Chapter 25 #2
“Jesus Christ,” he said, because he had no other words for what she did to him.
She just grinned, feral and bright, and shoved herself upright on the bench. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in hard, grinding against his cock, which still strained obscenely from his half-unzipped pants. He was desperate to be inside her, but he wanted her to ask for it.
No, to beg for it.
He could feel the need boiling off her skin, the way her hands trembled as she pushed his pants down, the way her eyes didn’t leave his for even a second, as if she was afraid if she blinked he’d be gone.
She palmed his cock, lined him up, and whispered, “Give it to me. All of it, Elliot. Don’t be gentle.”
He should have slowed it down, asked her if she was sure, asked himself if he was sure, because he would be the one walking away from this with a broken heart.
But all rational thought had fled.
He braced her thighs open and slid into her in one hard, claiming thrust. She was so fucking tight, so wet, that he could barely get all the way in at first. Her breath caught, fingernails cutting crescent moons into his shoulders.
He pulled back, slow, letting her feel every inch, and then fucked into her again, harder. Her head thumped the tile, and she gasped, but didn’t flinch. If anything, she bore down, taking him even deeper.
“More,” she gasped. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”
He withdrew all the way and turned her so that she was braced on her knees, facing the wall.
Rue arched her back, pushed her ass out, and looked at him over her shoulder. “C’mon, Wilde. Pull my goddamn hair and fuck me like you mean it. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
He gripped her hips and slammed into her—no preamble, no apology, just a rough, relentless thrust that made her shout.
The bench creaked under them, and she braced herself on the slick tile, fingers splayed as if to claw her way through the fucking wall.
He set a brutal rhythm, hips pinning her in place, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing off the cracked tile.
Her pussy gripped him like a vise, clenching down with every stroke, and when he reached up and dug his hand in her hair, she let out a laugh so wild and raw it made his balls tighten.
“You like being fucked like this?” he asked, voice shredded.
“God, yes. Harder. Fuck me like you mean it.”
He set his jaw and gave her exactly what she asked for.
He fucked her hard—no hesitation, no mercy.
She moaned and egged him on with every piston of his hips, her ass colliding with him at just the right angle, the sound obscene even over the still-running water.
Her slick heat milked him, and every time he bottomed out she snarled his name like it was a challenge.
He didn’t hold back. He braced one hand against the tile above her, the other digging into her hip to keep her steady while he drove into her over and over.
The slap of bodies and the wet, filthy sounds echoed through the shower.
Each thrust sent a jolt straight up his spine, coiling pressure at the base of his skull.
Her skin was hot and slick under his hands, her muscles tightening with every rough stroke.
He reached around and rubbed her clit, hard circles, just the way she liked it. She arched and bucked, pushing back onto his cock like she was trying to buck him off.
“You fucking savage,” she panted. “You going to come in me, Elliot? Is that what you want? Fill me up and see if I can still walk after?”
That nearly undid him, and he had to grit his teeth, sweat running cold down his temples. He pumped her harder, chasing the edge.
“Do it,” she groaned. “I want to feel you dripping out of me all night. Ruin me, Wilde. Make it impossible for me to forget you.”
He slammed into her, every muscle in his body burning, every nerve screaming for release.
She clamped down on him, hips jutting back to meet every thrust, and when she came again, it was violent—her hands scrabbling at the wall, her body going rigid, then shuddering as a fresh wave of wetness coated his cock.
He couldn’t hold out any longer. He drove into her so deep he saw stars and let go of everything he’d been holding back since the first moment he realized he loved her.
Her moan filled the room as he spilled inside her, the pulse of it wracking him with shudder after shudder until he collapsed over her back, both of them panting, sweating, wrecked.
For a minute, maybe longer, all he could do was stare at the wall, forehead pressed into the cool tile, breathing in the smell of sex and steam and Rue.
His limbs felt hollowed out, emptied, but she was still braced beneath him, solid and alive.
He wrapped his arms around her middle, just to anchor himself.
He didn’t let go, not even after the trembling in Rue’s body faded.
