Chapter 12 Rafe #2
"Clear," Feodor says.
I exhale and look down at Riley. She's still pressed against me, her hands gripping the front of my jacket, and I can see the scrapes on her palms where she hit the pavement. Blood seeps through the torn skin, and her knuckles are already starting to bruise.
It feels like a knife to the chest to see her blood seeping through wounds. Instantly, I wish it were me, that I could reverse time and make it my blood being spilled, not hers, but I'm thankful that it's not worse. She could've been killed and I’m not sure how I'd have taken that.
I didn't push her out of harm's way because I want my ledgers restored. I did it because I wanted Riley safe. I care about what happens to her.
That idea settles in my chest as I drape an arm around her protectively and pull her against my body. What the fuck am I getting myself into?
We reach the house twenty minutes later, and Feodor pulls into the driveway.
I help Riley out of Sal's SUV and guide her inside without even saying goodbye to my uncle.
He's busy on the phone giving orders to retaliate against the Caruso family, and I don't need to stick around to find out what he'll do. I need to get Riley cleaned up.
She's limping slightly, favoring her left leg, and I realize she must have twisted her ankle when she fell. I lead her to the kitchen and pull out a chair.
"Sit down," I tell her gently, realizing she's probably in no mood for small talk. She's just seen the ugly side of my business that most normal people never see. She was shot at, and she came a hair's breadth away from death.
She sinks into the chair, resting her hands on the table, and I see the blood dripping onto the surface. I grab the first aid kit from the cupboard next to the fridge and set it beside her, then pull up a chair and sit across from her.
"Let me see," I say.
She hesitates, eyeing me suspiciously, then holds out her hands. The scrapes are deep, embedded with dirt and gravel, and I can see her wince as I gently turn her palms up.
I open the kit and pull out antiseptic wipes. "This is going to sting."
"I know," she says but hisses when I start working as if it's still a shock to her system.
I press the wipe against her palm, cleaning the dirt away, and she sucks in a breath through her teeth. Her fingers curl reflexively, but she doesn't pull away. I work carefully, wiping the blood and debris from her skin until the wounds are clean.
"You shouldn't have brought me," she says quietly.
"I didn't have a choice. Sal wanted to meet you, and what if they asked questions about the ledger I couldn’t answer?"
"Well, now that man knows about me…" Her eyes are fixed on me and she's scared. "Will he come after me? I mean, he's seen my face. What if he connects my face to the missing persons thing on TV? I don't want my family to be affected—"
"He won't."
"You don't know that."
No one could know that. She's right about that.
But Caruso and his men aren't worried about a missing persons case.
They want to take me down, and it won't be by telling the cops Riley is with me.
It'd draw suspicion, but Sal would just clean it up the way he does, and that would be that.
I'm not fond of that idea, or the fact that my brain goes there so easily. But it's the cold, hard facts.
Enzo won't call the police to report Riley in my custody.
"You protected me," she says softly while I keep wiping her already clean hand.
"I protected my asset," I tell her blankly, because admitting aloud that something inside me has shifted and that I care about her feels too raw. I can't bring myself to say it.
"Rafe…" she says, but I keep wiping, smearing fresh blood on her palms. But dammit if Riley isn’t so fucking stubborn that she curls her hand into a fist and then tucks it into her lap to remove my distraction. "Rafe," she says again firmly, and I look up at her.
"What?"
"You protected me," she repeats with narrowed eyes. "Am I really only an asset to you?" Her head tilts, and it makes my world shake a little.
Those helpless fucking eyes draw me in every time. I open my mouth to speak and can't. Then I close my mouth again and clench my hands into fists. She's not making this easy. She doesn't understand how it'll destroy me when Sal says she's not useful anymore and to discard her.
"It's okay," she says, but she does something I don't expect. Riley climbs onto my lap, straddling me, and puts both hands on my face, making me look at her. "You don't have to say it if it's too difficult. Just show me that I'm not just an asset to you, and I'll believe you."
Then her lips are on mine, pressing, searching. Her tongue invades my mouth, and my hands find her hips like they're moving on instinct. The kiss has my head spinning and a rumble of a growl creeps up my throat.
My hands tighten on her hips, fingers digging into the soft curve of her ass as she grinds down against me. The kiss turns hungry, and I can taste the adrenaline still burning in her blood. She’s shaking, but not from fear anymore. It’s raw, desperate need, the same thing clawing at my chest.
I drag my mouth down her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse, and she arches into me with a broken little moan. My cock is already rock-hard, straining against my zipper, and when she rolls her hips again the friction rips a growl out of me.
“Riley,” I rasp against her skin, but she just fists my hair and yanks my head back so she can kiss me deeper, wetter, swallowing the sound.
I love this side of her, the dominant, take-no-shit woman who demands to be paid attention to.
It's intoxicating that she's taking charge. It makes me want her even more.
