Chapter 9 #2
"You're hurt," she murmured, tracing my cheekbone with her thumb. "My poor gladiator."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're exhausted."
She started to unbutton my flannel shirt. Her fingers were clumsy, shaking slightly.
"Let me take care of you," she said. "For once. Let me be the one who fixes things."
I didn't stop her. I couldn't. The intimacy of it—her small hands working the buttons, her focus intense—was paralyzing.
She undid the last button. She pushed the shirt off my shoulders. It fell to the floor next to her jacket.
She placed her hands flat on my bare chest. Her palms were cool.
"Heartbeat," she whispered, feeling the rhythm. "Fast."
"Because of you," I admitted.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to my sternum. Right over my heart.
My breath hitched.
"Michelle..."
She kissed her way up my chest. Soft, butterfly kisses. Up my neck. To the sensitive spot under my jaw.
I groaned, my head falling back.
"You smell like ice," she murmured against my throat. "And soap. And trouble."
"You're the trouble," I growled.
I grabbed her waist. My hands spanned her ribs. I could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin silk.
"Take it off," I commanded.
She pulled back to look at me.
"Take what off?"
"The dress. It's in the way."
She smiled. A slow, wicked smile.
"Help me," she said. "The zipper is in the back."
She turned around.
The back of the dress plunged low, stopping just above the curve of her hips. The zipper was delicate, hidden in the seam.
I reached out. My finger traced her spine. She shuddered.
I found the zipper tab. I pulled it down slowly. Inch by inch. Revealing pale skin. The curve of her waist. The indentation of her spine.
The dress pooled at her feet.
She wasn't wearing a bra. Just tiny, black lace panties.
She turned back to face me. She covered her chest with her arm, suddenly shy.
"Don't," I said, pulling her arm away gently. "Let me see you."
She let her arm drop.
She was perfect. Soft where I was hard. Curves where I was angles.
I looked at her. I drank her in.
"Beautiful," I rasped.
"Greg," she whimpered. "Stop looking. Touch."
I lifted her.
I picked her up, wrapping her legs around my waist. She felt light, perfect.
I walked us to the bed. I laid her down on the grey sheets.
She looked up at me, hair fanned out like a halo.
"Stay," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere."
I crawled onto the bed over her. I braced my weight on my forearms, careful not to crush her.
I looked down at her face.
"This changes everything," I said. "You know that, right? If we do this... if we cross this line... there's no going back to roommates. No going back to tutoring."
"I don't want to go back," she said. "I want to go forward."
"Forward is dangerous."
"I like danger." She reached up and pulled my head down. "Kiss me, Captain."
I kissed her.
And the world narrowed down to the two of us. The noise of the party was gone. The threat of her father was gone. The pain in my head was gone.
There was only Michelle. Her taste. Her skin. Her heat.
I moved my hand down her body. Over her breast. Over her stomach. To the band of her lace panties.
I hooked my finger under the elastic.
"May I?" I asked. Consent. Always.
"Yes," she breathed. "Please. Yes."
I pulled the panties down.
She kicked them off.
She was naked. Vulnerable. Open.
I moved between her legs.
I paused.
"Michelle," I said, my voice thick with lust. "Are you on birth control?"
She blinked. "Yes. The patch. Since I was sixteen for cramps."
"Good," I groaned. "Because I don't think I can stop."
"Don't stop," she begged. "Greg, please. I need you."
I reached for the nightstand drawer where I kept the condoms.
She put her hand on my arm.
"Do you have to?" she whispered.
I froze.
"Michelle," I said, looking at her. "We should be safe."
"I'm clean," she said. "Are you?"
"Yes. I get tested every season. Protocol."
"Then don't," she said. Her eyes were dark, dilated. "I want to feel you. All of you."
The blood roared in my ears. The primal part of my brain—the part that wanted to claim, to breed, to mark—roared to life.
But the Captain part held firm. Just barely.
"No," I said, grabbing the foil packet. "Not yet. Not tonight."
She pouted, but she didn't argue.
I put it on. My hands were shaking.
I positioned myself at her entrance.
She gasped. Her hips bucked up instinctively.
"Slow," I coached myself. "Slow."
I pushed inside.
She was tight. Hot. Wet.
She cried out, digging her nails into my shoulders.
"You're so big," she moaned. "It feels... full."
I sank all the way in. Hilt deep.
I stopped, letting her adjust. I rested my forehead against hers. We were panting, breathing the same air.
"You okay?" I asked.
"More than okay," she whispered. "Move. Please move."
I pulled back, then thrust in.
The rhythm took over.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It was desperate.
We moved together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and friction. The bed frame creaked. The headboard banged against the wall.
"Greg," she chanted my name like a prayer. "Greg, Greg, Greg."
"I've got you," I grunted, driving into her. "I've got you."
I watched her face. I watched the pleasure take over. Her eyes rolled back. Her mouth fell open. A flush spread across her chest.
"I'm close," she gasped. "Greg, I'm close."
"Come for me," I ordered. "Let go."
She shattered.
I felt her clamp down around me, pulsing. She screamed—a loud, uninhibited sound that I swallowed with a kiss.
The feeling of her climaxing around me pushed me over the edge.
I let go.
I drove into her hard, fast, deep. I poured myself into her.
We collapsed.
I fell onto her, my weight heavy. She held me. Her arms wrapped around my back, holding me tight.
"Wow," she breathed into my ear.
"Yeah," I panted. "Wow."
We lay there for a long time. The sweat cooled on our skin. The room was silent again.
But it was a different silence. It wasn't the silence of emptiness. It was the silence of completion.
I rolled off her, pulling the duvet up over us.
She curled into my side, resting her head on my chest.
"You're not leaving," she mumbled, sleep already taking her.
"No," I said, kissing the top of her head. "I'm not leaving."
I closed my eyes. My head still throbbed, but the pain was distant.
I had broken every rule. I had crossed every line.
And holding Michelle Vane in my arms, listening to her breathing even out, I knew one thing for certain.
I would burn the rulebook to keep her warm.