Chapter Thirty-Five
Connor
T he scent of coffee and bacon pulled me from my nap, my arm instinctively tightening around Sierra’s waist before I realized Sierra wasn’t there, again .
I shot upright, sheets pooling at my hips, panic clawing up my throat until I heard the soft clatter of pans in the kitchen. The tension bled out of me slowly as my relief washed through me. Knowing she was still here, I took a minute alone to check on Jax and Adrian:
Connor
How’s Mason doing?
Adrian
His cuticles have become fancy fish food!
Jax
Adrian is disgusting.
Connor
Make it hurt.
Satisfied they were giving Mason the party bus treatment, I padded barefoot to the kitchen, the midday light cutting through the penthouse to illuminate my sweet girl standing at the stove, wearing nothing but my old WBC shirt, the hem riding high enough to show her soft bare thighs.
“You’re supposed to be napping with me,” I growled, pressing against her from behind, my morning erection digging into the cleft of her ass.
She gasped, arching into me as my hands slid under the shirt and upwards palm her bare tits. The fact Sierra didn’t see me as a monster after watching that footage made me fucking feral with desire for her.
I bit her earlobe, rolling her nipples between my thumb and forefinger a little rougher than usual.
“I made you breakfast,” she squeaked, gesturing weakly at the spread—scrambled eggs flecked with chives, fatty bacon arranged in a heart shape, fresh berries doused in syrup and glistening like jewels. Fucking adorable.
“I’m the one apologizing, sweet girl.”
I spun her around, lifting her onto the granite countertop. The cold surface made her breath hitch, legs dangling on either side of me as I shoved the shirt up to her ribs.
“You don’t cook, you don’t do anything, okay? You just relax.”
My thumb swiped through some syrup on the plate, pressing it against her tongue.
“Today’s about you taking what I give you. Understood?”
Her eyes were wide, that pretty pink tongue darting out to clean the leftover stickiness on her lips. “Yes.”
I fed her breakfast with my fingers, syrup-drenched fruits first, dragging the juice down her chin to lick it clean with my tongue.
“Open.”
She obeyed, letting me feed her a strip of bacon. She began chewing as I claimed her mouth, tasting salt, maple, and all of her.
“Such a good girl,” I praised against her lips, my hand sliding down between her thighs. She was already wet, the dampness of her arousal cutting through the cotton of her panties.
“Fuck, you’re dripping and I haven’t even touched you here.”
“You are touching me,” she whined, hips bucking into my hand.
I withdrew, bringing my fingers to my lips. “Begging already? We’ve got all day.”
Lifting her, I carried her to the living room where the sunlight pooled on the gray rug, one she’d soon replace with the furniture I’d tasked her with choosing.
“On your knees.”
I nudged Sierra down onto the couch with a hand between her shoulder blades, something primal roaring through my veins as her ass lifted.
The confession about my past, Mason, the fights, and the system that had left me raw, exposed in ways I'd never been before. But instead of running, she'd stayed.
My sweet girl had looked into the darkness and hadn't flinched.
The sight of her bare and vulnerable, offering herself to me after I'd exposed the ugliest parts of my past, left me struggling to breathe.
“Arch that pretty back for me,” I commanded, my voice rough with feral intensity.
She trembled but complied immediately, the position elongating her spine, defining every delicate curve beneath sweat-slicked skin that caught the late afternoon light like burnished gold.
I circled her slowly, a predator savoring the moment before a kill, trailing a strawberry I’d brought with us along the notches of her spine, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
I palmed her ass with my free hand, watching the soft flesh give beneath my scarred knuckles.
My thumb traced the cleft between her cheeks, dipping lower to brush against her rear entrance, testing her reaction to the once-unfamiliar touch.
Her sharp intake of breath wasn't fear, just surprise and nervous anticipation.
The contrast of her perfect skin against my hands was a visual reminder of everything I didn't deserve but had somehow been given anyway.
“You want my cock or breakfast first?” My need scratched my throat raw.
“You.”
No hesitation, just blind trust that destroyed the last of my restraint.
I tossed the strawberry into my mouth, wiping my hands and moving on pure instinct. I worked one finger into her slick heat, knuckle-deep in a single thrust that had her squealing, her back bowing like a perfect bow.
