Chapter 11 #2
He walked me backward until my back hit the wall, his body pinning me there, his mouth never leaving mine.
The cool metal pressed against my shoulder blades, grounding me even as everything else spun out of control.
I gasped against his lips, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weak.
The kiss deepened, became something raw and consuming.
I could taste the copper tang of blood from his split lip, felt the tremor in his hands as they moved over me—like he was holding himself back even as he pulled me closer.
"Merrilee." My name was a growl against my mouth, rough with need and something that sounded like fear. "Are you sure? Because if we do this—if I touch you the way I want to—I don't know if I can stop."
"Then don't stop." I pulled back just enough to look at him, to see the hunger and fear and desperate need warring in those gold-and-blue eyes. "I'm sure, Ahrick. I've never been more sure of anything."
I saw it happen—the careful control he'd been maintaining since the moment we met finally shattering.
His mouth found mine again, harder this time, more demanding.
His hands moved over me with purpose now, no longer tentative.
One hand slid down my side, over my hip, gripping my thigh and lifting it to wrap around his waist. The movement pressed us together more intimately, and I felt the hard length of him against my core even through our clothes.
The sensation made me gasp, heat flooding through me in a wave that left me dizzy.
"I need to see you," he murmured against my mouth, his voice rough. "Need to touch you properly. Can I—"
"Yes." I was already reaching for the fastenings of the prize outfit, my fingers fumbling with the clasps. "Yes, please."
He helped me, his hands steadier than mine despite the tremor I felt running through him.
The fabric fell away piece by piece—the thin top first, then the wrapped skirt that barely qualified as clothing.
The cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps, but I barely felt it.
All I felt was Ahrick—his eyes on me, burning with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Gods," he breathed, his hands hovering just above my skin like he was afraid to touch. "You're so beautiful."
I reached for him, pulling his hands to my waist, needing his touch more than I needed air. "Then don't just look."
His hands moved over me slowly, reverently, like he was memorizing every curve and hollow.
The pads of his fingers were rough with calluses, creating delicious friction as they traced up my ribs, over my breasts, making me arch into his touch.
When his thumbs brushed over my nipples, I gasped, my head falling back against the wall.
"So responsive," he murmured, doing it again, watching my face as pleasure rippled through me. "I want to learn every sound you make. Every place that makes you gasp like that."
His mouth followed where his hands had been, trailing hot kisses down my throat, over my collarbone, lower.
When he took my nipple into his mouth, the wet heat of it combined with the gentle scrape of his teeth made me cry out.
My hands fisted in his hair, holding him to me as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, until I was trembling and gasping and barely able to stand.
"Ahrick," I managed, my voice breathless. "I need—you're still dressed. That's not fair."
He pulled back, his eyes dark with desire, his breathing as ragged as mine. "Then undress me."
My hands shook as I reached for him, sliding over the warm softness of his pelt, feeling the hard muscle beneath.
I traced the scars I'd tended after his fights, the old wounds that told stories of violence and survival.
He watched me with an intensity that should've been intimidating but instead felt like being seen—truly seen—for the first time in longer than I could remember.
I found the fastenings of his pants, my fingers clumsy with need and nervousness. When I finally got them open and pushed them down over his hips, he stepped out of them, and I got my first full view of him.
He was beautiful. All lean muscle and soft tan pelt, his long dark hair falling over his shoulders, those incredible eyes watching me with a mixture of desire and vulnerability that made my chest ache.
And he was aroused—hard and thick, his cock jutting toward me in a way that made heat pool between my thighs and my mouth go dry.
"Can I—" I reached out tentatively, my fingers hovering just above him. "Can I touch you?"
"Please." The word came out strangled. "Gods, Merrilee, please."
I wrapped my hand around him, marveling at the contrast of soft skin over rigid heat. He was bigger than I'd expected, thick enough that my fingers didn't quite meet around his girth. When I stroked him experimentally, he groaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"Is this okay?" I asked, doing it again, watching his face for his reaction.
