Chapter 19 #3
“Turn over,” he commands, splaying his fingers across my stomach, showing off how large his hands are before they slide down to my back.
My limbs feel like water, but with his help, I manage to flip over. The sheets are damp beneath me, twisted and ruined, and the air is thick with the smell of sex. His hands grip my hips, hauling me roughly onto my hands and knees, and then he’s slamming back into me from behind with no warning.
“Fuck!” I yelp. The angle is deeper this way, almost too deep, and I fist the sheets as he sets a punishing rhythm.
I can feel him everywhere—the bruising grip of his fingers on my hips, the slap of his thighs against the backs of mine, the impossible depth of him hitting places I didn’t know existed.
“You should see yourself, darlin’.” His hand slides up my spine, pressing between my shoulder blades until my chest hits the mattress.
The position arches my back further, tilting my hips up, and the next thrust makes me see stars.
“Face down, ass up, taking everything I give you. Prettiest thing I ever did see.”
I moan into the pillow, beyond words, beyond thought.
There’s only sensation—the relentless drive of his cock, the burn of overworked muscles, the slap of his hips against my arse, the obscene wet sounds of our fucking.
My knees ache against the mattress, my throat raw from moaning, and I don’t care. Nothing exists outside of this.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Rub that sweet clit for me. I want to watch.”
I snake a hand beneath me, finding my swollen clit, and the first brush of my fingers makes me jerk. I’m so sensitive, so close already—the bud is slick and hot beneath my fingertips, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
“That’s it.” His pace increases, brutal, devastating. “Play with yourself while I fuck you. Show me how you like it.”
I rub frantic circles over my clit, my whole body trembling on the edge.
My arm is shaking from holding myself up, my wrist bent at an awkward angle, and the pistoning drive from his hips is relentless, making me slip.
The pleasure is building so fast, I can barely breathe.
His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back, and the sting sends a bolt of electricity straight to my core.
“Come, darlin’,” he growls. “Right now. Come on my cock like a good girl.”
The orgasm detonates.
I scream his name, or at least try to, but it comes out broken, fractured, as wave after wave of pleasure tears through me.
My inner walls clamp down on him, spasming, milking, and I hear him swear viciously behind me.
My fingers are still working my clit, drawing it out, and I can feel the contractions rippling through my entire body—thighs, stomach, places I didn’t know could clench.
“Fuck—fuck, so tight when you come—”
He slams deep and goes rigid, a groan ripping from his chest. I feel him pulse inside me, hot and wet, filling me just like he promised.
The sensation triggers another aftershock, my body clenching around him, drawing out every last drop.
I can feel the warmth spreading inside me, the twitch of him as he empties himself, and something primal in me thrills at being marked this way.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then, he pulls out slowly, and I collapse onto the mattress, completely boneless.
The sheets are cool against my overheated skin, and I can feel the mess of us between my thighs, his release already starting to leak out of me.
I’m vaguely aware of him moving, leaving the bed, returning with something warm and damp.
A washcloth, I realize, as he gently cleans between my thighs.
I hiss when the cloth touches tender flesh.
“Sore?” His voice is soft now.
“A bit,” I say, still breathless.
He moves the cloth again and pauses. “You’re bleeding a little.”
I knew I might. I thought maybe my past vibrator usage would have taken care of that, but this man’s cock thoroughly wrecked me. There’s something vulnerable about hearing him say it, though, about knowing my body is marked, changed, forever.
For good.
“It’s normal,” I manage. “For…for the first time.”
“I know,” he says with a soft, wry smile, the kind that tells me he’s had more than enough experience in that department but doesn’t want to tell me how many women he may have deflowered before me.
He finishes cleaning me with excruciating gentleness then tosses the cloth aside and gathers me into his impossibly strong arms. “I just wish I hadn’t hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” I curl against his chest, my head fitting perfectly under his chin. His skin is still damp with sweat, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my ear. “I mean—it hurt a bit at first, but the good kind.”
The kind that means something, I want to say, but I don’t want to sound like a sap, the kind of girl who gets overly attached after her V-card is taken.
“Still.” He presses a kiss to my hair, so tender, it makes my heart flutter against my ribs. “Next time, I’ll be more careful.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” I tilt my head up to look at him. “I don’t want careful. I want you exactly as you are.”
