Chapter 18 #2
Behind us, Ian starts the engine of his car, the sound of gravel being crunched under tires as he drives away, giving us the only thing he can give us right now—a moment that belongs entirely to us, the longing and missing each other finally, briefly, gloriously over.
I don't let go of his jacket.
He doesn't let go of my face.
Ian’s car disappears down the road, taillights swallowed by the dark.
“Are you okay?” I search his face.
“I’m okay now.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Kisses my temple.
“Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”
“Not anymore.” He kisses below my ear, fingers in my hair now.
“I missed you,” I whimper.
He pulls my hair back, and I gasp, lips brushing my throat. “I bled you, Cherry-red.”
My heart expands. My knees go weak. And Reth’s arms snake around my waist, and he yanks the back door open and practically throws me inside.
I barely have time to register the cool leather before he’s on me, crowding into the back seat and slamming the door behind us.
His mouth crashes into mine again—wild, devouring, weeks of longing pouring out in one bruising kiss. Teeth and tongue and desperation. I kiss him back just as hard, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like I can crawl inside his skin if I try hard enough.
His hands are everywhere at once—rough, desperate, shaking with the same need that’s clawing through my own chest. He drags me across the back seat until I’m straddling his lap, my knees sinking into cool leather on either side of his thighs.
Our kissing is violent—tongues sliding deep, wet and filthy and starving.
I taste salt from my own tears and underneath it the dark, familiar flavor of him that I dreamed about every single night.
The moans into his mouth he swallows like he’s been dying for the sound.
“Saying I missed having you like this doesn’t cover it.” He nips at my lip, and I moan, fingers already making work of his belt and zipper.
“I’ve missed you, too. You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I do. Sweet Jesus,” he breathes as I wrap my hand around his cock, and he works his pants down past his knees. Heat explodes everywhere when our thighs touch, skin on hot skin.
His fingers fist in the hem of my dress and yank it upward in one brutal motion. Fabric scrapes over my skin as he rips it off me, tossing it somewhere into the front seat without looking. Cool air kisses my bare breasts and I shiver hard, nipples tightening instantly under the weight of his stare.
His palms slide up my ribs, cupping my breasts roughly, thumbs dragging over my nipples until I arch with a broken cry.
“You’ve barely touched me and you’re already driving me mad.”
“Good. Because you’re fucking killing me like this.”
His mouth covers my nipple—hot, wet—sucking one tight peak between his lips while his hand squeezes the other. The contrast of his teeth grazing sensitive skin and the slow, filthy pull of his tongue makes my hips jerk.
I’m already soaked. Aching. Grinding shamelessly against him, feeling the velvet length of him slide through my slit.
He groans against my breast, the sound raw and wrecked, and the vibration shoots straight between my legs.
Fingers hook into the thin waistband of my panties, and he reaches for something behind him. Metal whispers against leather.
The karambit.
My breath catches.
The blade is cool as he presses the flat of it against my inner thigh, right where the lace meets skin. He doesn’t speak. Simply drags the wicked curve upward—slow, the sharp edge kissing the delicate fabric without cutting me.
My heart hammers so hard I feel it in my throat. One wrong twitch and—
The lace parts with a soft, obscene snick.
Sliced straight through the gusset between my legs, the blade whispers dangerously close to my swollen, aching pussy.
Cool air rushes over my bare, dripping folds the instant the fabric gives way. I moan, hips jerking at the sudden exposure, at the terrifying thrill of cold steel so close to my most vulnerable place.
Reth drops the karambit, two fingers snaking into the torn front of my panties, and pulls upward.
The ruined lace drags over my clit—rough, wet, teasing—making my thighs tremble violently.
He keeps pulling, sliding the torn fabric up my stomach, over my breasts, the frayed edges catching on my sensitive nipples.
Higher. Over my shoulders. Over my head, stripping it off me the same way he did my dress.
The sensation is maddening—lace scraping skin that’s already burning for him.
When he reaches my wrists, still stretched above my head, he loops the torn panties around them.
“I wanna look at you.” He pulls my tied wrists behind my neck, threading the delicate fabric through the metal posts of the front headrest, securing it tight. “Really fucking look at you.”
I’m bound.
Wrists secured. Back arched. Breasts thrust forward. Pussy completely open and dripping.
The torn lace bites into my skin with every shallow breath, a constant, intimate restraint that makes me feel small and helpless and so fucking wanted I could cry.
Then the fire shifts.
It doesn’t cool. It doesn’t lessen. It simply changes shape—becoming something slower, deeper, more terrifying in its intensity. Like he’s no longer just trying to consume me. He’s trying to remember me. To reclaim every single part of me.
My skin tingles when he lets his hand glide down my side, dragging his open mouth down with it, breathing me in, then settles back.
“I’ve spent nights wanting you.”
His chest rises and falls like he’s barely holding himself together.
