Chapter 7 #3
He continued to fuck her while he pulsed his finger inside her and leaned down, mouth at her ear, and growled, “Come for me, come on my cock.” He nipped her earlobe, then his teeth grazed her pulse point, tongue soothing the bite.
She shattered for him, shuddering so hard that her legs locked around his waist, squeezing him impossibly tight. Her orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave, and he felt every single aftershock in the way she milked him, and in the tears that sprang to her eyes.
The force of her climax sent him over the edge.
It was utterly, terrifyingly out of his control.
A surge so powerful it whitewashed his mind, demolished thought and time, and left him suspended on the brink of obliteration.
For a split second, he even thought he might black out as he came with a ragged groan, a sound torn straight from somewhere deep and private inside him, the pleasure was so intense his entire body locked up, every muscle rigid.
A wave of euphoria crashed over him and carried him out to sea.
Tingling pleasure unlike he’d ever experienced flooded his system from the top of his head to his feet, as if every cell in his body were on the best drug, not that he’d ever done drugs a day in his life.
It felt like drowning and flying and dying and being born, all at once.
When he finally returned to himself, he was slumped against her, bracing himself just enough that he didn’t crush her with his weight.
Both of them were panting. Her lips found his jaw, his shoulder, his neck, she covered them with soft kisses, her hands roaming his body as if she couldn’t get enough, as if she never wanted to let him go.
He lay there, forehead pressed to hers, their chests heaving in time.
For a long minute, nothing existed but the sound of their breathing mixing in the darkness, the pulse of their heartbeats slowing together, the afterglow thrumming through their veins.
He was dizzy, high on her, on the feel of her, on the knowledge that this wasn’t just some casual fuck.
He’d had plenty of those in his life, and it had never felt like this. Not even close.
Eventually, the urge to protect, to serve, to take care of her in the aftermath asserted itself, and he rolled off the bed, stripping off the condom and tossing it in the bathroom trash.
He rinsed his hands, then soaked a towel in warm water, making sure it was perfect before bringing it back to her.
She was sprawled on the rumpled sheets, one arm flung over her eyes, looking more beautiful and undone than ever.
She peeked at him as he gently cleaned her off, wiping away the evidence of what they’d done, careful around the most sensitive places.
“You don’t have to do that,” she whispered, sounding half-embarrassed, half-melted.
“I want to,” he said, and it was the truth. He wanted to take care of her. Wanted her to know that she wasn’t just a body, wasn’t just a means to an end. She was the entire point.
He crawled back into bed, pulled her against his chest, and wrapped her up so tightly he worried she wouldn’t be able to move. She didn’t seem to mind. She burrowed into him, tucking her nose under his chin, and let out a soft, contented sigh that made something in his chest hurt, just a little.
They laid like that, two puzzle pieces, for a long, silent span of time.
He played with her hair, winding the strands around his fingers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and his own sweat.
Her body fit perfectly against his—tucked under his arm, curled up against his side, legs tangled.
He realized that for the first time in months, maybe years, maybe ever, he didn’t have a weight on his chest. He felt light. Happy.
He almost drifted off, but then he felt her shift, tilting her face up so she could look at him. “Can I ask you something?”
The heaviness was back in his chest. His heart seized. This was it. She was going to ask his name. She was going to know who he was. He hadn’t wanted the fantasy to break, and yet at the same time, he wanted her to know everything.
“Yes,” he said, running a thumb over her cheekbone. “You can ask me anything.” What he wanted to say was: You can have anything. Do anything. I am yours. You own me.
She hesitated, then bit her lip. “I know this is stupid—”
“No, it’s not.”
“I haven’t even asked it yet,” she whispered, looking up at him through her dark, inky lashes.
“If you’re asking, I know it’s not stupid.”
She let out a breath that was half a laugh. “It is, but I just… why did you say my smile was dangerous?”
He looked down at her, unsure if he could be honest. He’d always hidden the soft parts of himself, the places that could be hurt. But this woman—this perfect, infuriating, fearless woman—she’d already found her way inside.
“Because as soon as I saw it, I knew it could either make my life or destroy it,” he said, his voice so low he barely heard it himself.
She didn’t roll her eyes, or scoff, or treat it like a line. She just leaned down, pressed a kiss to the center of his chest—right over his heart—and then tucked herself back against him, as if she belonged there. As if she always had.
Oh boy, he was so fucked.