Chapter 9 Riley #2
What the hell is happening here, anyway?
This man stole me off the fucking street and forced me to do his illegal banking work.
Yet my body acts like he's the popular guy in school who gets the attention of every woman and he's turned it on me.
It's a trap. I know it. I can feel it in my chest making my cortisol spike, but my damn groin thinks this is play time.
"You're trying my patience, Riley. Say what you want." Rafe's voice is dangerously calm now, like the center of a hurricane that I know will dissolve back into chaos any second.
And I let that chaos erupt inside me before it explodes out of my mouth.
"If you're gonna fuck me, just do it now and don't walk away like you did the other day on the deck."
Rafe’s eyes darken, though the candlelight catches the sharp edge of his hunger.
“Good girl,” he murmurs in a rough voice.
That single word rolls through me like thunder.
His hand leaves my throat only to fist in my hair, yanking my head back so my throat is exposed.
His mouth crashes down on mine in a scorching kiss.
Teeth scrape my lower lip, tongue forcing entry, claiming every inch he wants.
I whimper into his mouth, tasting smoke and the faint sweetness of the cobbler he must've sampled while cooking.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to growl against my lips, “Safe word is red. You say it, everything stops. Understand?”
I nod frantically. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Red—I understand.”
Satisfied, he spins me, shoving me face-first against the wall.
My cheek presses to cool plaster. My palms slap flat for balance.
His body cages mine from behind, hips grinding so I feel every hard inch of him through his jeans and my thin leggings.
One hand forces both my wrists above my head.
The other yanks my hoodie and T-shirt up and off in a single rough tug.
My bra follows, torn over my head and flung aside.
Cold air hits my bare back, but his chest is furnace-hot against my skin.
He bites the slope where neck meets shoulder—hard—then soothes the sting with his tongue.
I yelp, arching instinctively as his free hand slides around to cup my breast, thumb flicking my nipple until it’s a tight, aching point.
He pinches, rolls, tugs until my knees threaten to buckle.
“Stay still,” he orders in a gravelly tone, then he releases my wrists, only to hook his fingers in the waistband of my leggings and panties and drag them down my thighs in one violent pull.
Fabric pools at my ankles and I step out without being told before he kicks my feet wider.
It's shocking being manhandled, but every second that passes has me climbing the walls, begging for more.
I'm consenting to this, letting him own my body however he wants, and he's not disappointing me.
His palm lands on my ass in a sharp, loud smack.
Heat blooms instantly where he struck me, and I bite my lower lip to stifle a whimper.
Another smack, harder, on the other cheek makes me yelp, pushing back into his hand without meaning to.
He chuckles a dark, filthy sound as he whispers into my ear.
“You like that?” Another slap has me bucking backward, then his fingers slide between my legs from behind, finding me soaked. Two thick fingers push inside without warning and I clench around the invasion, moaning shamelessly. He pumps in and out and my hips jerk.
“Fuck, your body is hot, you dirty little thing.” He withdraws his fingers, brings them to my mouth, and commands, “Open.”
And when I do, he slides them over my tongue. I suck every last drop of my salty juices off his digits while he watches, until I’m squirming.
When Rafe's had enough of watching me worship his soaked fingers, he spins me around and presses me hard against the wall again. His mouth is on my breast before I can breathe—sucking, teeth grazing, tongue lashing at my nipple. His hand dives between my thighs again, circling my clit while two fingers thrust deep, and my head thumps against the wall, eyes rolling back. He works me mercilessly, adding a third finger, stretching, scissoring, curling until I’m riding his hand, chasing the pressure building low in my belly.
“Come,” he commands against my skin. “Now.”
The orgasm slams into me as if he can command my very bodily functions.
My legs shake and go weak, and only his body keeps me upright, pinning me to the wall as he finger fucks me into submission.
He doesn’t stop, keeps stroking through the spasms until I’m sobbing his name, oversensitive and still greedy and writhing while I claw his shoulders.
He pulls his fingers free and wipes them on my thigh, then grips my hips and lifts.
My legs wrap around his waist automatically as he carries me the few steps to the wide leather ottoman in front of the fire where he drops me on my back.
