Chapter 12 Haven
Haven
Have I been avoiding Ripper? A little bit, yeah. His declaring that I’m his while being the one who is to be blamed for his black eye may have something to do with it.
He’s not a fan of distance, I can say that much. I don’t know if he stays glued to the hip of everyone he cares about, but this is a bit much.
“You haven’t healed yet.” Groaning the words, I’m able to break away from his demanding mouth long enough to point out the very obvious. “Shouldn’t you wait?”
He sighs against my collarbone before pressing a kiss to my shirt. “I don’t want to.”
So stubborn. I’m no better, whimpering as he squeezes me through my clothes.
“I’ve hit my limit, beautiful. Tell me today can be the day.” He groans like he’s in pain, and I believe him. But more than his wounds, it’s the throbbing against my thighs that spells out his consistent torture.
“You’re going to let me choose?” Breathless, I can’t help but ask.
He curses against my chest as he leans down. “I want you to want me, so yeah. It’s your choice.”
Does he think that I don’t want him? He’s the reason I had to touch myself through the shower I took the night before. While I was trying to keep my distance, my body was suffering because of it.
“Will it hurt?” Shivering, I tilt my head back when he kisses my racing pulse.
“Only a little bit. It’s a good pain.” He reaches for my sides, squeezing them. He really likes touching me. “But I’ll have you feeling so good.”
I believe him. There’s no doubt in my mind when it comes to his knowledge of pleasure.
Heat floods my cheeks at his words, and his confidence pushes me over. Finally, I nod.
Assuming that he’s just going to pull my pants off and stick it in, I freeze up when he reaches for my shirt. Out of habit, I clutch the hem.
He scowls at my hands, but he doesn’t keep going.
“I want to love every inch of you.” His brows furrow deep. “Why won’t you let me?”
I choke a little bit on the word love leaving his lips. “I’m ugly beneath.”
He laughs like I’ve told a joke. I’m serious. His frown returns. “Haven.”
My mouth pinches into a firm line. “You can’t change your mind then.” My fingers tremble against the hem of my shirt. “About the old lady thing.”
He doesn’t laugh this time. He moves to sit back on his heels, resting his hands on his thighs, which highlights his arousal.
“That’s a title that means something here.
What do you need for confidence? You’ve got your nails deep.
Will a ring work? I’ll let you superglue it to my skin. We can tattoo it.”
Finally finding a man who wants me, and it’s just my luck that he’s crazy.
Instead of giving him ideas, I take a deep breath and pull off my shirt. My skin immediately burns from embarrassment and because my scars ache under view.
I’ve got a few of them here and there, but the one I’m most embarrassed about is the thick line between my breasts. While it used to be far uglier, I’m not fond of any of the pale lines marking my body.
My hands shake as I take off my bra. I’m too scared to look at him, but I can feel his eyes drinking me in, absorbing the view.
Then, finally—
“Jesus.” Muttering the word as he stares down, he curses when I flinch. “No, that came out wrong.”
I want to cover up. Too bad I can’t, not when he’s leaning down to kiss the scar between my breasts.
“Just when I think you can’t get any prettier…” He kisses another line, this time letting the tip of his tongue trace the scar near my belly button. “You’ve got them on your legs, too.”
He squeezes my knee, his thumb tracing the line through my clothes. Did he memorize them or something?
“Want to tell me what happened?” He lifts, curious.
“You want me to talk about one of my biggest insecurities?” My brows come together as I look at his hand already reaching for the band of my pants. “Now?”
His answer is a smile. Ugh.
Covering my eyes with the palm of my hand, I lift my hips to help him strip me of the rest of my clothes. “Really bad car accident.”
“Sounds too simple.” He parts my thighs, and I can just feel him staring.
“I almost died. Mom was speeding, and a semi didn’t—” My words catch as I feel his tongue trace my slit. “It, um, didn’t see the stop sign.”
Every time I talk about the accident, I’m usually choked up with emotion. Right now, Ripper’s making it really hard, especially when he urges me to keep going.
“Mom didn’t make it. They barely saved me. My legs were…” Unable to concentrate, my knees curl as he sucks my clit between his lips. “Mangled.”
It’s the only word that can come to mind, falling out more like a moan than anything.
I could tell him that it’s a miracle I didn’t lose my ability to walk, or the hellish years it took to heal and relearn how to walk correctly, or the debt Paulie had to take on as my new guardian. That takes too many words.
“I needed open-heart surgery.” Pinching my eyes shut, I clench around prodding fingers. “I really should’ve died that day.”
Instead, I got left with a body riddled with marks and a lifetime worth of judgmental stares.
