Chapter Twenty Four #2
If there was any doubt that my body wouldn’t be ready for him, we’ve both just been proven wrong. Without wasting time, Rhys strips and lines up his pierced cock, pushing into me with a delicious stretch. I mewl, my hands looking for purchase on the desk, but then he’s back on top of me.
Leaning on forearms either side of my head, Rhys boxes me in without trapping, his eyes drinking in my every reaction to the slow drag of his shaft.
“Rhys,” I moan again, shifting against the way he fills me completely, the scrape of his piercings rubbing me into another realm of pleasure. His head tilts slightly, the hint of a smirk finally returning to his mouth.
“What do you want, Babygirl?” he asks once he has my full attention. My hands slide over his shoulders, down his arms, my nails digging into his.
“Show me who really holds the power here.” The words barely leave my mouth before Rhys shifts, and not just in the way his hips roll back and then slam forward.
His presence settles on top of me, a ripple rolling down his spine.
I drag him closer, crashing my lips against his, coaxing his tongue into my mouth.
I need him more than my next breath, this freshly exposed love between us taking our desire to new heights.
The desk jolts beneath me as he presses deeper, every inch of him a reminder that his dominance isn’t born from rage or fear, but from the control he is reclaiming.
Heat coils low in my core, spreading outward until my limbs feel loose and boneless.
Somewhere beneath the pleasure, a fragile sense of triumph blooms. This room is no longer winning, Rhys is.
His mouth is torn away by the erratic snapping of his hips, his cock rapidly driving me towards an orgasm that has my toes curling.
My hips lift to meet his, sounds leaking from me that I’m oblivious to.
My mouth finds the curve of his shoulder, and I bite down just as my climax hits, my blunt teeth sinking into Rhys’ flesh as he fucks me like a man possessed.
Words are muttered beside my temple, and my mind fills in the blanks.
It’s a mashup of my name being growled and curses being hissed as I squeeze my thighs around him.
The crashing of my walls dragging against his shaft lasts and lasts, one wave of pleasure rolling into the next. Rhys’ hand slips around my throat, his fingers clamping down hard as I feel him start to swell. Suddenly, my world is tipped upside down as his grip around my throat drags me forward.
Whipping his cock free, Rhys drops me to the floor, my knees hitting hard, but it doesn’t matter when his dick is pushed into my mouth.
Salt and lust explode across my tongue, his hips not stopping their pumping for even a second.
Thrusting into my throat, his grip on my hair is blindingly hot.
Rhys detonates with a roar I can only hear inside my head.
I have no choice but to drink him down, the pierced head of his cock prying my throat open to spill deep.
By the time my world steadies again, we’re a tangled heap on the floor beside the desk, limbs heavy and useless, the echo of pleasure still humming through my bones.
My back presses against the side of the desk, the contrast delicious after the way everything inside me felt like it was on fire.
Rhys collapses beside me, his head leaning against mine as we pant in time with one another.
My fingers curl weakly around this thigh, nails grazing in slow, absent-minded strokes.
Rhys exhales, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment.
I remain still, aside from the lazy trail of my fingers, giving him comfort as well as space and time to process.
When his head angles down to face me, his blue eyes are clear in a way I haven’t seen before, and it brings a smile to my face.
In return, Rhys’ lips quirk, ever so slightly, and a knot in my chest loosens.
I didn’t break in here with the intention of chasing Rhys’ ghosts, but I’m glad it worked out that way.
It’s another step towards leaving our past behind.
Once our breathing evens out, we start to reach for our clothes and dress. Rhys reaches out across the rug, fingers closing around my discarded receivers and pressing them into my hand. I pull my sweater on before clipping them in place.
“You can tell Clayton to come out now,” Rhys says. I stumble with one leg in my jeans, just catching myself on the desk before I fall onto my face. Rhys raises an expectant brow, waiting for my mouth to hang open like some type of fish. Realizing my mind has switched off, Rhys smirks.
“You have many talents, my love, but I’m certain picking locks isn’t one of them.” His foot nudges the letter opener that must have fallen from a filing cabinet. My cheeks flame for more reasons than one. Sighing, I finish dressing and point to the shelves.
“He’s behind the bookcase,” I point towards the shelves. Rhys’ brows snap together.
“Behind…” he repeats slowly, turning to stare at the wall of books.
His eyes trace the spines, hunting for the seams amongst the shadows.
He takes a step closer, then another, suspicion dawning as his gaze narrows.
I move to his side, oddly entertained by the fact that I know something he doesn’t, my earlier embarrassment softening.
“You didn’t know?” I ask, unable to keep the small spark of surprise from my voice. Rhys shrugs against the fabric of his T-shirt.
“I don’t…come into this room by choice. And I don’t often hang around,” he replies flatly, still scanning for the opening as if he can conjure it into existence.
“I assumed he was underneath the desk, which is why I rammed you into it so hard.” I glance back at the smooth surface behind us, huffing a small breath of laughter.
Reaching for the bookend, I tug against its stiffness and watch the door further down the shelves pop open.
Clayton barrels out, a weathered box in his arms. He freezes when he clocks Rhys, eyes darting between us like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, before straightening and schooling his face into something far too casual.
“Oh, hi Rhys. Didn’t realize you were here,” Clay feigns innocence.
Rhys doesn’t say a word, just stares at him, the air in the room thickening with a silence that could choke.
Pressing my lips together, I stretch out and take the scuffed box, surprised by its heaviness.
Turning to place it on the desk, Rhys swoops it and relieves me of the box before it touches the wood.
Then he turns and dumps it back into Clay’s arms, purposefully knocking his chest in the process.
“Not here,” he grumbles, a shadow of tension returning to his jaw.
“Whatever this is, we’re not dealing with it here.
” His voice is strained, but I know better than to jump to the conclusion that he’s pissed.
Partially, maybe, but it’s also a plea. Obeying this time, Clay leaves first, taking with him the evidence he deemed worth keeping.
Bracing my hand on Rhys’ arm, I search his eyes for a sign of how mad he is, the scale ranging between numb to the bullshit and pissed as all hell.
Although his gaze is blank, the skeletal figures inked into his skin seem to judge me. Damn, I’m judging myself.
“Rhys,” I say low enough for only him to hear, even though Clayton is halfway down the hall by now.
“For the record, I didn’t mean to go behind your back.
I’ve already upset you once today…you know, about your mom.
I didn’t want to make any more assumptions without physical proof.
” A flicker of misery filters across Rhys’ face before he pulls me against his chest.
“You didn’t upset me this morning. The whole fucked up situation kills me. The what-ifs and whys. I want answers as much as I don’t. I’m…scared that I might be wrong.”
“What do you mean?” I wriggle for an inch of room to look up at him.
Despite how he tries to use the forward flicks of his dark hair to hide his eyes, I note the rawness held within them.
I’d give anything to see Rhys smile again, genuinely smile without reservation, but we have to endure this first. We have to survive it.
“That I’ve misplaced my anger all these years. It was easier to hate my mom than miss her.” Rhys exhales slowly.
Clearing his throat, he guides me toward the door, his palm warm at the small of my back.
Crossing the threshold, he pauses just long enough to glance back once, his grip tightening before he pulls the door closed behind us with a decisive click.
I stay right beside him, breathing in his expensive body wash, knowing that whatever comes next, we’ve crossed a line together and neither of us is turning back.