Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
I silence him by pressing my lips to the inside of his thigh, working my way higher with deliberate slowness. When I finally take him in my mouth, he arcs off the bed with a strangled curse, the handcuffs rattling against the headboard.
I go slow, savoring the taste of him, the way he responds to every movement of my tongue. His breathing turns ragged, and I can feel the restraint it takes for him to hold still, to let me set the pace.
"Fuck, baby," he gasps when I pull back to tease him with just the tip of my tongue. "You feel so good."
I hum against him, the vibration making him shudder. "Tell me what you want," I murmur, my lips brushing against his skin.
"You. Just you. Always you."
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. I take him deeper, losing myself in the rhythm, in the way his body responds to mine. This is what I need - this connection, this proof that whatever darkness surrounds us, we still have this moment.
His breathing becomes more labored, his hips moving despite his efforts to stay still. I can feel him getting close, can hear it in the way my name falls from his lips like a prayer.
"Adriana, I'm — "
I don't let him finish the warning, taking him over the edge as his whole body goes taut beneath me. The handcuffs strain against the headboard as he rides out the waves, my name the only coherent sound he can make while I swallow, again and again, taking every drop that he gives me.
When it's over, I rest my cheek against his thigh, listening to his harsh breathing slowly return to normal. His skin is warm and damp with sweat, and I press a soft kiss there before moving up to curl against his side.
"Fucking hell," he breathes, turning his blindfolded face toward me. "Come here."
I reach up to uncuff one of his hands so he can pull me closer, his arm wrapping around me like he never wants to let go. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe I don't want him to.
"I love you," he says. “But I’m not done with you.”
My eyes open wide, and I look down his body to see he’s still hard. Still pulsing. “You mean?”
"I mean, I still want you," he growls, his voice rough with renewed hunger. "I still need you. I need to fuck you. Now."
Before I can respond, his free hand shoots out and grabs my waist with a grip that's almost desperate.
The intensity of his touch makes me gasp as he pulls me up and maneuvers me across the bed, positioning me on my hands and knees.
The sudden shift makes my head spin — one moment I was curled against his side, the next I'm bent over with my ass in the air, feeling exposed and electric.
"Reaper — " I start to say, but the words dissolve into a moan as his hands run down my spine, tracing the curve of my back before settling on my hips.
"Tell me what you want," he demands, his voice dark and commanding.
The anticipation is killing me. I can feel him behind me, hard and ready, and every nerve in my body is screaming for him to take me. "I want you to fuck me," I breathe, pushing back against him. "Hard. Please, Reaper, I need you to fuck me hard."
He doesn't make me wait. In one smooth thrust, he's inside me, filling me completely. I cry out at the sudden fullness, my fingers clutching at the expensive sheets as he sets a rhythm that's deep and possessive and everything I need.
I shut my eyes and let myself fall into the sensation, into the way he moves inside me like he owns me, like I belong to him completely.
Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through my body, building something fierce and desperate in my core.
The angle is perfect — he's hitting that spot deep inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his grip on my hips tightening as he drives into me harder. "So tight, so perfect."
I can't form words anymore, can only push back against him and take everything he's giving me. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with our ragged breathing and the soft jingle of the chain links of the handcuff dangling from his hand.
The orgasm builds low in my belly, a coiling heat that spreads through my limbs with each devastating thrust. I'm lost in it, in him, in this moment where nothing exists but the way he's claiming me, marking me as his with every movement of his hips.
"That's it, baby," he pants, one hand sliding up my spine to tangle in my hair. He pulls, and the pain is exquisite. "Let go. I've got you."
And I do. I let go completely, surrendering to the rhythm he's set, to the way he knows exactly how to touch me, how to make me come apart in his hands. The pleasure builds and builds until I'm trembling on the edge, ready to shatter.
Then I do.
Screaming his name.
“Reaper.”
His voice breaks my lips in a feral yell, and I let loose, knowing full well this may be the last time we do. We may die, life and the truth may rip us apart, but in this moment, I still love him.
The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, ripping through my body with an intensity that leaves me shaking.
Every muscle contracts as the pleasure tears through me, and I feel myself clench around him, my body milking his cock as wave after wave of sensation overwhelms my senses.
I can't breathe, can't think, can only feel the way he's filling me as my climax consumes everything else.
Tears spring to my eyes — not from pain but from the raw emotion that comes with the physical release. This could be our last time. The thought hits me again as I'm coming down from the high, and it makes the pleasure bittersweet, desperate. I love this man so fucking much it terrifies me.
"Don't stop," I gasp, pushing back against him even as my body trembles with aftershocks. "I want you to cum. I need you to cum inside me."
He's still moving, still driving into me with that steady rhythm that's slowly unraveling what's left of my sanity.
I reach down between my legs, finding his balls where they slap against me with each thrust. They're tight and heavy in my palm, and when I cup them, massaging gently, he makes a sound that's half growl, half prayer.
"Fuck, Adriana—"
"Cum for me," I whisper, rolling his balls between my fingers. "Fill me up. I want all of you."
His rhythm becomes erratic, more desperate. I can feel him getting close, can hear it in the way his breathing turns ragged. The handcuffs jingle frantically as his movements become more urgent.
"You want it?" he pants, his grip on my hips bruising.
"Yes. Please, Reaper. I need it."
He buries himself deep and comes with a roar that echoes off the walls, his whole body going rigid as he empties himself inside me.
I feel every pulse, every hot spurt as he fills me completely.
His name falls from my lips in a whisper as he collapses forward, his chest pressed against my back, both of us breathing hard.
We stay like that for a moment, connected, his softening cock still inside me. When he finally pulls out, I feel his release leak down my thighs, and something possessive and primal purrs in my chest. Mine. He's mine, at least for tonight.
Then he's gathering me against his chest, arranging us so we're lying on our sides, my back pressed to his front. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me close.
"I love you," he murmurs against my hair.
"I love you too," I whisper back, and mean it with every fiber of my being.
The contentment that settles over me is warm and heavy, like a blanket.
His breathing evens out behind me. I pull the sheet up over both of us, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety that I wish could last forever.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, and I feel myself melting into him, into this moment of perfect peace.
"Sleep," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck. "I've got you."
My eyelids grow heavy as his breathing deepens behind me, his arm a protective band around my waist.
I drift.
The dreams come in waves, washing over me like warm honey.
In them, Ricky and I are somewhere else - a small house with a garden, sunlight streaming through clean windows.
He's making breakfast again, humming something under his breath while I watch from the doorway.
In the dream, we have time. We have forever.
His hands are clean in this version of our story. Mine too. No blood under our fingernails, no ghosts haunting our sleep. Just the simple pleasure of morning coffee and his laugh when I steal bacon from the pan.
But even in the dream, shadows creep in at the edges.
Vanessa appears in the kitchen doorway, her face pale and accusing.
"You think you can just forget about me?
" she says, and her voice sounds like static, like a radio tuned to the wrong station.
Trackmarks line her pale arms; her veins stand out dark, polluted, against her translucent flesh.
"You think you can play house while I'm still dead? "
I try to speak, to explain, but the words stick in my throat. Ricky doesn't seem to see her - he keeps cooking, keeps humming, oblivious to the specter of my sister standing three feet away.
"He was there," Vanessa continues, her eyes boring into mine. "That night. He was there. There’s more than he’s telling you and you know it."
The kitchen dissolves around the edges, the warm sunlight turning cold and harsh. I reach for Ricky, but my hands pass through him like smoke.
"You're choosing him," Vanessa whispers, and now she's closer, her face inches from mine. "Choosing him just like I did. And you’re going to end up just like me."