Chapter 6 #2
He lifts my hand and makes me slap my wet skin before I slide two fingers inside myself. I move them in and out as my palm slams against my clit, faster now, desperate.
“Good girl,” he growls.
My head falls against his chest, my eyes closing.
I bite my lip and spread it open as a moan slips out, just from thinking about him.
“Think of me, Freckles,” he whispers. “Think about how I would spread you open and explore you like a fucking map, with no final destination.”
I thrust my fingers deeper, feeling my body tighten around them, my inner flesh clenching against my fingertips.
“Think about how I would hold your legs in the air until you shook,” he continues, voice dark and hungry, “and I wouldn’t stop, because I would treat you like my last fucking meal.”
I moan again, short gasps breaking free as pleasure overtakes me, my body giving in completely.
“Think how I would hold your neck locked between my fingers as I shoved every inch of my cock inside you,” he chuckles, “until I spread you open and ruin every single man who fucked you before and after I ever got the chance.”
My inner flesh tightens around my fingers as I thrust in and out, faster, harder, until my knees start to lose their balance. I pull my fingers out and rub my clit instead, biting my lip as I struggle to stay standing.
“Come for me, Freckles,” he whispers in my ear. “Come like you never have for anyone before. I want you to moan my name.”
I moan, trying to push my fingers back inside, but I am too sensitive.
My thighs shake every time I brush my clit, but he doesn’t care. He takes my hand, and when my fingers grow numb, he continues touching me, circling my clit with ruthless patience until I moan again.
He guides my hand back down, forcing two fingers inside me once more, my palm slamming against my clit as I move faster, desperate.
“Fuck,” I moan. “Fuck, I can’t, Zayne. Fuck.”
My knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor, my hand still inside me as my body shakes uncontrollably with pleasure.
I breathe heavily, my fingers dripping wet, leaving a dark stain on the wooden floor beneath me.
“Fuck,” I cry out again, still trembling with the aftershocks.
The only sound left is Daisy scratching at the door, nails scraping against the wood as she barks to be let in.
“Fuck,” I whisper, turning around.
He is gone.
The window still stands open. Cold air slips inside, brushing against my damp skin.
I move toward it, heart hammering as I lean out and scan the street below. But outside, there is nothing but empty streets, no movement, with no shadows disappearing into the dark.
“Just a dream,” I murmur, though the words feel thin the moment they leave my mouth.
I rush back into the bedroom, grab a towel, then return to the bathroom. The mirror catches me before I am ready. On the right side of my neck, just below my jaw, I noticed a bite mark that turned dark against my skin.
He bit me earlier. I remember the pressure of his teeth, the way my breath caught when it happened.
My stomach tightens.
He is driving me insane. Worse than that, my body is giving in.
My hair hangs wet and tangled around my shoulders. My pupils are blown wide at the thought of him, black swallowing jade green. Heat pools low in my stomach, my pussy aching for him again.
“I will fucking destroy you, Zayne Mercer,” I say to my reflection.
As I stare at myself, something small pulls my focus. Four freckles dot the bridge of my nose, faint but there.
“Freckles,” I whisper, lifting my hand to touch them.
It’s strange how blind we are to ourselves. How easily we notice every flaw, tracing them until they feel permanent, until they become proof of something broken inside us. We stare so hard at what we hate that we miss the quiet, beautiful things living beneath our skin.
The things others notice first.
We dismiss them as nothing, unworthy of attention, while they are everything that makes us the person we are. And by the time we realize we were never as unlovable as we believed, we have already learned how to hate ourselves too well.
A knock at the door pulls me back.
The sound snaps through my thoughts, and I shake myself awake. I hurry to the closet, grab the black robe, and wrap it around my body, pulling the belt tight at my waist.
I open the bedroom door and move down the hall toward the front entrance.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Rourke.”
“No,” I say, already turning away from the door.
“I found out who the scientist was,” he says. “Please.” His voice drops. “I don’t know who else to call.”
“That sounds like a you problem,“ I reply, taking a step toward the kitchen.
“I’ll give you everything I have,” he says quickly. “All the files. Just help me.”
The truth is, I don’t trust him any more than I trust the rest of them. Still, I am alone here, and information is information. I decide I will take what he has and send him back out into the night.
I walk to the door and pull it open.
He stands on my doorstep, soaked through. Water drips from his hair onto the floor. The sharp smell of alcohol clings to him. In his hand is another file, edges bent from the rain.
I hold out my hand for it.
Instead of giving it to me, he steps inside.
