35. Nora
Nora
do you trust me?
S leep is so close, but not close enough; the lock on the patio doors clicks softly, dragging me reluctantly back to reality. Wide awake, my eyes squeeze shut as the sounds of August moving around the room fills the space around me.
He’s silent as the plush carpet covering the room cushions his footsteps, but then the sound of metal scraping against metal fills the air. It’s followed by a satisfying click as August expertly removes and reloads the clip in his handgun. With my eyes half-closed, I track his shadowy figure as he casually strolls from the cozy living area into the bedroom. He’s rustling through an overnight bag I can’t remember him bringing along before vanishing into the bathroom. The steady stream of the shower drowns out the thoughts I desperately want to avoid.
When exhaustion finally begins to claim me, the opposite side of the bed sinks down.
“I said you’re taking the couch,” I mumble as the delicious smell of piney soap and something so uniquely August wraps around me.
“You did,” he agrees. “But you forgot one important fact. I know what it feels like to fall asleep with you wrapped in my arms, and very little will stop me from feeling it again.”
His words drip through every part of me, my heart racing as I slowly roll to my side and face him. It’s time to have that fight.
“Are you ready to fuck me like I’m not a spoiled, self-centered little brat?” I ask quietly. “Are you ready to go back to pretending you’re just here to watch me eat tacos and get a tan?”
“You want me to apologize.” It’s not a question. He says it like he’s reading an item off a shopping list.
“I want you to get up and go sleep on the couch.”
“Because I was cruel and hurt your feelings at the lake house.” Again, not a question.
“Because what you said at the lake house was cruel and hurt my feelings, and because it was the truth. It’s how you see me. Those words, while spoken out of anger and frustration, are still a pretty fucking accurate reflection of what you think of me. Why would I ever share a bed— share my body —with someone who hates everything I am?”
His thumbs brush away the tears gathering in my eyes as he watches me.
“Because I don’t hate everything you are, Nora. I hate that you’ve spent so much of your life asleep. I hate that you’ve made yourself a pawn in a game that costs good people their lives. I hate that for so long, you’ve known how wrong it all was, but you refused to do anything about it. But I don’t hate you. My words were cruel. I won’t insult you further by pretending I didn't mean them.” A sigh drawn from the depths of his soul washes out of him as he rolls onto his back, throw ing his arm up over his face. “I don’t think you’re self-centered.”
“But you do think I’m a brat?” I ask.
“Right now, definitely. But let me finish. I meant what I said about your work with Ricky, but I understand what it feels like to be trapped Nora, and while I’m not sorry for my words, I am sorry that I did not extend you the grace you deserve, especially because I know how difficult it is to step away from what you know is wrong, to do what you believe is right.”
“I don’t forgive you,” I say.
“I would question your sanity if you did,” he replies. Even though it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open, I can’t help but notice the mischievous smirk playing on his lips.
Despite knowing better, a smile tugs at the corners of my own. As it slowly takes over my face, I acknowledge what it means. I recognize that, despite everything, despite his vicious words, despite not forgiving him, despite everything being so fucking horrible and terrifying, and despite no longer knowing which way is up, in this incredibly dark moment, I still have a little light. I still have August. Even if he is a prick who hurts my feelings.
“Okay.” It’s nonchalant, and as soon as I say it, my brain moves from anger to acceptance. And then my breath hitches in my chest as August reaches out and wraps his hand around my throat, slowly guiding my lips toward his.
“Do you trust me?” His voice is low and gravelly, the husky rasp of it scrambling vital parts of my brain as the deep brown pools of his eyes trap mine.
“No,” I whisper.
“You’re learning, little bird,” he murmurs as his lips slide over mine.