He pressed her back flush to his chest, supporting her with one arm around her belly, the other trapping her hands where they’d slid to grip the bench for dear life.
Her breathing was ragged, her shoulders shivering with exhausted aftershocks, and he just stood there, buried in her, feeling the slow drip of sweat track down his spine as the adrenaline ebbed.
“That was—” she started, but words seemed to escape her.
“Stupid?” he suggested, reality seeping through the after-sex haze. He withdrew from her, the slide of their bodies making them both hiss, and stared down at his still half-hard cock, glistening with her juices.
They hadn’t used protection.
They’d gotten their clothes wet when they had nothing dry to change into.
There was no plan for what happened next, no clue how to fix this fucked up situation.
Rue turned toward him and rolled her eyes. “I’m on birth control.”
“That’s not what I was worried ab?—”
She shushed him with a finger to his lips. “This is the best I’ve felt in months, Wilde. Don’t ruin it by overthinking.”
“It’s my job to protect you,” he grumbled. “I’m not overthinking.”
“Yes, you are.” Her eyes softened as she patted his chest. “And I know you can’t help it. That’s just how you’re built, and it’s why I love you.”
Love.
His heart did a backflip behind his ribs.
He knew she only meant it in the platonic sense, the same way you love a reliable friend or your family.
But the words hit him like a physical blow anyway, because he’d been in love with her for so long that hearing even a casual version of it from her lips felt like salvation.
He swallowed hard, trying to find his footing in this new reality where they’d crossed every line he’d drawn between them. “Rue?—”
“Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t analyze this to death. Not yet.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he reached up and traced the edge of her jaw, letting his thumb linger where her pulse hammered beneath the skin. “You sure you’re okay? I wasn’t gentle.”
She said nothing at first and instead swept a wet strand of hair off his forehead, studying his face like she was trying to memorize it. “I’m okay, Elliot. I didn’t need or want gentle. I needed you to just—take, for once.”
Yeah, well, he’d done that.
And then some.
She shivered, and he watched goose bumps bloom over her skin.
“We need to get you warm.” He fastened his pants and walked away long enough to find the stack of towels he’d seen on the way in.
He grabbed several of them and returned to her, bundling her up.
She let him fuss, eyes drooping closed, not quite asleep and not quite awake.
He could see the exhaustion pounding through her, and it yanked at something inside him—some old, stupid part that believed he could fix her, if only for a night.
He eased her down onto the bench again, careful of her ankle, and gently started drying her off.
She was shivering hard now, so he worked fast, not even pretending not to check her fingers for signs of frostbite.
She didn’t have any, not really, but her circulation was crap, and her skin looked so pale and thin it made him want to punch a wall.
“You still with me?” he asked, kneeling in front of her and cupping her face. Her eyes were unfocused, and the edge of his thumb caught a stray tear or maybe a drop of shower water from the corner of her eye. She blinked at him, lashes half-clumped together, and nodded.
“Good. Sit tight. Gonna grab some supplies.” He tucked the towel more securely around her before quickly drying himself and pulling on his wet shirt.
The corridor outside was silent, the emergency lights casting long shadows that seemed to reach for him with ghostly fingers. He moved quickly, checking each room until he found several sets of thermal base layers, sweatshirts, and sweatpants, all blessedly dry.
When he returned to the shower room, Rue had curled up on the bench, towel clutched around her shoulders, staring at nothing. The sight punched a hole through his chest.
“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling beside her. “Found some clothes.”
She blinked, coming back to herself. “Thanks.”
He helped her stand, steadying her when she winced at the pressure on her injured ankle. The swelling had worsened during their... activities. He pushed away the flush of heat that threatened to rise at the memory.
“Let me help,” he said, holding out the thermal top.
She didn’t argue, which worried him more than any protest would have— Rue always fought assistance, even when she was bleeding out.
He eased the shirt over her head, then helped her into the pants, careful of her ankle. She was still moving sluggishly, so he made an executive decision and swept her into his arms.
