Chapter 27
I know I shouldn’t want this so badly. There’s a voice in my head that is shouting, stay away. But, I can’t. I need this, I need him. Is lasc é chuig mo dhorchadas a athraíonn ionas gur féidir liom mothú arís. (He’s a switch to my darkness that flips so I can feel again.)
Desire overtakes my every thought, and I push him off me with a force I didn’t know I possessed.
The confused look in his eyes makes my need for him that little bit sweeter.
But the look quickly changes to pure lust when I help him tug down his pants and straddle his waist. I want to kiss him, my body screams for it, but with this dishcloth in my mouth I can barely close my lips together.
He runs his hands up and down my sides, moving around to gently caress my breasts before he guides his cock in line with my entrance.
With heat flaming from his hands, I know I’m soaked already, I can feel the slickness on the inside of my thighs.
My hands brace on his shoulders, as I slowly start to sink down on his cock.
His fingers grip my ass, helping me. “Fuck,” he grunts.
It burns as I stretch around him, he’s bigger than I’ve ever had before.
The warning voices scream again the moment I sink fully onto him. Stay away. I smother them, grinding them into silence. I’m not letting anything rip me from this moment. When I start to move my hips, the intenseness of being full takes over in the most delicious way.
“You’re so fucking tight,” his voice whispers, breathlessly, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I roll my hips again, harder this time.
“Fuck… Just like that,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. I continue with the same harsh pace causing his eyes to flare, the green gone almost black with lust. A wave of goosebumps erupts over my skin as a muffled groan escapes me. Oh my god! I dig my nails into his shoulders.
“You feel so good Croía,” he moans and that reminds me that I don’t even know his name, still here I am riding his cock.
I can’t stop though, every shift of my body is deliberate, drawing out his breath.
I savour the way he trembles under me, the way his heartbeat thunders.
In this moment, I’m not just touching him, I’m claiming him, one lingering motion at a time.
I’m pretty sure I forget how to breathe when his cock twitches inside me. His fingers reach up to grip my throat and he studies me. Watching me as I fuck him into oblivion.
His eyes don’t leave mine, and I continue to grind.
Each roll of my hips sends me closer and closer to the edge.
I want to scream out so badly the frustration is boiling under my skin.
Explosions erupt inside me as I climax to the point I’m shaking.
He takes hold of my waist and holds me still as he thrusts inside me, hard, and I swear I see stars.
“Croía.” My name comes out like an animalistic roar as he spills inside me.
“Holy fuck,” he groans as I collapse against him.
Both of our breaths mirrored, erratic and unsteady.
After a few minutes, I push myself upright, trying to work the cloth free from my mouth.
My fingers fumble against the knot, frustration curling in my chest. Then he sits up too, his hands brushing against my jaw as he takes over.
The rough fabric slides from between my lips, leaving them tingling in their absence.
“What’s your name?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Braiden,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. I let the name roll over my tongue, savouring it as if it’s a forbidden taste. “Braiden.”
With a slight feeling of embarrassment, I rise from the bed, letting his gaze sear into me. Glancing toward the bathroom, I let my hand linger in the air, and he follows, silent and close. His presence is a heat that presses against me with every step.
Once we are both inside, I turn on the shower, and the steam curls around us in heavy waves.
The silence is thick, charged. The water traces a path over my skin that’s already burning from an unspoken pull.
My gaze drifts over him, lingering shamelessly on every carved line of muscle.
Heat coils low in my stomach, I want him again already.
His hands find me first, gliding soap over my shoulders, down my arms, and tracing the dip of my spine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, his tone bearly audible that I nearly miss it over the sound of the water.
My heart does a somersault in my chest when I return the touch, running my palms across the hard planes of his chest, and over the taut muscles of his stomach.
Every pass is slower than it needs to be, lingering where it shouldn’t.
Turning the simple act of washing into something far more dangerous.
To my disappointment, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. Water dripping from his body as his gaze sweeps the room with quiet intent.
“Only one towel?” he asks, his tone unreadable.
“Shit, sorry, let me grab you one,” I say, tugging the only towel off the rail and wrapping it tightly around myself before hurrying out. The sound of my wet footsteps echoing down the hall.
Without lingering, I snatch a towel from the airing cupboard and rush back toward the bathroom, waving it lazily in front of me as I step inside, only to be met with silence. He’s gone.
My pulse spikes instantly. What the fuck? The steam is still curling in the air, the water still dripping from the tiles. But the room feels empty in a way that makes my skin crawl. Panic claws its way up my throat.
With my heart pounding, I tighten the towel around me and step into the hallway, every creak of the floorboards sounding like a gunshot in the stillness.
“Braiden?” My voice is barely above a whisper, as if saying his name too loud might summon something else entirely. I push open the bedroom door, but the room is empty. The sheets are still rumpled from where we left them, the faint imprint of his body fading like a ghost.
In utter disbelief, I move through the rest of the house, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the shadowy corners where light doesn’t quite reach, but there’s nothing.
The front door is locked, with no sign of it being opened.
My pulse quickens with a different kind of fear now, if he didn’t walk out, how did he leave?
When I step back into the bathroom, my chest is aching as though someone’s reached inside me and squeezed the life out of me. The steam has started to thin, curling away into the corners, and for a moment I just stand there, staring at my reflection.
Then I see it.
Through the fading mist, thick red letters slash across the mirror:
I’ve got your lover boy.
A lipstick kiss stains the corner. It’s deep crimson, and wet enough that it looks as if it could still be bleeding. My stomach drops, making my breath stutter. The walls feel too close, the air too hot. What the fuck is happening?