Easy , gentle, almost tender; our lips meet. I taste the faint hint of mint on his breath before he pulls back slightly, watching me with quiet intensity as his arm snakes around my waist. In one confident move, he pulls my body flush against his chest. His leg shifts, his knee slipping between my legs, pushing against my core. Seconds pass, his eyes slowly mapping every inch of my face, that knee resting like the most inviting weight against my pussy. And when I can’t take it anymore, when I finally give in to the urge to grind against his knee, he drops his lips back over mine and kisses me once again.
August kisses like he fucks—hard, depraved, confident. Each slide of his tongue is a brand that marks my soul. No man will ever come close to this. To him .
“What are we doing?” The question races out of me in a breathless pant, landing against his mouth as I pull away from him to catch my breath. Rough fingers dance along the sides of my hips as he slowly drags my sweatpants and underwear down my thighs.
“Generally, or right now?” he asks as those fingers gather the hem of my t-shirt and lift it up my body, pulling it over my head.
“Both, I guess?” I reply, before my shaky hands tug on the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down his legs, stopping only when he takes over and kicks them off completely.
“Generally, I have no idea,” he says, smiling. “But right now, I’m going to fuck you until you feel safe again, little raven, and then we’re both going to get at least six hours of sleep so we can face whatever tomorrow brings.”
With our bodies pressed together—warm skin flush against warm skin, soft, round curves clinging to rigid, hard muscles—he lowers his mouth over mine again. The slow strokes of his tongue become possessive and confident befo re shifting once more to slow and gentle. My body slides against his, desperate for any friction, desperate to feel him, desperate for his touch. He moves then; before I have a chance to object, he’s hovering over me.
“Open your legs, Nora,” he breathes the words out against the skin on my chest.
With deliberate slowness, my thighs peel apart, gradually making space for his body in the cradle of my thighs. He grins down at me, completely aware of my attempt to tease every drop of anticipation out of him.
“If you want slow, we can go slowly tonight, little bird.” He winks, pushing his hips against mine.
Leaning back on his knees, he moves between my spread thighs and wraps one of his hands around the swollen base of his cock. Gasping as he drags the head through the drenched folds of my pussy, shudders shake my shoulders as he circles my clit with the tip of his dick.
“I can fuck you slow. I can fuck you anyway you need me to,” he promises with another agonizingly tempered glide of his cock against my core.
“I don’t want slow,” I groan.
“Too bad. I checked, and slow’s all that’s on the menu tonight.” He presses his cock against my entrance as those words melt even more of my brain cells.
His hips move an inch, just an inch, as he gently pushes inside me. Then he presses in a little more before drawing back again.
“August, please,” I moan, struggling to care about how completely desperate I sound.
“ August please ,” he mimics me. “Please what?” he demands, working his cock into me again. This time he goes a little further, a little harder. It’s a single bliss ful second of relief that my aching pussy can’t even enjoy because he pulls out almost immediately.
Crying out in complete frustration, I prop myself up on my elbows and glare at him. “August, please fuck me like a man.” My words are a whip, cracking between us, driven by the force of my lust.
“Fuck you like a man?” He smiles down at me. “How does a man fuck?” he asks, inching his cock into me again. “Like this?” He murmurs, sliding out of my pussy with the same frustrating tenderness.
My body collapses back onto the bed as he leans forward. Every part of me trembles with need as his soft, pillowy lips whisper delicate kisses along the slope of my neck.
With his body covering mine, he whispers, “Maybe a man fucks like this?” A second later, the entire length of his cock spears into my body. It’s intense and arresting—this immediate sensation of him filling every part of me. Heat races through my core, soothing the ache that moments ago threatened to drive me mad. “Yes,” he pants, pausing inside me, giving me a second to adjust. “Yes, I think this is how a man fucks, isn’t it, sweet raven?”
August drags his hips back, sliding his cock out of me again. I would’ve moaned in protest except his hand comes down to cover my breast, squeezing and kneading it with the most incredible amount of pressure and tenderness.
“Oh God.” My whimper twists around his sinful laugh as he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“There’s no God here, Nora. Just a snake. About to fuck you like the man he pretends to be.” His mouth closes over the taut, pebbled skin of my nipple as his cock punches into me.