He sits at the table without asking and opens the file, spreading photographs and papers across the surface like he owns the place.
My jaw tightens. I shut the door hard and walk toward him, dragging a chair back with a screech against the floor before dropping into it.
“This guy,” he says, tapping an old black-and-white photograph with his finger.
I have seen the face before. It hangs on the wall in the hallway at the Halden Institute, surrounded by others I never bothered to study.
“He had a son,” Rouke continues. “Divorced in 1990. His ex-wife moved to London after that.”
He slides another paper closer. “I don’t have a recent photo of the kid, but this is him at nine.”
I stare at the image. Then at Rourke.
My mind goes empty.
Zayne’s voice crawls back into my head. The way he would spread me. The way he would fuck me. My pulse jumps, heat flaring where it should not.
Rouke snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You good?”
I turn toward him.
“Wanna fuck?”
He laughs, looking at me like I am joking. I stand instead, untie the belt of my robe, and let it slide down my shoulders until it pools on the floor.
“I asked,” I say, locking my eyes with his. “Do you want to fuck?”
He gets up, and I see his crotch hardening immediately.
I walk toward him, then slip past and sit at the table. I push the files aside with one hand, and as I grip the edge, I lift myself higher. I spread my legs wide, pressing my feet down on either side of the table.
I bite my lip, watching him. His gaze drags over my breasts, down my stomach, over every inch of me until it settles between my thighs.
He unbuckles his belt quickly, shrugs out of his navy blazer, and lets his pants fall. I lick my fingers and slide them down, touching myself as he pushes his boxers down.
“Are you waiting for something?” I ask, arching my back.
He still looks stunned. He shakes his head slightly, grips his cock, and presses the tip to my clit. He drags it down slowly, pushing in just an inch. Then another. He pauses before grabbing my legs and thrusting deeper, burying himself another few inches inside me.
I gasp, my head falling forward. As he starts to move faster, I close my eyes, imagining Zayne instead of him.
He lifts one of my legs while he keeps thrusting and brings my foot to his mouth, kissing it, licking my toes, then sucking them as he drives deeper into me.
I keep my eyes closed. I lose every ounce of dignity as I moan with each thrust, his cock pushing further inside.
He lifts my other leg and settles both on his shoulders, pulling them closer together. My lower lips close around him now, feeling every movement as he slides in and out.
I feel him stronger like this, thicker, but I want him to spread me. But instead, he holds me in place and keeps thrusting deeper.
I lie back fully on the table and force my legs open. I lift my ass higher, inviting him to spread me more, and plant my feet back on the edge of the table.
“Don’t stop,” I say, and he nods, filling me again, sliding inside in a single, deep thrust.
He presses down on my lower stomach. Two fingers brush my clit, rubbing it gently while his palm stays firm, holding me in place. I feel his cock drag against my inner flesh as my body closes around him.
“Yes,” I moan.
He keeps thrusting, his rhythm syncing with his fingers, until I feel him grow thicker inside me. Just before he does, he pulls out, spilling over my stomach.
He drags his slick load downward, using it as lube to rub my clit, then lower, thrusting his fingers inside me. He pulls them back slowly, touching my inner flesh, hooking me, then pushes them in again. His fingertips move in and out while his palm slaps my clit with every motion.
“Shit,” I moan, my body tightening around his fingers.
He keeps thrusting them until he can’t go any deeper. Then he pulls them out. His cock is still hard as he taps my clit with the tip, teasing me, dragging it slowly over my skin.
I bite my hand and open my eyes.
He stands in front of me, sweat on his forehead, breathing hard, almost feral. For a second, my mind twists him into someone else, but he is solid and real. A six-pack under tattooed skin, his white shirt still on, unbuttoned and damp with sweat.
I swallow.
“This never happened,” he says, stepping back, looking at me.
“Agreed,” I say, closing my legs.
He grabs his pants, pulls them on, and buttons them with hurried fingers before tucking himself away. He doesn’t look at me as he moves for the door. And within a second later, it closes behind him.
I press my palms to my face, heat crawling up my neck as embarrassment settles heavy in my chest.
“Fuck,” I mutter into my hands.
This is not me.
This is not who I am.
I am not someone who spreads her legs for every man who looks at her. I have only been with two men in my life. There was never time for more. I wanted a career. I wanted purpose. I wanted to be someone.
This is new.
And it terrifies me.
Zayne Mercer is pulling something loose inside me, dragging the worst parts to the surface. Even worse, I see him now in every man who touches me.
And I don’t know how to make it stop.