Chapter 30 Raelynn #2
He crosses his arms over his chest, the movement pulling at the muscles in his abdomen, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower, firmer. “I’m only going to ask you once. Put the files away, Rae.”
The warning in his tone makes my pulse stutter.
“And if I don’t?”
The corner of his mouth curves—a dangerous ghost of a smile that makes my stomach flip.
“Do you really want to find out what happens if you don’t?”
The truth is, I do. God help me, I want to know.
Because I know exactly what he’s doing, he’s trying to distract me—to pull me out of my own head, away from the endless loop of guilt and what-ifs.
Maybe that’s exactly what I need: to stop thinking, stop analyzing.
Maybe if I let him, it will clear my head.
Or maybe my mind will be so foggy from whatever he has in mind that I’ll stop worrying about the threat looming over my life, even if it’s for a minute.
“Don’t make me ask again,” he warns, the quiet authority in his voice sparking heat low in my belly. Deciding to play his game—to test him—I ignore his warning and keep my eyes on the papers, feigning focus, pretending his presence isn’t unraveling every ounce of resolve I have left.
The silence stretches. Then—his sigh. Long, sharp, full of restrained irritation. It slices through the quiet, and I can’t stop the small, defiant smile tugging at my lips.
It lasts all of two seconds.
The file is ripped from my hand and thrown across the room. I gasp, looking up just as his shadow falls over me, and before I can even process what is happening, his hand is at my throat, not squeezing, just firm enough to startle me, to command my full attention as he hauls me off the couch.
“You’ll regret ignoring me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear, voice low enough to crawl under my skin.
Before I can form a reply, the world tilts.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, slinging me over his shoulder in one fluid motion. My hands press against his bare back, the heat of his skin seeping into my palms. A startled laugh escapes me—half protest, half disbelief—swallowed quickly by the sound of his footsteps thudding down the hallway.
“Emilio!” I squeal, somewhere between outrage and laughter.
He doesn’t answer. He only tightens his grip, his muscles shifting under my hands like coiled steel. My laughter dissolves into breathless protests, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
“Put me down!”
“Oh, I plan to,” he rumbles, his tone dark and thick with promise.
His hand swats once against the curve of my ass. I yelp, my body jolting from the contact. My skin burns where his palm lands, the heat spreading like wildfire through me. The sound of his low chuckle follows, dark and satisfied.
By the time he reaches his room, I’ve stopped pretending to struggle.
He drops me onto the bed without warning, the mattress catching me in a bounce that sends a gasp tearing from my throat. I push myself up on my elbows, ready to throw some kind of comeback at him—but the look in his eyes stops me cold.
There’s a storm brewing in them, a quiet, intense warning that sends a thrill of anticipation and fear coursing through me.
He’s on me before I can think—knees braced on either side of my hips, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His fingers thread through my hair, the grip firm and controlling, as he tips my head back. His mouth crashes into mine, and everything else disappears.
The noise in my head. The fear. The guilt. Gone.
The kiss is rough, desperate, and consuming.
His tongue finds mine, and I melt beneath him, answering with the same hunger.
My hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into warm skin and the edge of the bandage.
He winces when I squeeze, but he doesn’t stop.
He kisses me like he’s drowning, like I’m the air he’s been denied.
When he finally pulls back, I’m gasping, the air between us charged and heavy.
“Still think you can ignore me?” he murmurs, voice roughened, his breath ghosting across my lips.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I can only look at him. My thoughts are gone, scattered like the papers he threw.
He smirks, leaning in until his mouth grazes my ear. “That’s what I thought.”
His hand slips from my hair, tracing down my throat and chest to the hem of my shirt.
He takes his time lifting it. The movement is unhurried, deliberate, every inch designed to unravel me.
His knuckles graze my skin, the faint rasp of his calluses leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
The air seems to thicken, hum with energy.
I shiver, my body caught between surrender and the heat that’s building under my skin.
When he finally lifts the fabric, the soft brush of cool air kisses my bare skin and hardens my nipples to stiff peaks.
His fingers skim the base of my throat as he pulls the shirt over my head, and the small contact makes my pulse jump against his touch.
