Chapter 8 #2
“I had no fucking choice,” he snaps and with both hands pivots me, pulling my back against him, pinning my arms to my chest with his, lips low against my ear.
“If I didn’t take you, she would have. And I’ve survived hell more than once, Sophia, but that’s something I won’t survive.
I don’t want that fucking woman anywhere near you.
So I took you, but I never, and this I swear to you, I never wanted you to fall in love with me.
That’s the last thing I fucking wanted.”
“Well, too bad, because I did,” I murmur. “Somewhere between being locked in that house and those fucking pink lollipops, I fell for you, and it hurts.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice fractures. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”
“I hate it,” I choke out, voice thick and broken. “I hate all of it. I hate that you took me. Hate that you left me. I hate that you were right. I hate that I understand why you did it, and I still hate it so much it feels like it’s tearing me apart.”
“Jesus, Sophia.”
“It’s not fair.” I sink back against him, crying like my soul has been cracked open, like I’m bleeding out and I don’t know how to stop it. “You had no right to make me fall in love with you.”
“I know.” His breath brushes my neck, and a shiver wracks through me. “I know, baby.” His lips press against my shoulder, warm, and when his tongue touches my skin, my legs quiver.
“You’re going to leave me again, aren’t you?” I whisper.
A long silence stretches between us, filled only with the wind and the distant hum of the city far below.
“Not tonight,” he murmurs against my collarbone. It’s not enough, but somehow, somewhere deep, it’s enough…for now. “I’ll do everything in my power,” he says carefully, voice rough with emotion, “to make sure there’s never a reason to.”
Whatever’s left of the anger dissolves in the devastating way of things that were never really about anger in the first place. All that’s left is relief so sharp it hurts. Need so deep it feels like it might swallow me whole.
His fingers find my throat and force my face up and to the side.
With a single, leisurely stroke of his tongue, he licks the tears from my cheek, then kisses the corner of my mouth, slow and hungry, until my lips part and I let him back in.
This time the kiss is sharper, possessive, the kind of kiss that bruises because it’s about proving a point—not to me, but to himself. That I’m here. That I’m his.
I gasp, caught between pleasure and agony, and he mouths against my jaw, voice dark and trembling, “I need you.”
A broken moan slips from my lips when he palms my breast, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
His thumb drags over my nipple through the thin fabric, circling, teasing, then pinching until the sharp jolt shoots straight to my clit.
He swallows every sound I make, kissing me deeper, filthier, until my lungs burn and my head spins and all I can do is melt back against his chest, drowning in the taste of months of starvation.
“I missed your taste,” he rasps, voice wrecked and raw. “Missed the way you sound when I touch you.”
He tears through the mesh keyhole of my dress with a vicious rip, yanking the fabric aside to expose my breast completely. His hand cups it possessively, skin on skin, rough and trembling as he rolls my nipple between his fingers until I’m arching back into him with a desperate whimper.
“Goddammit, woman.” His hips roll against my ass, letting me feel the thick, heavy length of his cock straining against his pants, rock-hard and throbbing for me. “I’ve been dying for you, Sophia. It’s like I can’t breathe. I want inside you so much it hurts.”
“Then do something about it,” I rasp, voice shaking with need.
That’s all it takes. That’s all the permission he needs.
He snarls—a low, feral sound that vibrates through his chest into my back—and shoves my skirt up around my waist with impatient hands.
His fingers dive between my legs, yanking my soaked panties to the side.
The groan he lets out when he drags two thick fingers through my dripping slit is so deep and animal it feels like a tongue against my clit.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Your pussy’s making such a mess for me already and I’ve barely touched you.”
He sinks two fingers into me without warning, curling them hard against that perfect spot while his other arm bands tight around my waist, holding me flush against his chest. I cry out, hips jerking, but he holds me in place, fucking me with his fingers while his mouth latches onto my neck, my ear, biting and sucking like he wants to mark every inch of me as his.
“Nazareth—please—”
He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving me empty and aching, clenching around nothing.
Before I can even whimper at the loss, he pushes me against the cold concrete parapet, the city lights sprawling dizzyingly far below us.
