Chapter 27 #2
I don’t answer him. I couldn’t even if I could get the words to form on my tongue.
My eyes feel as wide as saucers as he shoves me back into the grass.
If I were in my right mind, I’d push him away and tell him where he can shove his filthy mouth, but when he tugs off my boots, unbuttons and unzips my jeans, the only thing on my mind is a gentle buzzing that blots out absolutely everything else.
He’s here. He’s okay. He’s here.
His hand is scalding against my chilled skin as it slides into my panties. He reclines next to me, blocking out the path in case anyone were to wander out here, but due to the time of day, it seems unlikely. It doesn’t matter. All I want is for him to keep filling my thoughts with nothingness.
Just for a little while.
It’s the lightest touch of his middle finger against my clit, barely even a whisper of sensation, but it rockets through me like dynamite. I suck in a breath, the sound swallowed by the low roar of the wind, and my whole body tightens, muscles clenching in sweet anticipation.
A low chuckle rumbles close to my ear.
“Is that how it is? You’ve been waiting all day for me to come back?
And I thought I was a glutton for your attention.
Were you missing me while I was gone? Daydreaming schemes to piss me off enough that I’d come find you?
I don’t know how I feel about that, darlin’.
I’m supposed to be the one fighting for you to pay me any mind.
Is there a reason you want my hands on you now? ”
I lift my hips, unable to tell him to stop talking and start making me come.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of this.”
In my head, I scream at him to move, to apply pressure or drive his thick, long fingers inside me, but he keeps his touch teasing, rubbing my clit with practiced ease as though it’s not growing increasingly dark by the second.
The breeze teases the skin exposed by my hastily pushed-up shirt.
It makes me hyperaware of the fact that we’re in the middle of a popular tourist destination.
It’s remote, but not so much that people never wander along this path.
My heart pounds with the possibility of being caught.
I sob for breath even though he’s barely touching me at all.
The relief of my brain shutting off makes even those slightest sensations a thousand times more powerful.
Maybe it’s because I know the kind of person he is that makes it so easy to demand these depraved things from him.
Perhaps it’s because I have no illusions about what he’s capable of.
Aiden is a monster, a cold-blooded killer.
But he’s never hidden that from me, not even the night we met.
His mouth descends on my throat, his teeth nibbling at my jaw, then teasing my ear.
When his breath brushes against me, I shiver violently, causing his fingers to slip down.
Without conscious thought, I lift my hips to catch them and the slightest tip slips in.
That one small contact has my breath hitching.
“Naughty wife. Trying to take what I haven’t given you yet. Is that why you haven’t asked me? Because then you’d have to admit you can want someone like me? Because you’d have to admit a small part of you cares for me?”
His finger thrusts in the slightest bit, just enough to whet my appetite, to drive all rational thought from my mind. Yes. He’s emptying me out and filling me at the same time, and despite knowing how wrong it is, I’ve never wanted anything more in my fucking life.
“That’s okay. I know you want it. Want me to punish you for craving something so wrong?” I sob, and he takes it for the admission of guilt it is. “That’s what I thought.”
His thick, rough finger fills me, and the ache is so delicious it takes me a beat to realize it’s not just one, or two, but three. The stretch soothes something inside me, breaks something inside me so completely that my brain turns off.
Because that’s my terrible, horrible truth.
Despite what he’s capable of, despite what he made me do, I want him to erase my thoughts. Want the punishment of his hands, his mouth, his cock. His absolution and damnation all in one destructive collision.
When my cries grow so loud that I worry we may attract every tourist in the vicinity, Aiden seems to read my mind.
He flips me over, yanks down my jeans and underwear, and plants his hand in the grass in front of my face, his body hot and hard over me.
“Bite down if you can’t help the screams, Catriona. ”
Had I been screaming? Unable to muster up the perception needed to find out for certain, I do as I’m told and bite down.
The hot, salty taste of him fills my mouth.
I have one moment to suck in a bracing inhalation before his fingers are back, driving inside me with an abandon that cares nothing for if it hurts.
Because it does, but so deliciously that it draws tears from my eyes to streak down my cheeks.
The constant threat of being caught, even if his body hides most of what’s exposed, sends my arousal rocketing to new heights.
He twists his hand, fingers knocking against something vital and white-hot.
I forget to breathe, and it doesn’t escape his notice.
“That it, huh? Are you going to come for me? Soak my hand? Leave me smelling like you for hours until I’m forced to wash it off?
Come for me, and I’ll fuck you right here, where anyone could see. ”
That’s it. His words are the spark, and I’m the kindling. I tip my hips for him, arching my back, ready to accept the bone-melting pleasure.
In my desperation, I reach back for his shoulder, and he cries out, but it’s not a sound of pleasure.
“Aiden?” I ask, twisting to see his face. He pulls his fingers out and sits back on his haunches. A small, dark stain appears on his shoulder. I know I was clawing at him, but it wasn’t enough to draw blood. The desire that had been building in my stomach cools. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
His pupils are blown wide, mouth hard with desire and flinty with stubbornness. He puts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean at a leisurely pace that causes my stomach to twist with confusion and apprehension. Despite how erotic the sight is, the mood is ruined.
“The cottage,” he says, as I pull up my soaked underwear and my grass-stained jeans. “Not here.”
The ruined orgasm still flutters through my muscles, pulses sweetly through my veins, and I’m hyperaware of how wet I am as we move silently back to the path that leads to the house.
He stops at the gate to open the padlock that will allow us into the small cattle field where cows graze lazily on tall, sweet grass. He takes my hand and pulls me through the gate. I can’t stop looking at it wrapped around mine as he practically drags me from the cliffs back to the cottage.
My name, permanently marked onto his skin. My ring on his finger. I shouldn’t like anything about it, but it makes something inside me twist with pleasure. It feels a lot like claiming someone. Having power over them. And for someone who has had very little power, it’s an addictive thought.
Dangerous.