Chapter 7 Haven
Haven
The world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth on me, the rough scratch of his stubble against the soft skin of my inner thighs, the relentless, clever pressure of his tongue.
I’ve never… no one has ever…
The confession is a whispered secret in my mind, a truth I could never bring myself to voice. He wouldn’t hear me. Not now. Not with the way he’s groaning against me, his hands gripping my hips to hold me still as he tries to bury his tongue even deeper inside.
As if he’s searching for something, as if he can drink my very soul through this intimate, devastating connection.
A broken, keening sound tears from my throat, and I realize it’s his name. “Ripper.”
From the growl that comes from him, he likes how I say his name a lot.
My fingers fist the thick blankets, my back arching off the mattress.
Every nerve ending is on fire, singing a song I never knew existed.
The constant, gnawing worry that has been my companion for weeks—fear for my brother, terror of this club, the crushing uncertainty of my future—it all just… melts away.
There is only this bed, the slick, hot friction of his mouth, and the shocking, coiling tension building low in my belly.
He shifts, his tongue finding a new, perfect rhythm, and a whimper is punched from my lungs. My eyes squeeze shut, seeing bursts of color behind my lids. This isn’t gentle or hesitant.
I’m thinking that if he could, Ripper would sink his teeth into my body to mark me. More than a hickie or two, but a genuine mark that’ll last for a few weeks.
His tongue traces the slit of my folds before flicking against my clit, revealing just how sensitive it is when he wraps his lips around it.
“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he growls, the vibration against my sensitive flesh making me jerk. “Sweet and sinful. I’m gonna get addicted to this. To the way you fucking tremble.”
Pinching my eyes shut, I can feel it coming. The approach of my orgasm, a tidal wave gathering force deep inside. One little jerk of my hips lands me pressed deeper into the mattress, a silent plea.
Like he can sense my pleasure peaking, he secures his grip on me. Fingers dig into my hips, holding me down. My pained, desperate moan only seems to turn him on more.
“Come for me,” he rasps, his breath hot against my wet skin. “Let me taste it. I want to drink every last drop of you.”
It’s a silent scream, a white-hot detonation that seizes every muscle in my body, arching my back off the bed. Pleasure, so sharp it borders on pain, radiates out from my core in endless, pulsing waves. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
A whine tears from my throat as the sensitivity becomes overwhelming. I try to squirm away, but he just growls, a low, feral sound that vibrates straight through me. His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me closer, burying his face deeper as if he’s starving and I’m his only sustenance.
He licks and laps at me, drawing out the shudders, drinking every last tremor of my release like a man dying of thirst.
When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening. His pupils have swallowed up all the brown, leaving nothing but darkness behind.
“Gonna fuck you now, Haven,” he rasps, his voice even deeper than before. He’s not asking. He’s not shy. He’s stating a fact, like he can already see the future. “Gonna pop that pretty little cherry of yours. Once I’m buried deep, I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.”
The words are a bucket of ice water. Somehow, he already knows about my virginity.
As tempting as this man is, I can’t completely cave. Not now. Not when…
Paulie…
Panic, cold and sharp, claws its way through the post-orgasmic haze. The deal. My brother. This entire arrangement hinges on my not being a complete fool. My brother is still depending on me.
“No,” I gasp, the word breathless. I shake my head, my hair tangling around my face. “I can’t. Not… not until you hold up your end. You find my brother. Then—”
Then, what? I let him have his way with me? Devour me completely and leave nothing behind?
For a heartbeat, his predatory stillness is more terrifying than his movement. Then, a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. It’s all teeth, no warmth. A wolf baring its fangs. Him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he says, the words a low, appreciative rumble. “There’s no way in hell I’ll last through the night. Not when the last few hours have been completely hell.”
He wouldn’t… No. Even if Ripper insists he’s not a good man, he’s not evil.
In one motion, he stands up from the bed. The loss of his heat is immediate, the air cool against my damp, overheated skin. My eyes are glued to him, a moth trapped in the mesmerizing flame of his fury and frustration.
His hands, those same hands that held me so possessively, now claw at the button of his jeans. He pops it open and yanks the zipper down with a harsh, metallic rasp. He shoves the denim and his boxers down just enough to free himself, and I stop breathing.