Her body welcomed the intrusion, wet and eager as I added a second finger and scissored her open carefully. With my other hand, I gathered her arousal, dragging the moisture upward to her little asshole, circling it with light pressure.
“Greedy little pussy,” I growled, working her with measured strokes, feeling her walls flutter around my fingers. My thumb continued its gentle exploration of her rear entrance, getting her used to taking sensations there.
“You're taking me easier now.” Pride and possessiveness twisted together in my chest. “Such a good fucking girl. I’m going to take you in this little ass soon, and make every part of you mine.”
“I didn't—know?—”
Her words fell apart as I twisted my wrist, finding that spongy spot inside her that made her hips buck back against my hand like a wanton little thing.
“Didn't know your sweet pussy could take this?”
I gathered more of her wetness, applying firmer pressure against her rear entrance, the tip of my thumb just barely breaching the tight ring of muscle.
“You'll take me here too,” I promised, my voice dropping even lower. “But we'll go slowly. Get you used to it first.”
Her breath hitched at the new sensation, but she didn't pull away. She pushed back slightly against my hand, her body communicating what her words couldn't. I worked tight circles on her clit with my other hand, drawing pretty moans from her throat.
“Come on my fingers, Sierra. Show me you're still mine even after everything you know.”
Her orgasm made her writhe, her thighs clamping around my forearm, her body convulsing as she cried out my name so prettily. I rode her through it, my fingers pumping, prolonging the waves until she collapsed forward, gasping into the cushions, her body liquid and spent.
But it wasn't enough, I needed more. I needed to bury myself in her warmth, to feel her tighten around me as she had around my fingers. I needed physical proof that her promises weren't just for comfort.
I flipped her with more gentleness than I thought myself capable of, settling her on her back where I could see her face, her eyes half-lidded and dazed, cheeks flushed with lingering pleasure.
“Just lie back,” I soothed, already reaching for the condom I'd stashed in the ottoman.
When I moved Sierra in, I went around stashing condoms in every nook and cranny of this penthouse.
“I want you coming until you forget everything but my name.”
I sheathed myself quickly, pushing my sweatpants down just enough to free my cock, too desperate to bother with undressing. The head nudged against her entrance, already slick and swollen from her first orgasm.
Despite her readiness, she was still tight, so fucking tight that I had to lock every muscle to keep from driving into her with brutal force. I entered her with torturous slowness, watching her face contort with pleasure tinged with the slightest edge of pain.
“Fuck,” I groaned as I bottomed out, her walls gripping me like she never wanted to let go. “So tight, sweet girl. You're choking me.” The words were inadequate compared to the emotions swirling through me, but they were all I had.
I started slow, drawing almost completely out before sinking back in with a control that made my muscles tremble. Each stroke was measured and deliberate, hitting deep inside her, making her gasp and arch.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, urging me deeper, her thighs spreading even wider. I braced myself on the backrest, watching her face as my other hand found her clit, circling it in rhythm with my increasingly urgent thrusts.
“Mine,” I growled with each snap of my hips, claiming her with my body as thoroughly as I'd claimed her with my heart. “My little pussy. My everything.”
She moaned beneath me as she came, her body arching off the couch, her walls clenching around me in rhythmic pulses. The sight of her surrender, head thrown back in complete abandon, my name on her lips, shredded my last thread of control.
I couldn’t hold back as I buried myself to the hilt, my entire body locking as I came inside her, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain radiating from the base of my spine.
We collapsed together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and ragged breathing, her head tucked beneath my chin where I could feel her breaths gradually slowing against my throat. I traced patterns on her damp skin, possessive even in the aftermath, needing to mark her with my touch.
“I want to eat my sweet girl's breakfast now,” I murmured against her temple, inhaling the scent of sex and lavender that clung to her skin.
I'd ignored her carefully prepared meal in my desperate need to reclaim her, to reassure myself that my confessions hadn't driven her away, but I was ready for it now.
She nodded, her cheek rubbing against my chest like a contented cat. “Okay.”
Her food was fucking divine, I’d eat dirt if it came from those hands, but the pancakes she'd made before our earlier interruption were perfect.
I spent most of the afternoon finding excuses to hold her against me, to keep her close as if she might vanish if I blinked. It was enough to make me momentarily forget my plans for tonight, the reckoning that was coming now that the video wasn’t a threat.