of dried blood smeared across my fingers and the palm of my hand.
The sight of it makes my chest tighten with an unfamiliar feeling.
What the hell is happening to me? I study the way the blood has settled into the creases of my knuckles and I don't feel sick to my stomach like I expect.
I've had blood on my hands countless times before, but this feels entirely different.
This isn't just about protecting her anymore, is it? The tightening in my chest is beginning to feel a whole lot like possession. I’m completely fucked.
I've broken the most important rule of all.
Rule Number Five: Never let anyone close enough to become a weakness. It will always lead to your destruction.