Chapter 20 #2
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he growls against my hip, the words vibrating against my skin. “So ready.”
When he finally hooks his fingers in the waistband and drags the panties down my legs, the cool air kisses the heat of my core.
He doesn’t wait. His mouth replaces his hand, tongue sliding through my folds, slow, deliberate, savoring me like he’s starving and this is the first meal he’s had in days.
My cry shatters the silence as my body bows, my hands straining against his hold above my head.
“Emilio—” My voice splinters into a sob of pleasure as his tongue circles my clit, flicking, then sucking, the rhythm relentless until my thighs are quaking around his head.
He releases my wrists, and I claw into his hair, anchoring myself to him as he devours me. I can’t help myself, I grind against his face, willing his tongue to go deeper.
“So needy,” he groans against my pussy, the vibrations sending shivers down my spine.
I moan out a response, my hold in his hair tightening.
He chuckles and flicks his gaze up to me as he slides a finger into my pussy, then two, curling them just right until I cry out.
He pumps them in and out, steady at first, then faster, while his mouth latches back onto my clit.
Heat coils fast in my belly, winding tighter with every thrust of his fingers, every suck of his mouth.
“Oh god—” I gasp, my thighs clenching tightly around his head. “Please, don’t stop.”
The pressure builds, higher and higher, until the world narrows to nothing but the feeling of his fingers and the heat of his mouth.
The pressure inside me builds fast, unbearable, like a storm swelling with no release—until it finally detonates.
My orgasm rips through me, violent and all-consuming, wave after wave crashing over me until I’m screaming his name, my body splintering apart in his hands.
Emilio doesn’t stop. He keeps working me through it, his tongue and fingers merciless, wringing every last drop of pleasure from me until I collapse against the sheets, trembling, wrecked, breathless.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. He climbs up my body, his lips glistening with the evidence of my release, his golden eyes blazing.
“You taste divine,” he groans.
He presses his slick fingers to my lips, and my mouth parts without hesitation. My tongue curls around them, tasting myself on his skin. I suck them into my mouth, moaning around them as I clean him off, and the guttural sound that rips from his chest makes my pussy clench all over again.
His hips grind against my sensitive core, denim rough against my bare heat, and I whimper into his fingers.
The sight of him—his broad chest heaving, his pupils blown wide, his fingers buried in my mouth—has me aching, throbbing, desperate for more.
My hands fumble at his belt again, clumsy with need, and this time he doesn’t stop me.
His eyes stay locked on mine, molten and unblinking, as I free him from the confines of his jeans.
His cock springs free, hot and heavy in my hand.
He’s massive, thick, the length of him daunting, pre-cum already glistening at the tip.
My breath catches. I wrap my fingers around him, stroking once, twice, my thumb smearing the pre-cum along his velvety skin.
His head tips back, a deep groan tearing from his throat, his hips bucking into my hand like he can’t help himself.
He pulls his fingers free from my mouth, leaving a trail of saliva glistening down my chin, and grabs my thigh, hiking it high on his hip.
With his other hand, he positions himself, dragging the swollen head of his cock along my slit.
The friction makes me shiver, makes my breath stutter as he coats himself in my arousal, pausing just long enough to circle my clit until I’m whimpering beneath him, begging without words.
“Ready?” he asks, voice low and guttural, his restraint a thin thread I can see unraveling in his eyes.
I nod quickly, biting down on my bottom lip, nails digging into his shoulders.
And then he pushes forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
Stretching me open, inch by thick inch. The fullness steals my breath, the burn sharp, almost overwhelming, but it feels so fucking good—like he was made to fit inside me.
“Fuck, Rae…” His voice breaks, a growl torn from deep in his chest. His grip tightens on my thigh as he sinks deeper, bottoming out with a shudder. “You feel so fucking good.”
My nails rake down his back, desperate. “Move,” I whisper, then louder, pleading, “Please, Emilio. Move.”
