Chapter 26 Sorrel #2
My cunt pulses violently around his motionless shaft.
Need.
Need.
NEED.
“Not yet.” His voice is gravel, but the command is absolute.
My whimper dies against the blanket.
This man is going to kill me.
He withdraws completely, and the sudden emptiness is literally physical agony.
Then he flips me over and his calloused hands haul me upright.
Before I can beg, he’s lifting me like I weight nothing.
My legs instinctively lock around his waist.
He carries me to the wall, and slams my back against the cold stone near the fireplace.
The shock of it steals my breath.
One corded and ridged forearm brackets my spine as he slams back inside me.
Deeper.
Harder.
Owning me utterly.
Yes--
Fuck--
YES--
His mouth crashes onto mine, his teeth scraping my lip.
I taste myself on his tongue.
One hand fists in my hair, wrenching my head back. “Look. At. Me.”
I do.
Blue eyes, dark as midnight, burn into mine.
“You’re everything,” he says, punctuating each word with a thrust. “Everything.”
My nails carve half-moons into his shoulders as he pistons into me, each thrust jolting my body against the stone.
The friction is brutal and perfect.
Heat floods my core--
Almost there--
Please--
GOD--
He tears away again.
Tears blur my vision. “Gregory!”
His grin is feral as he carries me back to the blankets in front of the fire. “I’ll let you cum again soon. Maybe.”
Maybe. The word is a brand.
“You’re evil,” I inform him.
He merely shrugs. He positions himself over me, classic missionary.
He sinks into me with agonizing slowness, stretching me fully once again. Every vein on his cock is a ridge I feel.
Sweat drips from his jaw onto my breasts. His control is terrifying. The clenched jaw, the throbbing vein in his neck, the tremor in his biceps as he holds himself back.
He finally starts moving again in torturous, shallow thrusts.
Need--
More--
NOW--
My hips buck frantically. “Please-- I need--”
“I know.” He hitches my thigh higher, the new angle scraping my walls just there.
Lightning forks through me.
“Right. Fucking. There.” His thrusts turn punishing and precise.
My vision whites out at the edges.
Yesyesyes--
There--
GONNA--
He freezes, then leans down, his lips brushing my ear. His breath is hot on my skin when he speaks: “Now, Sorrel. Cum. Now.”
Then he jackhammers me.
I shatter.
My back arches off the blankets.
A raw scream tears from my throat.
“GREGORY!”
My cunt convulses around him in violent, rhythmic clenches, milking his cock.
Pleasure detonates everywhere.
Hips.
Toes.
Fingertips.
He snarls my name. “Sorrel!”
His hips stutter and he slams deep as his own release hits.
I feel him pulse inside me as his groan vibrates against my throat.
We collapse together on the blankets, both breathing hard. I’m shaking, possibly from the multiple orgasms or possibly from emotional overload. Hard to say.
Stay.
The plea echoes in my lingering grip on his body, but after a moment he pulls away and rises.
The warmth where his body was pressed against mine turns cold. My thighs clench against the lingering throb between them, still aching from his fullness. The fire crackles, but it can’t replace his furnace heat.
Gone.
I watch him walk toward the guest bathroom.
He’s just disposing of the condom.
He’ll be back soon.
Still...
My skin prickles with phantom touches, already mourning the loss of his calloused palms.
I hear the faucet run for a beat, and then, thankfully, he returns.
He lies down and immediately wraps me in blankets, but it’s him I crave. The hard planes of his chest against me, his arms banding around my ribs like a renewed claim.
He tucks my head under his chin, and I melt into that familiar scent of sweat, sex, and safety.
Wait, is safety even a scent?
Doesn’t matter.
This moment is all that’s important.
His hand strokes my hair, slowly and possessively. “Still there?”
I try to remember how to speak. My mind is liquid, my body a quivering mess of aftershocks. All I manage is a choked whimper against his collarbone, my fingers knotting in the blankets like they might anchor me to this moment.
To him.
Finally, I form words.
“That was...” My voice is hoarse.
“Too much?”
“No.” I tilt my head to look at him. “Perfect. Terrifying. But perfect.”
Like us.
Like everything about this week.
“We’re going to be okay,” he says, like he can read my mind. “When we leave here. We’re going to figure it out.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly.
Our bags are packed by the wall. The helicopter will be here shortly.
This room has been our world for a week, but soon we’ll walk out that door and face reality.
But we’re not the same people who got trapped here, I remind myself.
We’re not even close.
“Promise me something,” I say quietly.
“Anything.”
“When things get hard out there, when the logistics feel impossible and we’re fighting about whose city or whose life or whose career--” I take a breath. “Promise me you’ll remember this.”
He tightens his arms around me. “I promise.” I have the distinct impression he wants to say more. Wants to tell me something else. But doesn't.
Outside, I can hear the wind picking up. Soon we’ll hear helicopter blades.
But for now, we’re still here.
Still us.
“I’m scared,” I admit.
“Me, too.” He kisses my forehead. “But we face it together. Just like we fixed the generator. Shoveled out the dish. Faced the cougar. Together. That’s just how we do things now.”
Together.
What a terrifying, wonderful word.
I curl closer, breathing in the woodsmoke and his scent.