The scar on his face stands out starkly in the low light filtering through the tinted windows.
For a long moment, he doesn’t touch me—just drinks in the sight of me tied open for him in the middle of nowhere, the Aegean wind whispering against the car like it’s jealous.
A breath slips past my trembling lips, Reth sliding a hand up my spread thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive crease where leg meets hip. He spreads me even wider, eyes locked on my bare pussy like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this earth.
“You have no idea what you are to me.” He licks his lips like he’s already tasting me. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you like this—open, trembling, letting me have you even when I don’t deserve it.”
He drags two fingers through my folds, spreading my wetness from clit to entrance and back again. The slick sound fills the car. My hips twitch helplessly, but the panties binding my wrists keep me exactly where he wants me.
One finger is all he gives me—deep, curling, stroking that perfect spot while his thumb circles my swollen clit with agonizing patience. Pleasure coils low and heavy in my belly, thick and molten.
I moan, breasts heaving with every ragged breath.
He watches me the entire time, eyes glassy with something that looks dangerously close to worship.
“I can’t lose this,” he breathes, pumping his fingers slow and deep.
“I can’t lose the only thing that ever made me want to be more than the monster they made me.
You feel that?” Another finger, another curl, another devastating stroke.
“That’s me coming home. That’s every broken piece of me trying to fit inside the only soul that ever fit me back. ”
My thighs start to shake. The pressure builds, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. I’m so close—right there on the edge—when he removes his fingers with an obscene squelch.
“Don’t torture me,” I beg, and I don’t even sound like me. “I need you, Reth. I need you inside me.”
He makes a low, broken sound in his throat, almost pained, and reaches between us. The blunt head of his cock nudges my soaked entrance, sliding through my folds once, twice, coating himself in my wetness.
Then he pushes in.
One long, relentless thrust.
The stretch is devastating. Perfect. Overwhelming. I feel every thick inch as he sinks deeper, forcing my walls to part around him until he’s buried to the hilt. A raw, helpless gasp tears from my throat. The fullness is almost too much—every nerve still singing from the denied orgasm.
Reth stills for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged.
“You make me want to be worthy of something this good,” he whispers.
Strong arms wrap around my back, fingers hooking over my shoulders. He thrusts upward, pulling me down onto him, and starts to move.
Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside me. Each stroke is deliberate, like he’s savoring the way my walls grip him, the way my body welcomes him home after so long apart.
But hunger wins.
His movements become faster, messier, more desperate—the slow savor shifting into the raw collision of lust. The lace binding my wrists bites into my skin with every snap of his hips. My breasts bounce between us as he fucks me harder, hands on my waist, grinding me down onto his cock.
My moans climb higher, louder, until they’re almost sobs. That deep, coiling pressure builds again—tighter, impossibly tighter—with every relentless thrust.
“Look at me.” His fingers bracket my throat and squeeze, just enough to make every breath feel claimed. “When you come, I can't believe I'm the one who did that to you. That I'd be capable…that you'd let me.” His grip tightens slightly. “So I wanna watch you come every. Damn. Time.”
Our eyes lock. His thrusts stay deep and punishing, grinding against my clit with every roll of his hips. Pleasure ignites. My thighs start to shake again. I’m so close, teetering right on the edge.
Reth feels it. He tightens his grip on my throat and gives one final, devastating grind.
“Come for me, Cherry-red,” he breathes. “Let me feel you fall apart while I’m inside you. Let me remember what it feels like to be wanted this much.”
I shatter with a broken cry of his name, walls clenching hard around his thick cock as the orgasm rips through me.
Wave after wave crashes over me, my whole body convulsing in the restraints, tears slipping down my cheeks from the intensity of it.
He fucks me through it—deep, relentless—drawing out every last pulse and tremor until I’m a trembling, oversensitive mess around him.
Only then does he let go of the last thread of his control.
His thrusts turn harder, chasing his own release while he holds me through the aftershocks.
“Sophia,” he groans, voice raw. “My…Sophia.”
He comes with a sound that breaks in half as he shudders, hips snapping forward as he spills deep in me—hot, thick pulses that fill me until I feel it leaking out around his cock. He grinds through it, pushing every drop as deep as it will go, like he’s trying to mark me from the inside out.
For a long moment, we stay like that—breathing hard, his cock still buried inside me, then he reaches to untie my wrists. The muscles in my arms complain as I slowly lower them, and his hands are on my back, pulling me against him, naked breasts against his shirt.
He doesn’t pull out.
He just holds me, forehead to forehead.
“I would burn the whole world down just to stay right here—inside you, feeling you flutter around me like you’re trying to keep me forever.”
My fingers find his scar, and I’m no longer exploring because I know the pattern by heart. “I am keeping you forever, Nazareth Hale. Because you were always meant to be mine…like I was always meant to be yours.”