“If you had, then I’d never have gotten the chance to taste this.” He lifts, all cheeky.
“You’re ridiculous.” Biting my lip hard, my body arches as he strokes my wet heat. He’s too good at this, touching me right where it feels good.
He has complete control, and he can tell where my limit is and just how close I reach it.
My reward for telling him my awful past is the loss of his fingers and mouth altogether. How unfair.
Sitting up, his eyes glow as he licks his lips and enjoys my taste. He touches his chest, over the countless marks. “Want me to tell you about mine?”
“No.” I squirm against the bed. “I don’t.”
He laughs, the sound going right through me. “Shame. However, you seem to want something else. Is that it?”
He’s making me say it. Jerk.
“Your cock,” I whisper, my voice husky with a need that terrifies me. Reaching down between my legs, I let my fingers slide through my own slickness, teasing my glistening folds. “Right here.”
Ripper groans, a raw, ragged sound as he runs a hand down his face. “I’m going to watch you touch yourself sometime. Maybe later, I think.” His gaze is locked on my fingers, even as his own hand works the button of his jeans, hiding the hard evidence of his own need
There’s a palpable sense of relief that washes over him once his cock is in his hand, thick and heavy and veined. Remembering the sight of him stroking himself before, I finally understand. It is a hot view. It’s a view that’s mine.
“I’m going to be the one and only man here, Haven.” He mutters it mostly to himself as he guides himself toward my core, the broad head nudging my clit and sending a wave of pleasure through me. “Remember that. If anyone else tries…”
He doesn’t need to finish. I can feel the lethal threat in the gravel of his voice, a promise of violence that should scare me but instead makes me clench with an answering heat.
He stares, utterly fascinated, as he slides himself against my soaked folds, coating himself in my arousal. Seeing no issue with his possessive, dangerous state of mind, he lets out a soft, approving groan at the friction.
“Never once have I wanted it raw,” the words leave him on a soft, awed breath. “But your pussy looks like it wants to suck me inside.”
My inner walls quiver, fluttering helplessly each time he grazes my opening. Without thought, without hesitation, I’m nodding, my head pressing back into the pillow. “Yes.”
“That’s my good girl.” He uses the praise like a weapon, knowing what it does to me. At the same time, he presses forward.
Just an inch or two at most, but the stretch is a burn. I gasp, my back arching. A little pain is the cost for pleasure, but he feels bigger than I was expecting.
Then he stops. He hovers over me, his body caging me in, his eyes holding mine captive. The pressure is immense, a delicious, unbearable fullness waiting to be completed.
“Relax,” he commands, his voice a low purr against my lips. “If you don’t, you’re going to make me fill you up far too early.” His hips give a tiny, torturous shift, and I whimper. “Does my little pussy want my cream that badly?”
The crude words shouldn’t send a fresh flood of heat between my legs, but they do. I moan, nodding.
“If you do,” he continues, a wicked promise in his eyes, “then I can go a few rounds. If that’s what it takes.”
I let go, my body going pliant and soft beneath him, accepting the burn, welcoming the stretch.
I am his old lady. The words echo in my mind, and with them comes a stunning realization. If I am his, then that must make him mine. He is all mine. This dangerous, beautiful, brutal man belongs to me.
My hands, which were braced against his chest, slide up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, and I drag him down to my mouth.
Just as I open up for him, he thrusts forward, taking every inch he has to give. Once he’s fully sealed inside, he’s the one twitching.
I kiss him with all the desperate, claiming fervor in my soul. He groans into the kiss, a sound of pure surrender, and I feel a corresponding warmth fill me as I suck on his tongue, mimicking the rhythm I crave from his hips.
It’s the twitch of his cock, the telltale that he wasn’t joking. Never have I felt more complimented.
He curses against my teeth, a ragged, filthy word, and shoves a hand between our sweat-slicked bodies, his thumb finding my clit without forgiveness.
The dual assault is my own undoing. His cock starts plunging into me, each stroke hitting a spot deep inside that makes me see stars.
My orgasm shoots through me, a silent, screaming supernova that whites out my vision. I cling to him, my nails digging deep into the hard muscles of his back, grounding myself as he keeps rocking, milking us both of every last shuddering wave of pleasure.
Once he’s stilling, we’re both fighting for our breaths.
“Give me five minutes.” He frowns as he stares down. “No, with this view, make it three. What just happened was a warm-up. I swear, I’m great at this.”
I don’t mean to laugh, but I can’t stop a round of giggles from escaping me. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, I think his gaze grows even softer.
If this “warm-up” is anything to go off of, then I’m pretty sure I’ve got my work cut out for me for whatever comes next.