The leather is cool against my overheated skin and I'm panting and out of breath like I just ran a fucking mile.
Candlelight flickers over us, shadows dancing across the hard planes of his chest as he strips off his shirt.
I reach for him, but he catches my wrists, pinning them beside my head with one hand.
With the other he unbuttons his jeans, shoves them down just enough to free his cock.
He’s thick, flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.
He drags the head through my folds, coating himself, teasing my clit until I’m writhing.
“Beg.”
“Please… oh, wow… please…"
"I said beg, Riley. Make me believe you want this." I know he's gonna snap and lose control any second because I am too.
"I swear to God if you don't get your dick in me now, I'm gonna snap." My words must be the magic elixir because Rafe turns feral.
He thrusts in all the way in one brutal stroke.
I groan at the stretch, the sudden fullness, and then he stills, buried deep, letting me adjust. When he pulls back out almost all the way, I hiss, but I arch my hips up to take him when he slams back into me, and it makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
He sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping with every thrust, making my breasts bounce. When he leans down to capture one nipple between his teeth, he bites just hard enough to make me clench around him. His growl of approval makes me shudder. I'm going to come again already.
He releases my wrists, grips my thighs, and pushes my knees to my chest, opening me wider. The new angle has him hitting deeper, brushing that spot inside that makes my vision spark. His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing tight circles.
“Come again,” he orders through gritted teeth. “Squeeze me so fucking hard."
I shatter a second time, harder than the first. My back arches off the leather, and my nails rake down his back.
He hisses and his pace falters for the first time, but he doesn't stop as the waves of pleasure roll through me.
It's intense, so much that I fear I may even lose control of my bladder, but just as I think I'm on the edge, he pulls out abruptly and flips me onto my stomach.
My knees hit the thick rug in front of the hearth and he yanks my hips up. My chest stays pressed to the ottoman as he spreads my cheeks, licks a hot strip from clit to entrance, then surges back inside me from behind.
The angle is devastating. He bottoms out with every thrust, one hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back, the other clamped on my hip hard enough to bruise.
The room fills with the wet sounds of sex, my broken moans, his guttural curses, and I almost whisper our safe word because I don't know how much more I can take before I lose it altogether and I hate the idea of being mortified in front of him.
“Touch yourself,” he snarls.
I snake a hand between my legs, fingers slipping over my swollen clit, but if I do this, all hope is lost. My God, do I want it, though. Still, when he grits out, “Come with me,” I clench and bite my own wrist, but even without the third orgasm, my vision goes white at the edges.
Rafe slams deep one last time, hips jerking as he comes with a hoarse groan, flooding me with heat. He stays buried there as he drapes himself over me, and I feel the pulse of his heartbeat in my core for a moment. There's nothing gentle about it. He's so worked up.
Finally, he pulls out slowly, and I melt into the ottoman for a moment, feeling boneless. He presses a kiss between my shoulder blades, then stands, but not before plucking a sweat-damp strand of hair from my temple and pulling it across my back.
I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he tucks himself away, zips up, pulls his shirt back on.
I'm so lethargic I can barely move, but I slide to a seated position, letting the heavy relaxation of post-sex bliss drain me.
He adds two more logs to the fire, then without a word, he walks to the doorway, pauses only long enough to glance back, and disappears down the dark hallway.
The fire pops and hisses at me like I’m offending it as I curl on my side on the rug, pulling a forgotten throw blanket over my trembling body, heart still racing. The taste of him lingers on my tongue and his cum drains out warm between my thighs. And I'm a giddy puddle of gooey pleasure.
The house is silent except for the storm outside and the crackle of burning wood.
He hasn’t left—he’s somewhere in the shadows of his own home.
But for reasons he doesn’t share with me, he's withdrawn.
Maybe fucking me like that made him feel vulnerable, the way it has me.
Or maybe he enjoyed it too much and he knows he'll want more.
Or maybe he’s had his fun with me and as soon as I finish his precious ledgers, he won't have a single reason left to keep me alive.
The thought makes me shudder and I press my eyes closed.
Well, I'll just have to give him reasons, then.