Chapter 15 #2
I bring my cock to her entrance, but I torture us both by letting the head slide through her folds.
She wriggles against me as I let my cock pulse against her sensitive clit, tease her by shifting away and denying her, letting my cock pulse at her entrance without ever penetrating her.
I tease her until we’re both panting, our muscles coiled so tightly that we could shatter each other with a single movement.
In that moment I don’t care about the consequences of what we’re doing. I can’t stop to think that I only just met her. That we’re strangers. That once we do this, there isn’t any going back.
All I can think about erasing the ache we’ve carried around for our entire lives, because for me, she was everything I had no idea I needed. No idea I was waiting for.
I wait until she’s howling with need, her body writhing under me, her nails scratching over my shoulder, her legs wrapped around my waist, before I thrust up into her with a single, hard stroke.
Leena vibrates below me. She trembles and she lets out a whimper of pain as I realize that it didn’t feel right. That thrust. There was too much resistance. I tore something inside of her.
Not because I was too rough, though I was.
My head flies up and my eyes snap open. Hers are screwed tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners, streaming into her velvet brown hair. Her teeth are sunk deep into her lower lip and her nostrils flare violently with every breath straining her heaving chest.
“What the fuck?” I breathe, very aware that my cock is still hard, still throbbing inside of her far too tight heat. “Leena?”
She doesn’t answer me and I resist the urge to fucking shake her so hard that her head bounces off the floor.
“Leena! Are you… were you a goddamn virgin?”
Her eyes fly open and she looks at me through those damp, starred lashes and I know the fucking truth before her lips even move to form the word.
Yes. Yes, she was a damn virgin, and she didn’t say a fucking thing.
She let me plow up into her like a cold, unfeeling son of a bitch.
I promised myself my entire life that I wouldn’t be one of those men.
A man who takes what they want, who steals it from someone innocent, without them wanting or understanding it.
I might have fucked a lot of women in my old life, done it uncaringly and unthinkingly, but even coked out of my mind, I always made sure they had a good time and that they knew what they were getting themselves into.
I can’t force a single word as I stare into her horrified eyes, so wide and dark that almost all the green and gold is banished.
I pull out quickly fumbling with my jeans. I zip them shut so savagely that I nearly catch my dick in my zipper.
Which honestly, might be doing the world a fucking favor.
Because my phone has perfect fucking timing, it goes off in my back pocket, a shrill ring rending the charged, rage-infused air between us. Leena presses her lips together into a hard line when I grip the phone and slam it to my face.
“What?” I growl, trying to ignore how she’s tugging her fucking nightgown down over her slender thighs, hiding the evidence of what just happened.
“You’re a real prick in the morning, you know that?” Edge’s deep voice carries over the line. “Steel is calling us in. Viking and his fucking shithead sons are coming down from Jacksonville. We all need to be at the clubhouse.”
“Already?”
“Yeah. Already. Before any more bad blood has time to percolate between us.”
“Does it matter to him that he might be punishing an innocent man?”
“Does it matter to you that he wants to avoid a bloody battle that takes out half of our men, maybe extends to the borders of Helena and into our own households? Gage is willing to do this to keep that from happening, innocent or not.”
“Fuck.”
“Bye to you too, sunshine.”
Before I even pull my phone away from my face, the line is dead.
I slam it back into my pocket before I storm out of the attic.
The tiny little useless stairs shake madly as I force my way down.
In my rage, renewed tenfold because of the shit going down with Gage, I nearly make it to the front door, my hand wrapped around the knob, when Leena’s voice raises the hair on the back of my damn arms.
“Wraith!”
I turn slowly, my skin prickling, my stomach churning, my thighs aching because my damn traitor cock is still fucking rock fucking hard.
Horror paints her face, but despite it, her shoulders are back.
Her jaw ticks as she bites down hard, grinding her teeth the way I often do.
Her pulse point slams at her neck, a neck that I’ve painted not with my artist’s brush, but with my mouth, my tongue, and my teeth.
Red and purple welts and blotches bloom over her pale skin, disappearing under the neckline of her nightgown.
Her eyes are wells of uncertainty and deep seated sadness.
I want to wrap my arms around her and banish that doubt and sorrow with brutal kisses.
Even though I fucking regret how I just took her, raw, like an animal, like she was experienced enough to want, misused her, my own fucking wife, I want to do it all over again and I hate myself for it.
“You can’t leave,” she whispers, her voice like dark satin sliding over my skin, enveloping me and wrapping over the braided wounds of my torn soul.
It terrifies me that even when I try and shut her out, she can still reach straight through to the darkest, most vulnerable part of me.
Her quiet voice, filled with everything she’s struggling so hard to contain, but lacking judgment, the one thing she sure as hell has a right to, makes me feel like I’m going to explode like a damn grenade, blow the house down around us, tear us both to shreds with the shrapnel.
This is what I fucking get for being a fuckwit who thinks with his dick and not with his damn head.
“You- uh- your jacket. You can’t go there without your jacket.”
I blink. I realize that I’m standing there in my t-shirt and jeans. My jacket is still draped over its chair in the bedroom.
“I’ll get it.” Her eyes are liquid pools of tenderness. I want to drown in them, but I tear mine away. I don’t have the right to look her in the eye.
All I can do is breathe hard, in unmeasured, wild breaths, until she gets back, my heavy leather carried reverently between her little palms.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. I don’t give her the chance to voice whatever it is that she has to say. We don’t have time. If there’s an absolution on her tongue, I know I don’t deserve it, and I can’t bear to hear it.
I take the leather from her, careful not to brush her skin. “Look after Abby for me. Everything you need is in the kitchen cabinets.”
I leave her standing there, eyes burning and brimming over with sadness and pain, not for herself, but for me, a man who just used her in the basest, unholiest of ways.