"More than okay." His voice was rough, strained. "You're—fuck, that feels incredible."
I stroked him again, learning what made him gasp, what made his hands clench at his sides, what made his head fall back.
The soft pelt at the base of his cock was damp with arousal, and when I brushed my thumb over the head, I felt the slickness there, evidence of how much he wanted this. Wanted me.
"I want to taste you," I said, the words coming out before I could second-guess them. "Can I?"
His eyes went wide, his breathing stopping entirely for a moment. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." I sank to my knees in front of him, looking up at him through my lashes. "I want to make you feel good."
"Merrilee—" Whatever he was going to say died in a groan as I leaned forward and took him into my mouth.
He tasted like salt and musk with as faint spiciness.
I started slow, learning the shape of him, the weight of him on my tongue.
His hands came to my hair, not pushing, just holding, his fingers trembling against my scalp.
I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, and the sound he made—half groan, half whimper—sent a bolt of heat straight through me.
"Gods, your mouth," he gasped, his hips rocking forward slightly before he caught himself. "I'm not going to last if you keep—"
I pulled back, releasing him with a soft pop, and looked up at him. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still. "I don't want you to last," I said. "I want to make you come apart."
"Not yet." He pulled me to my feet, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tasted like desperation and need. "Not without you."
He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, gasping as the movement pressed his cock against my core. He carried me to the bed, laying me down with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the hunger in his eyes.
"Last chance," he said, his voice rough. "Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away."
"I want this." I reached up, cupping his face in my hands, making sure he saw the truth in my eyes. "I want you, Ahrick. Not because it's strategic. Not because we have to. Because I choose you. Because being with you makes me feel alive again."
Something in his expression cracked open, raw and vulnerable. "I don't deserve you," he whispered. "After everything I've done—"
"You deserve to be wanted." I pulled him down for a kiss. "You deserve to be chosen. And I'm choosing you."
He kissed me back with a desperation that stole my breath, his hands moving over me with renewed purpose.
"Perfect," he breathed against my lips. "You're perfect."
His hand slid between my thighs, and I gasped at the first touch of his fingers against my slick heat. He explored me slowly, carefully, watching my face as he learned what made me gasp, what made me arch into his touch.
"So wet," he murmured, his voice full of wonder. "Is this all for me?"
"Yes." The word came out as a moan as his fingers found my clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure. "God, yes, all for you."
He worked me with practiced skill, his fingers sliding through my wetness, teasing my entrance before returning to that bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind my eyelids. When he finally slid one finger inside me, I cried out, my hips bucking against his hand.
"More," I gasped. "Please, Ahrick, I need more."
He added a second finger, stretching me, filling me, his thumb still working my clit in maddening circles.
The dual sensation was almost too much, pleasure building inside me like a wave about to crest. His mouth found my breast again, sucking and licking and biting, and the combination of sensations pushed me closer to the edge.
"That's it," he murmured against my skin. "Let go for me."
His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made me see stars, and I shattered.
I bit down on my lip, trying to muffle the sounds threatening to escape. The walls here were thin, and everyone would hear—
"Don't," Ahrick commanded, his voice thick. His fingers stilled inside me, making me whimper at the loss of movement. "Don't you dare hold back. I want to hear you scream."
"But everyone will—" My voice came out small, strangled. Afraid.
"Good." His eyes blazed as he looked down at me, and something in his expression shifted—not just possessive heat, but understanding. Recognition of what he was asking me. "Let them hear, Merrilee. Let all of Fange City know that you're choosing this. That you're mine."
The distinction mattered. Choosing. Not being taken. Not being used.
He thrust his fingers deeper, and I felt the pleasure building again, different this time—not just physical sensation but something shattering deep inside. A barrier I'd built to survive, brick by careful brick, starting to crack.
His thumb circled my clit again, and the pleasure spiked. My breath caught.