Hard, confident, and deep, each stroke is slow and savage. While the heat of his mouth and the pull of his teeth on my breast overwhelm my senses, my core throbs and pulses as the need to come builds inside me.
“Harder,” I beg, as his hips pick up the pace. “More, God , please,” I plead.
He peels his lips away from my nipple, moving his hand down my body. Slowly, he slides his palm down my ribs, then over the soft roll of my stomach, stopping only when he reaches my clit.
With leisurely strokes, he circles the sensitive bud until I’m close to crawling out of my skin.
“I need to come, August,” I moan between mindless pants as his thumb massages my clit while his cock lances in and out of me with purposeful, driving thrusts.
“I know,” he whispers, his words labored, bitten out between harsh breaths while he continues to fuck me into my next life.
I’m going to die, from the agony of August and his cock-torture, from the rough way he fucks into my body, from the desperate need to have this man possess every single inch of my body. I’m ready—happy, even—I’ll willingly dive toward death right here under the heavy weight of August’s body. But as that thought takes hold, as the urgent ache of my building orgasm rises to a truly unbearable height, he presses his thumb against my clit, rapidly increasing the pace of his touch and the pressure of his hips. And that, coupled with the endless, savage tunneling of his cock, and the way his sweat-slicked skin slides against my own… It crests like a wave inside me and I shatter.
“Fuck,” I cry out as my climax pulls me down into perfect, bliss-filled darkness.
“Yes,” he roars. “Fuck, Nora, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He thrusts harder, faster, driving into my pussy with punishing strokes. And when I think I can’t take it for a nother second, he comes, thundering my name as his hips pound into me, shuddering and jerking as he spills his cum inside me.
“ P ass the butter,” I practically shout across the small four-person table in the guesthouse dining room. August’s next to me, one hand holding a cup of coffee as he casually makes mindless conversation with Yves. He’s sandwiched his other hand between my thighs, drifting lazily but steadily up my thighs.
Thalia pushes the small ceramic pot of butter across the table, looking at August and then me. She bites down the smirk that threatens to take her entire face hostage. I glare at her for a second before slapping the butter on my toast.
August's hand has officially reached the juncture of my thighs. Sucking in a sharp breath, shifting slightly in my seat, I hope he’ll see it for what it is; a silent request to stop this molestation. Because, regardless of how amazing it feels, it’s wildly inappropriate. All it does, though, is force his fingers closer to the now-damp fabric covering my pussy. The dress was a bad idea. I should’ve worn jeans.
“Have you called Bassey and Helen?” I ask, my last attempt to shift his attention away from me before I come loudly at the breakfast table.
Yves clears his throat and smiles at me. There’s no way he can see August’s hand, but I’m acutely aware of how similar his smile is to Thalia’s.
“Funny that, princess, Bassey and Helen left for Port Manaus yesterday. Didn’t say a word. I ca lled the motel I booked him in on my way here last night and they relayed a message from Helen saying Ricky called them back to town for work.”
“What happens now?” I take a bite of my butter-drenched toast and look between Yves and August. There’s no point wasting time speculating about Bassey and Helen. I’m fine with their absence. His, at least.
August looks at me. Casually, he pulls his hand away from my thighs and brings it up to my face. His thumb brushes along the side of my mouth as he swipes a small drop of melted butter from the corner of my lips. I gape at him as he licks it off his finger. He winks at me and then turns back to Yves.
“Now, we leave Mossville,” Yves says.
“To go where?” Thalia’s soft question is perfectly timed; we’re done eating and whatever comes next can no longer be put off.
“You’re with me, legs,” Yves says. “Princess, you’re with Auggie.” I nod.
“And where are we going?” I repeat Thalia’s question, my eyes jumping between both Yves and August.
“Somewhere safe,” is all August says as he pushes his chair away from the table and stands.