Chapter 7 #3
With a practiced swiftness, I kick my pants the rest of the way off before my legs hook around his waist again, and I take my time aligning him, my hand deliberately wrapping around the silken, iron-hard length of him.
I hold him at the precipice, teasing, savoring the desperate, twitching pulse of his need against my palm.
I want him to feel what I felt—the agonizing beauty of waiting.
Our eyes lock in the dim bar light, and I see everything I need reflected in his gaze. Raw adoration, desperation, a plea for absolution I have no intention of granting. A slow, wicked, devastatingly possessive smile curves my lips.
“This belongs to me now,” I whisper, the words sealing our fate.
With that, I choose for both of us. Using the powerful leverage of my legs wrapped around him, I buck my hips upward in a single, merciless surge.
The plunge is absolute, seamless, breathtaking.
A gut-punch of pleasure that robs me of breath and speech simultaneously.
My head flies back, a scream of pure, unadulterated joy ripping from my throat as I impale myself fully on my trophy.
We are joined—the hunter and her prey, locked in a perfect, brutal congress.
The primal fervor is a drug, and I am instantly addicted.
Every savage bite at my neck, every punishing thrust, is a litany I understand with my entire being.
He’s trying to crawl inside my skin, and God help me, I want to let him.
I feel it, too—that desperate, aching void that demands more than friction, more than pleasure.
My kisses against his scalp become open-mouthed, my moans vibrating against the shell of his ear as I cling to him.
My legs, locked around his waist, tighten with enough force to steal breath, attempting to fuse our bodies at the pelvis.
My hips roll and churn, no longer rising to meet his thrusts but matching them, grinding against him with a ferocity that borders on violence.
My hands rake down his back, nails carving red crescents into his slick skin. I’m searching for an anchor—something to steady me in this spinning universe—but the storm inside me is too fierce. The way he leans into each frantic touch tells me he’s savoring every second.
“Harder,” I snarl, the word ripped from my throat, raw and ragged.
His broken moans and urgent thrusts respond instantly, proof of how eager he is to chase his own release through my pleasure.
But I need more. I want him to erase the past. Erase the scars.
Erase the distance between us. I grip the back of his head, pull his face from my neck, and force him to meet my eyes.
Just when I think we are at the end, just when I think things can’t get any better, I feel his questing hand slide south to just above where our bodies are meeting in a frantic tug-of-war.
The added stimulation from his thumb is a tactical masterstroke.
It's a direct assault on my pleasure center, bypassing all higher thought and speaking a language of pure electricity.
A keening wail tears from my throat, a sound that is both agony and ecstasy.
The ferocious rhythm of our hips falters for a beat, overwhelmed by the pinpoint precision of his touch.
My vision whites out at the edges, every nerve ending firing at once.
At that moment, his white hot heat pours into me, both of us grasping the other for dear life as we reach our final climax in a synchronized display of intimacy.
I falter, going from rigid to boneless in an instant, my body resting against his massive frame.
Yet I still feel possessive, like I haven’t had sex, or made love, so much as finally found a worthy conspirator, one that I just laid claim to, that I intend to keep with me on a leash.
The idea is heady, the feeling is intoxicating, even as the painful realities of life start to bleed their way in. Oh, how I want to linger in this space, want to hold onto that dominance, but with each moment it slips further and further away.
And then, his body still penetrating mine, Manny pulls me close, his arms becoming a great shield to block out the sorrows of the world.
He’s not weeping, but something about him feels sullen, like there’s a pain in him too, and I instinctively find my hand caressing his back, stroking his hair.
Finally, somewhere between heavy gasps, I hear him finally utter the words, "How would anyone ever think you insignificant?”
A warm exhale escapes my throat as I try to place the thought, my mind sifting through recent memories, trying to understand how a man like this can even exist in the cruel modern world.
It’s not just that I want him, it’s the things he says, the way he makes me feel, that have earned him such a prized place in my mind.
In that moment, I think of compromise. I’m not chasing him, but if I only have a few more days here, I want to spend them with him.
“Are you free tomorrow?” The words sound so silly given the state we’re in.
Manny pulls back, trying to figure out who’s speaking in the dim den we are sharing.
“Like to hang out?” A warm smile tugs at his lips. “I can be.”
“Cool, it’s a date.”