She startled. “What?—”
“You’re hungry.” It had been hours since they had those packets of stew in the ice cave. “You’re exhausted and hurting. Let me take care of you.”
“Your shoulder?—”
“Is fine.” It wasn’t, and he was going to pay for this later, but at the moment, he didn’t give a flying fuck. It could fall off for all he cared. His only goal—his sole purpose—was to get her comfortable and safe. He’d deal with his own injuries later.
“Put me down,” she protested weakly, but her head was already resting against his shoulder, her body going lax in his arms.
“Not a chance.”
He carried her through the empty corridors, past the lab with its frozen horrors, to the common room, which was a smaller version of the one at Thwaites. Faded band posters decorated the walls, and a worn couch sat against one wall.
It was the closest thing to comfort they’d find in this place.
He set her down gently. The bruise on her cheek looked darker now, a stark contrast against her pale skin. Her ankle was badly swollen.
“Wait here,” he said, knowing full well she wasn’t going anywhere.
She made a noncommittal noise, already sinking into the cushions, exhaustion finally claiming her.
Elliot moved quickly through the station, looking for more supplies. He found more clothes in a locker room and took a moment to change out of his wet ones. A storage closet revealed more blankets, and a pantry room was stacked with cans of food.
All right. It wouldn’t be a gourmet dinner, but at least he had something more to work with than protein bars.
Just like at Thwaites, the common room had a kitchenette with a small camp stove. He checked the cabinets there and found a stash of candy bars and hot cocoa mix.
Even better.
Next, he tested the hot plate on the stove and was relieved to find it working—a miracle considering how long the station had been abandoned.
He rummaged through the kitchen drawers and found a battered saucepan. He dumped the hot cocoa mix into it with some water, then, on impulse, added a double handful of mini marshmallows from a half-empty bag in the back of the cabinet. He set the pan on the camp stove and flicked the lighter.
While it heated, he raided the first aid kit in the bathroom for painkillers and compression wrap. He took the extra time to search the medicine cabinet for anything useful—and found a half bottle of vodka, which he pocketed without thinking twice.
Back in the common room, Rue on the couch had managed to pull another blanket over her head.
The rest of her was limp, arms splayed across her stomach, her hands still trembling faintly.
He felt a fresh wave of guilt at having fucked her so hard with her ankle in that state, but seeing her curl in on herself like this was infinitely worse.
He wanted to give her more than hot cocoa and stew.
Wanted to build her a new world where Maren wasn’t dead and Praetorian didn’t exist and Rue Bristow could be wild without ever risking her heart.
He set the mug of cocoa down on the rickety table next to her, then knelt by the couch. “Hey. Trouble. Got you something.”
She groaned, rolling until her face emerged from the burrito of blankets.
Her hair was wild, sticking up in spiky clumps; her eyes were swollen and red, but she looked more herself than she had since finding Maren and the others.
He helped her sit up, tucked the blanket around her shoulders, and pressed the mug into her hands. She sipped, then made a face.
“Jesus, how much sugar is in this?”
He grinned. “A lot. Might even be more marshmallow than cocoa.”
“Perfect.” She slurped another mouthful and closed her eyes, hugging the mug with both hands.
He set about wrapping her ankle while she drank, working slow and careful.
She’d never say it, but he could feel how each touch made her wince; even so, she held rock steady and didn’t let go of the mug.
He checked her fingers for circulation again.
The frostbite scare seemed less urgent now, but her skin was still icy.
He finished the wrap, then rolled up a blanket to prop under her leg. “Keep that elevated. Doctor’s orders.”
That earned him a weak glare. “You’re not a doctor.”
“I was going to be.”
Finally, a spark of interest, of life, showed in her eyes.
“Really?”
“That was my plan when I started school, but…” He looked away, surprised by the sharp twinge of regret. “My family needed me. They needed a logistics guy, and I have a head for it, so I went into ROTC, got my degree in international relations, joined Naval Intelligence...”
“And never looked back?” she asked softly.
He shrugged. “Never saw much need for looking backwards.”