Something changes in his expression, something unguarded that makes my chest ache.
“You have me,” he says quietly. “God help you, but you have me.”
And that’s when I start to fucking cry.
Not delicate, pretty tears, but ugly crying, the kind I haven’t done since I was a child.
Sobs that rack my whole body, tears streaming down my face onto his chest. I’m horrified, mortified, but I can’t stop.
I’m losing control. My shoulders are shaking, my nose is running, and I’m a pathetic mess of a girl.
“Hey, hey.” He shifts beneath me, hands cupping my face. “What’s wrong? Was it too much? Did I—”
“No.” I shake my head, tears still falling, feeling stupid. “No, it’s not—you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what, darlin’? Talk to me.”
How do I explain it? How do I tell him I’ve spent fifteen years believing I would never have this?
That every time I wanted someone, I had to push them away, because wanting meant killing and touching meant death?
That I’ve spent more than half my life convinced I was a monster who could never be held, never be wanted, never be had?
How many times I’ve told myself I will always, forever, be alone?
“I’ve never…” I hiccup through the sobs. “No one’s ever—I couldn’t…”
The words won’t come, but he seems to understand anyway, even though there’s no way in hell he ever could know the truth. Even if he did, he still wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be me.
“Shhh.” He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
And then, he does something that breaks me open entirely.
He leans down and licks the tears from my cheeks, soft, warm swipes of his tongue, catching each drop as it falls.
The salt of my sorrow sits on his lips, taken into him, absorbed.
It’s strange and intimate and unbearably tender, and it makes me cry harder, even as something warm blooms in my chest. Those tears should be poison, and yet he’s drinking them like they’re an antidote.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper when the sobs finally slow to hiccups, then to silence. “I don’t know how to be this.”
Little half-truths that fall around us like snow.
“Be what?”
“Soft.” The word sounds foreign. “Vulnerable. Whatever this is.”
“This,” he says slowly, “is two people who are probably making a terrible mistake.” His arms tighten around me. “But I’m having a hard time caring about that. How about you?”
I know I totally should care. About the mission, about Kat’s warnings, about everything I’m risking by lying in this bed with this man, my body still aching from the imprint of him, my heart doing dangerous, stupid things I never gave it permission to do.
“No,” I admit. “I don’t think I care either.”
His smile is soft against my hair. “Good. Then we’re in this together.” A beat. “You should go pee.”
I jerk my head back and give him an incredulous look.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just a thing you should do after,” he says, completely earnest. “Helps prevent UTIs.”
I stare at the utmost sincerity on his face for a moment before I burst out laughing.
How this man can be a genetically enhanced super soldier who leaps tall buildings in a single bound while also fucking the daylights out of me while also telling me how to prevent UTIs is something else. “Where on Earth did they find you?”
He shrugs. “The Wild West.”
Giggling, I get out of bed and head to his sprawling, spa-like washroom to do my business.
When I look at my reflection in the mirror, it’s like I don’t recognize the person staring back at me.
It’s not just that I look totally wrecked, because I do, and I’m used to looking like a different person for each mission, a way to ensure there is no one version of myself.
What I’m looking at is a new version of Mia, maybe the first glance at my true self in a long time, the one I’ve kept buried underneath.
What other things will this man unlock?
When I’m done, I pad barefoot across the bedroom, taking in the sight of his gorgeous body on the bed, all hard lines and carved muscle, taking up so much space, those sheets draped over his arse and thighs like a sculpture waiting to be unveiled.
He gives me a lazy half-smile, his eyes barely open as he beckons me with a finger.
Giddy. I’m fucking giddy like a schoolgirl.
Well, and horny too.
I crawl back on the bed, snuggling up to him.
We lie there in silence for a while, his heartbeat steady against my ear, his fingers tracing abstract patterns on my skin.
The sheets beneath us are ruined—between sweat and…
other things—and I’m going to be sore tomorrow.
I can already feel the tender ache between my thighs, the slight sting from his cock stretching me open.
My muscles are heavy, spent, and there’s a pleasant throb in places I’ve never felt before.
“Stay,” he murmurs eventually. “Today. Tonight. Stay with me.”
I should say no, put distance between myself and this man who’s unraveling me so completely.
“Okay,” I whisper instead. So much for self-control.
His arms tighten, and I feel him smile against my hair.
I am in so much trouble.