Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rafael pulled the McLaren in next to the Urus, the garage door shutting them into shadow. Then he took her hand, leading her through a side door that opened to the back terrace, Bea still gripping their octopus.
They navigated a covered walkway past the basketball hoop, the outdoor table. His strides were long, purposeful, his grip tight. She didn’t try to hinder him. She wasn’t running anymore.
By the time they reached the back sliding doors, she could hear her own heartbeat roaring in her ears. He opened them, guided her inside, and shut it behind them.
Then he was on her.
Her back hit the cool glass; he burned into her front. He kissed like he lived: no half measures, no hiding. His tongue swept into her mouth, hungry, claiming. Bea’s senses were in complete riot, ricocheting between desire, overwhelm, and relief.
We’re actually doing this. Right now.
“Finally,” he growled against her mouth, voice vibrating all the way down her spine.
His mouth trailed to her throat, teeth scraping just enough to draw a sound from her: small, defenseless. He sucked once, deliberate, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to keep the next one in. The plush toy slipped to the floor, forgotten.
“Rafael.” Her voice caught on his name.
“You stalled all night,” he rasped, lifting her off the floor. “No more.”
Her legs wrapped tight around his hips. The hard press of his abdomen against her made her dizzy. He carried her without effort through the living room, up the stairs. Bea clutched his shoulders, each step pushing her heart higher into her throat.
She pressed her mouth to his jaw, tentative at first, then bolder, tracing the cut of it in kisses. His breath roughened. He held her closer, firmer, and the tension running through him made her shiver.
He kicked his bedroom door shut behind them.
“You want me, little Bea?” he murmured, easing her down until her toes brushed the floor at the foot of his bed.
His hands circled her waist. As if he couldn’t help himself. As if it was his.
Her head bobbed before she could speak. “Yes.”
The word had barely left her lips before fabric strained between them.
Her dress was tugged over her head, his shirt yanked free, bra unclipped.
He drew her breast into his mouth, teeth catching on the sensitive peak.
She arched helplessly, body molten. She twisted beneath him, trying to keep pace with the onslaught.
“So perfect,” he muttered against her skin.
Rafael laid her on the bed, his palms firm as he spread her thighs. He didn’t climb over her, he stayed kneeling between them. Bea’s hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles whitening as she braced.
The first sweep of his tongue made her cry out. The second had her thighs jerking against his shoulders. By the third, she was climbing too fast, her body rushing ahead of her brain, as if desperate to make crystal clear how badly she craved him.
“Wait,” she said, trying to pull gently on his hair. “Not so—”
“Yes,” he rasped into her. “Give me the first one.”
It didn’t take long before her body seized, bowing off the bed as release crashed over her like an ambush.
Too sudden, too strong, too mortifyingly out of her control.
Her vision fractured into starlight. He didn’t let her go.
His mouth, his hands, kept her locked there, coaxing every aftershock until she crumpled into the mattress, spent.
He stood, and she heard the sounds of him removing the remainder of his clothing. She opened her eyes, and saw all of him for the first time.
He was a human anatomy chart come to life. Lean muscle stacked in perfect symmetry, every tendon and line a map of strength and control. A fighter’s body, made to strike, to hold, to dominate.
Bea itched to reach out, catalog, make him real under her fingertips. But his expression made it clear: he wasn’t here to be studied. He was here to claim.
The only problem was…there was no way.
Not when she was already oversensitive from his mouth. Not when it had been a year since anyone had touched her.
“Uh—maybe we should give it a minute—” she squeaked, trying to push herself up.
But he was already moving, prowling over her on all fours, feline as he closed in. Shoulders rolled, chest dipped, and she was driven back into the pillows before she could draw another breath. The mattress gave beneath his weight, the ceiling lost behind the breadth of him.
His hand caught her chin, forcing her gaze up. “Eyes on mine. You trust me?”
Her lungs refused to work right. Her heart battered at her ribs like it wanted out, but the answer was the same one it had always been with him. Yes. She’d been trusting him long before this bed.
She gave the smallest nod.
“Good girl. No more waiting.”
He hovered for a moment, breath jagged against hers, the heat of him pulsing between her legs. Then he dragged himself along her, laggard and taunting, and her hips jerked up.