Her hands drop between us, frantically tugging at my belt.
I hear the clink of metal, feel the zipper dragged down, and then her fingers wrap around me.
I jerk in her grip, cursing under my breath as she strokes a few times and uses her thumb to swipe over my head, smearing the bead of precum there.
“Tell me,” she whispers against my mouth, squeezing just hard enough to make my vision blur. “Tell me I’m not just the fucking asset.”
I thrust up into her hand, teeth clenched. “You were never just that.”
She shoves my shirt up, nails raking over my stomach, and I yank hers over her head in one rough motion, then her bra, tearing it away from her skin to bare her to me.
Her breasts spill free, and I close my mouth over a nipple, sucking hard.
She cries out, back bowing, thighs clamping around my hips.
I grip her waist and stand, setting her on her feet between my legs.
The second she’s steady, I shove my pants and boxers down and kick them off.
She’s already popping the button on her jeans, dragging the zipper, pushing denim and lace down her thighs.
I watch, still seated, reach forward, and yank the fabric the rest of the way off her ankles, shoes and all, tossing everything aside.
Then I haul her back onto my lap, her bare knees settling on either side of my hips, heat to heat.
“Look at me,” I growl.
Riley's eyes lock on mine as I guide my dick into her soaked entrance. She sinks slowly down around me letting a soft grunt of approval out and when she's settled in place, her lips claim mine again in another searing kiss.
She bottoms out, hips flush to mine, and we both freeze for a second, just breathing hard through the stretch, the burn, the perfect fucking fit. Her walls flutter around me like she’s already close, and I can feel her pulse hammering where we’re joined.
Then she starts to move—slow at first, rolling her hips in a dirty grind that drags her clit over my pelvis and makes my cock jerk inside her. Her hands brace on my shoulders, nails biting crescents into my skin.
“Rafe,” she breathes, voice shaking. “Look at me.”
I already am. I can’t look anywhere else.
She lifts up an inch, drops back down harder this time. The chair creaks under us.
“Tell me again," she pants, and I swear her pussy is going to be the death of me. “Tell me what I am to you,” she demands between thrusts, eyes locked on mine.
I grip her ass, haul her down harder, meet her halfway so the slap is loud and obscene. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.” It cracks out of her like a plea and she shudders as I slam into her back wall. The clench is perfect, the way her tight walls hug me like they were made for me.
I thrust up deep, hold her there, buried to the hilt. “You’re the only thing in this whole fucking mess I don’t wanna lose.”
Her breath hitches, eyes going glassy. “Say it clearer,” she whispers, grinding so slowly it tortures us both.
I slide one hand up her spine, fist her hair, drag her forehead to mine. “You’re not an asset, Riley. I fucking want you."
A broken sound tears out of her throat and she starts riding me in earnest, desperately chasing the words like they’re oxygen. “Again,” she gasps, clenching around me so tight my vision whites out.
“I want you,” I snarl, driving up into her, over and over. “Only you. You're mine.”
She slams down one last time, grinding hard, clit mashed against me, and I feel the first flutter deep inside her. Then it hits.
Her whole body locks up, thighs clamping my hips like iron, back arching so violently her tits are shoved against my face.
A sharp, strangled cry rips out of her throat as her pussy clamps down in brutal pulses, squeezing me in waves so tight it’s almost painful, every spasm dragging a fresh gush of wet heat around my cock.
I can feel her cum dripping down my balls, soaking my thighs, the chair, everything.
Her nails rake bloody lines down my shoulders.
Her head snaps back, mouth open in a silent scream before the next choked sob tears free.
She’s shaking, trembling from her scalp to her toes, walls fluttering again and again and again like she can’t stop.
I’m right there with her.
The second that vise grip hits, my spine snaps tight and the orgasm barrels through me like a freight train. My hips jerk up hard, burying my dick as deep as I can get, and I come with a guttural roar that scrapes my throat raw.
The first pulse is blinding, thick ropes shooting out of me in long, violent spurts, flooding her so full I feel it pulse back around my shaft.
My cock kicks inside her again and again, every throb forcing another hot jet deep while her pussy keeps milking me greedily.
My vision tunnels, balls drawn up so tight they ache, and the pleasure is so sharp it’s almost agony.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, just spill and spill until I’m empty and shaking, arms locked around her like she’s the only thing keeping me on Earth.
We stay like that, fused together, sweat-slick and wrecked, my cock still twitching with aftershocks inside her swollen heat, her body jerking every time another small ripple rolls through her.
I drop my forehead to her collarbone, gasping, tasting salt, and I feel the last weak pulse of cum leak out of me as her walls give one final, greedy squeeze.
I'm a foolish man, admitting to something that could be my undoing.
But I won't take it back.
And I won’t give her up.
Riley is mine now, and no one gets a say in the matter. Not even her.