Chapter Ten #3
The dim light of the apartment paints across her body. The curve of her spine. The swell of her ass. The way she looks back at me over her shoulder, thick hair falling across her face, lips parted and waiting.
I'm hard as fucking steel. I unbutton my jeans, shove them down, and press the head of my cock against her wetness. She's slick and hot, and when I push inside her in one slow, deep thrust, we both moan.
"Fuck," she breathes, her forehead dropping against the couch back.
"Yeah," I agree, my hands gripping her hips. "Fuck."
I start slow—deep, rolling thrusts that make her ass press back against me, that make the couch creak in rhythm. The rain drumbles against the glass. The smoke from the cigarette curls past us, thin and ghostly.
And I can't stop looking at her. The way her body takes me, the way her fingers curl into the cushions, the little sounds she makes every time I bottom out.
"You feel that?" I ask, my voice low and rough. "Feel how much I fucking missed you?"
"Mmm—Noir—"
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," I continue, my pace quickening, my grip tightening.
She whimpers, and I know it's not from the roughness.
It's from the words. I know her. I know every crack in her armor.
"I tried to stay away," I say, leaning over her, my chest against her back, my mouth at her ear. “Told myself you were better off,” I mutter roughly against her skin. “Told myself getting rid of you was the right thing.”
Blair’s fingers tighten in my hair immediately.
“But you do,” she breathes shakily.
A laugh leaves me then.
Not amused, but broken.
Because fuck, she has no idea.
“I fucking do.”
I drag my mouth slowly along her jaw before biting lightly at her earlobe hard enough to pull a sharp sound from her throat.
“We didn’t send you away just because of Dante,” I murmur darkly. “It was us too.”
Her breathing stutters beneath me.
“Our world. The shit we do. What we become.” My hand tightens harder against her thigh. “You think I didn’t know what being around us would do to you?”
Blair’s eyes search mine now. Less teasing and more vulnerable.
“We were trying to keep you safe from all of it,” I continue quieter now. “From Dante. From Severance Point.” My forehead presses briefly against hers. “From us.”
Something twists painfully across her expression at that.
“But you couldn’t stay away,” she whispers.
“No.” I close my eyes briefly against the confession clawing up my chest. “Because you’re not the problem, little addict. You’re the fucking drug.”
Her breath catches sharply.
“I spent months trying to quit you,” I murmur roughly. “And the second you came back, I relapsed so hard I stopped pretending I even wanted to recover.”
Blair actually shivers beneath me.
“You say the craziest shit when you’re balls deep inside me,” she whispers.
“And you still melt for it.”
“Fucking right I do,”
I pull out, spin her around, and push her back onto the couch.
Her legs fall open, and I'm between them again in seconds, slamming back inside her, deeper this time.
Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails digging in, and I watch her face—eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, a single tear escaping from the corner of her eye.
"Look at me," I demand.
She does. Her eyes open, dark and wet and full of something I'm afraid to name.
"I'm not letting you go again," I say, and my voice cracks on the last word. "I don't care what happens. I don't care if you're bad for me. You're mine. Ours."
Her fingers slide into my hair, pulling my forehead against hers. "I know," she whispers. "I know, Noir. I'm not running."
I kiss her. Hard. Desperate.
My hips pound into her, faster, harder, the couch groaning beneath us, the rain drowning out everything but our breaths and the wet sound of our bodies. I feel her tightening around me, feel her orgasm building, and I reach between us, thumb pressing her clit in tight circles.
"That's it," I growl against her mouth. "Squeeze my cock like that, baby—fuck, you feel so good. This pussy was made for me, you know that? Every time I slide inside you, it's like coming home."
She gasps, her nails raking down my back. "Noir—I'm so close—"
"I know, baby. I feel you. You're gonna come all over my cock, and I'm gonna watch you fall apart. Want to see that pretty face when you do."
I drive deeper, grinding against her clit with every thrust, and her eyes roll back. The city light catches the sheen of sweat on her throat, the way her lips part around a silent cry.
"Look at me," I repeat, softer this time. "Eyes on me, baby. I want to see you break."
"I can't—I can't hold it—"
"Don't hold it. Fucking let go. Come for me, beautiful. I've got you."
Her body arches, a sharp moan tearing from her throat as she clenches around me, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. Her legs lock around my hips, and I feel her lose control completely—the way her fingers dig into my shoulders, the way her breath hitches on my name.
That's it. That's my girl.
The sight of her undone, the feel of her pussy milking my cock—it shoves me over the edge. I bury my face in her neck, groaning, hips stuttering as I pump into her, spilling deep and hot. "Fuck, Blair—take it all, baby—every drop—”
Her inner walls clamp down around me, drawing out my release, and we stay locked together, bodies trembling, breath sawing in and out.
The rain keeps tapping against the glass. The bass fades into a distant hum. The smoke from the forgotten cigarette curls toward the ceiling, ghostly and thin.
I don't pull out. I can't. Not yet.
My forehead presses against hers, my eyes still closed. I feel her hands slide up my back, fingers threading through my damp hair. She's shaking. So am I.
"Never letting you go," I whisper against her lips. "You're mine. And I'm yours. Whatever that means, whatever it costs—I don't give a fuck."
She lets out a breathy laugh, wet and raw. "That's a lot of words for a guy who usually grunts and bites."
"Shut up." I kiss her, slow this time, tasting the salt on her lips. "You love it."
"Yeah," she whispers softly. "You too."
The apartment falls quiet except for rain tapping softly against the balcony glass and both of us trying to catch our breath.
Blair stays curled against my chest beneath tangled blankets, my shirt hanging loose off one shoulder while neon reflections drift across the walls around us.
My hand keeps sliding slowly through her hair.
Again. And again.
Like some part of me still needs the reassurance she’s actually here.
We tried convincing ourselves sending her away was mercy. Keeping her safe from Dante. From Severance Point. From us.
Maybe part of that was true.
This world ruins people.
I ruin people.
Dagger does too.
But somewhere along the way, wanting her alive started mattering more than wanting her only for myself.
That realization should probably concern me more than it does.
Because the truth feels simple now.
I’ll share her if I have to.
As long as she stays.
As long as neither of us ever has to wake up and find her gone again.