CHAPTER THIRTY #2
She’s mine. My purpose. My answer. My way out of the godforsaken flames that have engulfed me for the past nineteen years.
Knotting my hand in her hair, I brush my mouth against hers with the same precision and control I devote to everything, swiping a coaxing lick across the seam of her pillowy lips for her to open for me.
She does, and I press deeper, exploring strokes that feed the flavor of her cunt back to her.
That alone has me spellbound, vibrating with a wolfish greed at the realization that she’s tasting herself.
But then she moans an airy, “More, Axel.”
And everything gets cloudy and impossible to grip.
When my tongue sweeps in deeper, tangoing with hers, she slants her head, rocks her hips, and pours everything she is into that simple kiss.
She tastes like cherries and deliverance, and something snaps inside me.
Something so feral, so unhinged, that I hardly recognize it. But I’m a slave to it. What started as sweet and tentative—a way to reassure her that she’s mine and I’m hers and we’ll find our way through this—transforms into a savage tethering of tongue and teeth and bites and groans.
I wrench her head to the side, exposing the hollow of her throat. My lips trail over her pulse point, licking, sucking, ravaging. Sinking my teeth into her molten skin, making her shiver. Until I’m back at her lips with renewed frenzy, and she matches my unleashed ferocity nip for nip.
“Fuck, Zara. Fuck. I need you.”
Without patience, I crash my lips to hers again, fisting her hair and dragging her bare pussy over my throbbing erection. My pants are already drenched from her, but now I’m fucking spreading her cum everywhere, unable to disconnect from her long enough to unsheathe my dick.
Who knew kissing was this good? Jesus.
She swiftly undoes my belt, tears my zipper down, unrolls the waistband of my boxers, and palms my length.
All the air in my lungs puffs into her mouth with a string of curses.
I rip down her top and bra, kneading her breast and tweaking her nipple, longing to touch every part of her, to wrap myself around her lithe frame, or crawl inside her, or liquefy her essence and consume her through an IV.
I’m too gone to share any of that, which is indisputably a gift, even if I did warn her that I was a lunatic regarding her.
Somehow, with sloppy movements and very few functioning brain cells, one of us manages to notch the pierced head at her entrance.
Against every instinct to ram into her, I grapple for a smidgen of control to stall us for a beat. My voice is gravel and menacing authority despite the apology that slips out. “I’m sorry, darling, I’m all out of patience.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be rough,” she rasps with a wicked grin. “Please.”
Who am I to deny her anything?
“Manners are rewarded.” I slam into her with none of the poise that I traditionally harbor but all the itching and aching appetency that only she provokes.
Stars mar my vision as her sopping heat throttles my shaft. I’m fully seated in one rough go, and an electrifying tremor of agonizing ecstasy charges through both of us, emitting a moan from me and a glorious, wanton shriek from her.
I’ve never had sex bare before, and that cognizance is as intoxicating as it is unnerving. I’m doing this all wrong. We should have discussed it. But my mind is a stormy mess, and that reflection is swiftly swept away.
“Fuck, baby. This magic cunt. But we need to be quiet.” I hold her closer, willing myself to allot her a moment to adjust and breathe. “Fucking heaven.”
Her whole body is quivering around me—be it from adrenaline, pain, or nearing her peak again—but that doesn’t hold her back. She straightens, lifts herself, and sinks back down on me with a tumultuous groan and a subsequent, “Sorry.”
Her eyes are hooded. She’s flushed and glazed with sweat. Her lips are parted with breathless zeal. In a blink, she’s gyrating in a bewitching rhythm until I’m losing my goddamn mind.
Keeping myself nestled inside her, I rise and drop her ass on the conference room table with a clank, caring less than I should about the racket we’re making.
My shirttails curtain her waist. My slacks hang low on my hips, fighting like hell not to fall to the floor.
My belt jangles with each thrust. I capture her lips and plunge into her with a punishing jolt, utterly baffled as to how this feels so out of this world.
I’m dizzy and blind to anything that isn’t Zara, pumping to the tempo of her melodic whimpers, her tits bouncing fervently, our mouths and hands frantic, the air muggy and scented with sex, when there’s a knock on the door.
Both of us freeze.
“Shit,” she hisses, surveying our disheveled state, as if us stopping and regrouping in feigned innocence were a possibility.
Surely, she sees it in my eyes. The wildness she’s put there. I don’t think I could keep myself from pounding into her even if someone tore that door down. Even if the entire resort and KORT and all of New Orleans intruded, I’d die before giving this up.
Still buried to the hilt inside my divine little Thorn and still relishing the tart sweetness of her cherry addiction from her tongue, I whisk her over to the floor-to-ceiling whiteboard, pull it forward, scan my retina, and disappear with her into a hidden corridor.
“There’s always an escape,” she marvels as I close it all back up.
If I had a grip on myself, I’d keep walking. For a few seconds, I try. I really do. But her tongue tangles around mine, and her hips swivel, and she purrs, carnal and crazed.
And I lose it. Again.
Welcoming a beast I’ve sensed inside me but been able to trounce for forty years.
And maybe I shouldn’t make promises because the future is fucking bleak.
Though if I’m honest with myself, this might be a threat.
Deep down, I know there’s still a chance she could want to leave me, to return to what she knows.
But regardless of what I’ve been telling myself, the window for her exit is closing. I won’t survive without her.
So, without a second thought, I flatten her against a wall with an oomph. My unhinged gaze anchors to her lust-drunk emeralds as I drive into her, right here in the secret caverns of my kingdom.
“There is no escaping this. Not now, Zar. No escape. You’re mine.”