I’ve seen classical statues and diagrams in health class. Nothing—nothing—prepares me for the reality of him.
He’s thick and hard, the skin stretched taut, the head a dark, flushed purple. A single prominent vein runs along the length, and it looks… painful. It looks powerful. A weapon as deadly as the others he carries.
My breathing comes in ragged, audible pants now. I want him. Even if I’ve never had a man like this within my grasp, something inside of me demands I let him in.
He sees the naked want in my eyes. He wraps a fist around himself, his grip tight, and a low growl rumbles in his chest.
“Keep watching, sweetheart,” he commands, his voice gravelly. He begins to stroke, a slow, punishing rhythm. His bicep flexes with the movement, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re making me suffer for it. Tell me, are you getting wetter? Watching me jack off like some fucking teenager?”
I am. A fresh, hot rush of dampness betrays me, and a flush of shameful heat creeps up my chest and neck. Even if I press my thighs together, he’ll still know.
He pumps his fist, once, twice, a dozen times. The room is filled with the soft, slick sound of his hand, the ragged symphony of our breathing. His jaw is clenched, his forehead beaded with sweat. He is a study in controlled, agonizing release.
I lose count. I can only watch, mesmerized and horrified, as the tension in his body snaps. With a guttural groan, he stills, and hot streaks of release land against my inner thighs and the rumpled hem of my shirt. The sensation is shocking, burning each inch he’s marked.
He works himself through his release, squeezing out every last drop, his moan soft and surrendering.
For a long moment, he just stands there, catching his breath, his gaze heavy-lidded and intense on mine. The scent of sex and him is everywhere, marking the room, marking me.
He tucks himself away back behind his boxers, thankfully. His body is kind of distracting. Shoving his fingers through his hair, his eyes pinch closed.
“That,” he starts, “was a moment of weakness.”
I nod, silently agreeing with him.
Hopefully, we don’t cave to these kinds of moments over and over again.
He searches around for something, leaving me lying there, covered in the evidence of his claim, my body humming and my heart with want.
Biting the inside of my cheek, the pain helps ground me as he finds a towel. Returning, he doesn’t give it to me. Instead, he wipes my thighs, going as far as grazing my sensitive sex, too.
We both stare at my shirt, the forming stain staring back.
“I liked this shirt.” Cheeks hot, I can only imagine trying to get the stain out.
“Guess you’ll have to wear one of mine.” He’s so casual about it, giving me his back where I can see he’s got more scars. Some look less deadly than the front ones.
Once again, I’m reminded what kind of man Ripper is.
“Do you let every woman you mess around with wear your clothes?” The question leaves me before I can stop it, and I hate how the jealousy sounds intertwining my words.
Ripper’s not mine, and he’s right. This was a moment of weakness.
“No—” His voice cuts through my thoughts. “—I don’t.”
He sounds angry too, but I can’t see his face, not when he’s busy digging around his duffel bag.
My body jerks when he tosses me something. A simple white tee.
“Put this on for now. We’ll clean up in the morning.” Giving me his back, he shoves his jeans off to change. “I won’t look. Just hurry up. I need sleep.”
Hearing the exhaustion behind his words, I take advantage. Not wanting to risk him seeing me where I’m the ugliest, I pull off my shirt and hesitate to take off my bra. Will it make a difference?
“Done yet?” He shifts, his head bowing instead of sneaking a glance like I half-expect him to.
“Almost.” Giving up on my bra, I drop both on the edge of his bed. “My underwear is gone.”
He makes this groaning sound in the back of his throat. “Will the shirt be long enough?”
He wants me to sleep without any? My skin burns at the very thought. “I mean…”
Throwing his shirt on, it feels nice against my skin. He’s bulkier than I am, but it’s well-fitting.
“Hardly.” Not wanting to complain, I bite my lip when he finally looks at me as if he doesn’t believe me.
We stare at each other for a few passing seconds again, silence passing between us. His chest swells after being deflated for far too long.
“Fits perfectly fine.” Grunting, he moves to shut off the light, but not before I notice he’s in the same state as moments before.
He’s hard again, and it looks like I’m not getting anything else to put on.