He pulls back slowly, dragging against every nerve ending before he slams back into me hard enough to rattle the bedframe.
A strangled cry bursts from my throat. He sets a rhythm, each thrust harder, deeper, more brutal than the last, pounding into the spot inside me that makes my vision spark white.
Our mouths crash together again, messy and fevered, tongues tangling. His groans bleed into my moans, the sound of us filling the room, drowning everything else out—grief, silence, the world beyond these four walls.
He catches my hand mid-thrust, slamming it against the pillow above my head, his fingers entwining with mine as his pace grows rougher. His eyes blaze into mine, wild and unyielding.
“You’re mine,” he growls into my mouth, the words vibrating through me. “Every.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Part of you.” Thrust.
“Yes,” I gasp, my pussy clenching around him. “I’m yours.”
His free hand slides down between us, fingers finding my clit.
He circles it in time with his thrusts, the double assault sending my body spiraling, every nerve ablaze, every muscle straining.
I am unraveling fast, the coil in my belly tightening with each stroke, each touch, until I am right on the edge.
“Emilio—” His name breaks from me, ragged, strangled, as my second orgasm tears me apart. It hits like lightning, violent and consuming, my body arching off the bed as I clamp down on him, screaming into the night as I shatter for him again.
He doesn’t stop. He pounds into me, relentless, driving deeper with every thrust. His rhythm falters into something raw, ragged, desperate, until his control snaps.
With a guttural roar, he buries himself to the hilt and comes undone inside me.
His entire body shudders against mine, muscles tight as steel as he empties himself, his breath breaking in harsh, uneven bursts.
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. He stays pressed against me, heavy and unyielding, our chests rising and falling together in a chaotic rhythm. I can feel his heart hammering, wild and uneven, until gradually it begins to slow, syncing with the beat of mine.
His lips brush my temple, the faintest ghost of a kiss, and I close my eyes, breathing him in—cedar, citrus, sweat, and something entirely his. I want to memorize it, brand it into me.
After a while, he eases out of me, careful, almost reluctant, and I whimper at the loss.
He murmurs something soft against my skin, a curse, a prayer, maybe both, before pulling back just enough to look at me.
His golden eyes are still dark, but the hunger has faded, leaving behind something quieter, deeper.
“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse, roughened from growls and groans.
I nod, throat too tight for anything more. My thighs still quake, my body humming from the aftershocks, but it’s a sweetness I never want to end.
He brushes the damp strands from my forehead, his thumb lingering against my cheek. “Didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” My voice comes out soft, but firm. “You could never.”
The tension in his shoulders loosens. He dips down to kiss me again, slow this time, tender, lips lingering over mine in an unhurried promise. Nothing frantic, nothing urgent. Just him, giving and gentle.
When he finally rolls to the side, he doesn’t let me go.
His arm hooks around me and pulls me with him until I’m tucked against his chest. The sheets are tangled, the air thick with heat and sex, but his body wraps around mine like a cocoon.
My cheek rests over the steady thud of his heart, and for the first time in forever, the world feels still.
Max’s claws click faintly on the floor outside the bedroom door, a reminder of the world still spinning, but inside these four walls, there’s only us.
Emilio’s fingers trace slow patterns across my spine, lazy circles that send tingles down to my toes.
Each stroke calms me, lulling me into softness, my body slackening against him.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. “You’re mine. Every part of you. Not just your body.”
His words settle deep, wrapping around something fragile inside me. My eyes sting, but the tears that rise aren’t jagged this time—they soothe.
I press my lips against his chest, tasting salt, heat, him. “Then don’t ever let me go.”
“I won’t.” His reply is steady, resolute, carved into the air like a vow.
The silence that follows hums with warmth, threaded with the echo of everything we just shared. His hand keeps moving over my back, protective, constant, until my body slackens completely, exhaustion pulling me under.
For the first time since Khloe’s death, I let myself drift. Not into the emptiness that waits in the shadows, but into him. Into us.