He hooks my panties around his thumb, pulling them to the side, and I’m barely breathing when I hear the sound of his zipper, my pussy already throbbing, body primed to be filled.
“Hands on the ledge,” he growls, voice dark and fraying at the edges. “Don’t let go. I can’t be gentle with you. Not tonight.” Then hooks one strong hand under my thigh, lifting my leg, spreading me wider from behind.
I barely have time to brace my palms on the rough concrete before I feel the blunt, scorching head of his cock drag through my soaked folds—once, twice—teasing, torturing, coating himself in my slick.
Then he slams into me in one brutal thrust, my heel lifting off the ground.
A raw, broken cry tears from my throat as he buries himself to the hilt from behind.
The new angle is devastating—deeper, harder, the raised leg and the way he’s bent me over the parapet letting him drive impossibly deep.
My back arches sharply, tits pressed against the cold stone, ass tilted up for him like an offering.
“Fuck—Sophia—” His voice is completely wrecked, his breathing labored, and the sound does something to me. Amps up the heat, makes me wetter, catapults me toward orgasm so fast, so intense, it blurs the edges of my vision.
“Faster,” I beg, needing the release more than I need air. “Faster, please.”
The hand holding my panties to the side grips my hip hard enough to bruise as he starts fucking me with zero control—savage, punishing strokes that slap loudly against my ass with every brutal thrust.
We’re both completely lost and out of control. My pussy’s so drenched, the sound of him fucking me is obscene, and my clit is throbbing, my whole body alive and desperate and singing for him.
“Christ… you’re dripping down my cock before I’ve even fucked you properly. That’s how bad you need me, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I pant, fighting the urge to reach back, to touch him. “I need you so fucking much.”
“God, you feel too good,” he groans, hips snapping faster, deeper. “This tight little hole is gushing for me like it knows who it belongs to.”
Every savage thrust rocks my whole body forward, my raised leg trembling violently as he rails me from behind, the way his cock curves inside me makes me dizzy.
“I can’t stop,” he groans against my ear, voice hoarse and desperate. “And I can’t last long. You gotta come, Sophia.”
He lets go of my panties, and they snap against my ass, the sting slamming into my core. His arm wraps around my waist, and the second he touches my clit, the world explodes—heat, electricity, an implosion behind my pubic bone that leaves me clenching helplessly around him as I come.
I cry out—don’t even try to swallow it. Every muscle trembling, every nerve ending on fire, too much sensation all at once, so sharp and desperate it borders on pain.
“Fuck, it feels good, you coming around my cock.” His pace turns feral.
Short, brutal thrusts that punch the air from my lungs.
The wet slap of skin on skin grows louder, filthier, echoing across the rooftop as he pounds into me from behind, hips slamming against my ass over and over like he’s trying to fuck three months of agony out of both of us.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he demands, voice breaking as he drives even deeper, grinding against that spot that makes my eyes roll back. “Tell me this pussy still belongs to me.”
“I’m yours,” I pant, barely able to form words. “Always. Always yours… Nazareth.”
The second his real name leaves my lips, something in him snaps completely.
A guttural, broken sound rips from his chest—half growl, half moan—and he slams into me one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go.
His hips stutter violently as he comes, flooding me with hot, thick ropes of cum. Pulse after desperate pulse, he fills me until it’s too much, spilling out around his cock and running down my thighs in warm, messy trails.
He doesn’t stop moving. He keeps grinding slow and deep through his orgasm, like he can’t bear to pull out, like he needs to stay buried inside me forever. His forehead drops between my shoulder blades, his entire body shaking against mine as he rides out every last wave.
He stays locked deep, hips giving tiny, involuntary thrusts as the last pulses drain from him, his cum leaking steadily down my leg and onto the concrete below. For a long moment, the only sounds are our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city far beneath us.
I’m still struggling to catch my breath, sweat slipping down my spine when his fingers bracket my throat, and he pulls my head back, both of us breathless.
“I’m not capable of love,” he whispers hot against my ear. “But if I were…it’s you, Sophia Sinclair. Always you.”