Chapter 11 #2
It’s brutal. Deep. Each thrust a promise and a punishment. And I take it. All of it.
My nails dig into his skin, trailing down his back as my legs tighten around him, holding him closer, tighter, deeper.
I can’t get enough. My breath comes in broken pants, each exhale a moan, each inhale a gasp for more.
His mouth crashes into mine again hard, claiming, filled with everything we’ve never said.
It’s not slow or sweet. It’s desperate. Fierce.
The kind of kiss that stakes a claim and dares anyone to challenge it.
His body grinds into mine, and I feel every hard, tense inch of him.
My head spins, his hands grip my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
But I don’t care. I want the bruises. I want the marks.
I want to look at myself tomorrow and remember every second of this.
Every second he allows himself to feel what’s real between us.
I’m unraveling again. My body is tight, and trembling.
My legs lock tighter around him as he moves inside me, deep and unrelenting, like he’s trying to bury himself in a place no one else has ever touched.
Each thrust sends sparks through my veins setting off a chain reaction I can’t stop, even if I wanted to.
His hand fists the sheet beside my head, the other gripping my hip like he’s anchoring himself.
The pressure that’s been building coils tight and then shatters.
My whole body arches into him, waves crashing through me with no end, only more.
It’s all heat and lightning and surrender. And still, he doesn’t stop.
He rides the storm with me, holding me through every tremble, every gasp, until I collapse beneath him shaken, completely undone, and utterly his.
“Mine,” his breath is hot against my ear.
“Yours,” I whisper, and it’s the truth. The kind that terrifies me, because I’m not sure I’ll survive it if he lets me go again.
He collapses over me with a final, shuddering groan, his chest pressed to mine, our bodies slick with sweat and the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid for too long. For a minute, neither of us move. We just breathe. Hearts hammering in sync.
His fingers are tangled in my hair like he can’t quite let go.
His chest rises and falls with uneven force, sweat clinging to the sharp cut of his collarbone.
I keep my arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, like I’m anchoring us both.
My legs are still trembling, sated and sore, but my mind is nowhere near settled.
Aero’s breath ghosts over my cheek as he slowly lifts his head. His hair is damp. His dark, stormy eyes look right through me and I swear I see something raw and real flash in them.
“You good?” he asks, his voice rough and ragged.
I nod, but I can’t quite meet his eyes. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t let me hide. One of his hands slides under my jaw, tilts my face back to him. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That thing where you go quiet and shut down. We just tore each other apart. Don’t tell me you’re fine.”
I could lie. I almost do.
But I’ve never been able to lie to him. Not really.
“I meant what I said,” he growls, staring down at me with those fire-lit eyes. “You’re mine. Don’t ever make me prove it again.”
His voice isn’t soft. It’s not coaxing. But something in me melts anyway. Because I’ve never seen this side of him. Not really. Not like this.
Still, I can’t keep the sharpness out of my voice. “And tomorrow? What then, Aero? Will I still be yours or will you leave me wondering if any of this meant shit, again?”
He flinches ever so slightly but instead of pulling away, he leans in until his mouth is against my ear. His breath is hot, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks. “You think I’d go to war with Ricci if I didn’t want you?”
I suck in a breath, my chest rising under his. Something inside me twists tight, painful, and stupidly hopeful. His words curling into the empty spaces I try to pretend don’t exist.
Still, it’s hard to trust that something this wild, this raw, this real won’t get ripped out from under me.
“I don’t need promises,” I whisper. “But I need you to stop breaking me.”
His hand cups my jaw, rough and warm. His thumb drags across my cheek.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to wake up with you next to me. And I’m not letting you go again.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to. But the wounds are still fresh, the edges jagged. I search his face, looking for the cracks. The weakness. The escape route he always leaves himself.
“I need this to be real,” I whisper.
“It is.” His voice dips low, reverent. “It always was, Bambola. Even when I didn’t know it.”
He dips his head, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that’s all heat.
I arch under him, our bodies fitting together like a magnet.
His weight presses me down, holds me steady while the world spins out.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down my neck, biting when he hits the spot that makes my back arch off the mattress.
He rolls to his side, pulling me with him so I’m cradled against his chest, his arms tight around me. I close my eyes, letting myself fall into him. I feel his lips press into my hair, I feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing as he starts to relax.
This man is all danger. Violence. Chaos. But right now, in this bed, he’s also my warmth. My shelter. Something I’ve never had and might never deserve but still crave all the same.
All I know is the sound of his voice, the scratch of his stubble against my skin, and the ache that’s lived in my chest for far too long is easing, just a little.