He chuckles—a low, rough sound that slides down my spine—as he tosses the shirt aside.
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, he just looks at me. The weight of his gaze is almost tangible, tracing the shape of me in reverent silence. “I’ll never get tired of looking at you,” he murmurs, voice husky.
Heat blooms across my cheeks, my pulse tripping faster.
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. My fingers drift down the planes of his stomach, his skin warm beneath my touch.
My fingertips trace the lines of his Adonis belt and stop at his waistband.
He watches me, a smirk ghosting his lips as I pop the eyelet of his jeans.
I am halfway done with his zipper when he stops me and catches my wrists, his grip gentle but firm.
“Always so eager.” He tsks as he pins them above my head, pressing them to the headboard.
The laughter that bubbles out of me fades the second I feel something cool and solid brush my skin. And then the soft, unmistakable sound of metal clicking breaks the quiet. My head snaps up, my mouth slack. The fucker handcuffed me.
I glance up at him, disbelief and something else mingling in my chest. “So that’s what you were doing when you walked in here,” I whisper.
He chuckles and nods as I give the cuffs a soft tug, my pulse spiking.
He leans close enough for me to see the glint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell me to stop,” he says softly, his thumb brushing under my jaw, voice low enough to vibrate against my chest. “And I will.”
I shake my head, voice barely a whisper. “Don’t.”
His lips curl into a devilish smirk, and he pulls back just enough to look at me properly, his gaze lingering on the metal around my wrists, then on my face.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as he rocks back onto his knees.
I watch as he finishes what I set out to do and slides his zipper down the rest of the way.
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth as he shoves both his jeans and boxers down, freeing his already hardened cock, pre-cum already beading on the tip, and I clench my legs together, but he shoves his knee in between them, forcing them apart.
I whimper softly, my fists clenching as he slowly begins to stroke his cock.
“Open that pretty little mouth of yours, Rae, I want to see that tongue of yours be put to good use.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks as I obey, opening my mouth. He angles himself closer, tracing my lips with the tip of his cock, smearing his pre-cum over them before he slides into my mouth. He groans as he pushes deeper, slowly, coating the length of his shaft with my saliva.
I gag when the head of his cock hits the back of my throat, his balls resting against my chin. He holds it there for a few seconds before pulling out, a string of saliva connecting to the tip. He smirks at me again and wraps his hand around his shaft and strokes it again.
“You want this?” he asks me, and I nod, pulling on the cuffs. “Use your words, baby,” he muses as he continues to stroke himself.
“Yes, please,” I whimper out.
He chuckles darkly and positions himself at my mouth again.
My lips part, and I slide my tongue out and flick it over the tip.
I lean forward and wrap my lips around it and swirl my tongue around.
Impatience gets the best of him, and he pushes in.
I drag my tongue along his shaft as I take him deeper.
He lets out a low groan and slowly starts to thrust, quickly picking up pace.
I gag each time his head hits the back of my throat.
After several seconds, he slows, then holds himself deep in my throat.
Then he abruptly pulls out, leaving me gasping.
The minute I catch my breath, his lips crash against mine.
He kisses me ferociously, his tongue invading my mouth, claiming every inch of it.
I moan into his mouth, which only seems to drive him madder.
He nips at my bottom lip, then begins to trail hot kisses down my jaw and over my throat, nipping gently as he goes.
He continues to move further down until he stops at my breasts.
He palms both, kneading them between his hands as his tongue alternates between nipples.
His tongue flicks over both hardened peaks before sucking one into the heat of his mouth, and I arch beneath him, a moan escaping my lips.
My nipple pops free from his mouth, and he looks at me, his golden eyes dark with lust. “Who do you belong to?” he asks me, his voice low. His thumb brushes the nipple that just left his mouth.
“You,” I breathe out.
“Mmm, that’s right, and don’t forget it.” He chuckles as he presses his lips between the valley of my breasts. His tongue slips free, and he drags it down my stomach, his hands following the curve of my waist, until he reaches the waistband of my panties.
“You’re so wet for me, Rae,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing at my folds over the fabric.
I squirm and buck into him, need coursing through me. “Please,” I whimper.