One hand slid up, tracing every curve, as if he couldn’t touch enough at once.
The slight roughness of his fingers made goosebumps break out over her flesh.
The other held her thigh open, immovable, showing her the gulf between his strength and hers.
The imbalance should have scared her. Instead, it set her blood on fire.
And then he was invading, inch by inch. Her nails bit into his shoulders as he pressed deeper.
“Rafael.” Her voice cracked, thin. “You’re too—”
His mouth stole the rest, hot and rough. “Not too anything,” he breathed against her lips. “You were made for me.”
Her head dropped back, a strangled sound escaping. The stretch was unbearable, intoxicating.
“Look at me,” he ordered, driving another inch. “Tell me how it feels.”
Her gaze blurred on his. “Like I can’t take it—but I can.” Horror surged after. How could she admit that?
Rafael’s nostrils flared, hunger sparking in his eyes. “That’s right, baby. You’re so tight.” His arm braced beside her head, muscles taut with restraint. “I’ve imagined this a thousand times, and it doesn’t touch reality.”
The ache and ecstasy tangled until she could barely hold herself together. “Wait. It’s too much.”
He stilled, chest rising hard against hers. For a moment, she thought he might obey.
Then she felt his hand slide between them.
The brush of his thumb at her core made her jolt, sparks racing through her synapses. He circled again, gentle but insistent, winding her right back up.
Her nails raked down his back. Her breath fractured into desperate little gasps.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmured. “Give it to me. Let me feel you break.”
Release crashed through her a second time, every muscle locking then unraveling in waves. Her body seized around him, quaking, pulsing tight.
A groan tore from his chest, guttural and raw. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” His voice was ragged with awe and need. “That’s my girl.”
At last the tremors ebbed, and her body was once again boneless against the sheets. What had been tight resistance melted into yielding softness. Rafael took it instantly, driving forward in one long, devastating thrust that seated him all the way in.
He owned the space inside her, around her, over her. Every inch was him. Every breath was his. He slammed into her again, again, branding her from the inside out.
Then—just as his breath caught, spine locking—he caught both her wrists in one hand and stretched her arms above her head, locking her down. His other palm was splayed on her belly, holding her open to every last thrust.
When he came, it wasn’t quiet. It tore through him, brutal, while he kept her in place. Pinned, possessed. His to take. His to keep.
For a moment, nothing existed but their erratic breaths and the weight of him pressing her into the mattress. She felt the tremble in his arms before he dropped his forehead to hers. Still inside her.
“Better than every fantasy.” The words rumbled out. “And I’ve had too many to count.”
Bea’s body was wrecked, damp hair clinging to her face, lungs hauling in air. “If every time is like that…I’ll need recovery days between.” The words slipped free, honest and shaky, with a breathless laugh she couldn’t hold back.
His mouth brushed hers. “We’ll get your stamina up.”
And oh, that didn’t sound like reassurance at all. It sounded like a promise.
Bea stirred. A strange ceiling came into focus.
It took a breath for her to place the scent, the warmth pressed to her back, the tenderness between her thighs. Every detail authenticated what she’d done. Who she’d given herself to.
His thumb drew idle arcs just beneath her breast, which was still bare. He’d only let her put her underwear back on.
She turned her head, heavy-eyed, and found Rafael watching her. Not casual. Not even close. His gaze seemed to dare her, dare the world, to try and take her from him now.
Her face burned; each memory rolled through her like a film he could somehow see.
“Morning.”
How could one word sound so smug?
“Morning,” she whispered back, angling her mouth down, praying her breath was palatable.
His lips brushed her shoulder, promise and threat in one touch. Then the warmth vanished as he sat up, and the emptiness struck deeper than reasonable.
She winced, remembering what she’d blurted about recovery time. A joke, but not. She was half relieved, half disappointed that he seemed to have taken her seriously.
“Hungry?” he asked.
She nodded, her throat coarse. “But I need to shower first.”
“Go ahead,” he said, brushing a knuckle over her hip. “Grab something clean from my wardrobe. I’ll make breakfast.”
Twenty minutes later she padded downstairs barefoot, damp hair sliding down her back. She’d pulled on one of his shirts. His gaze found her instantly.
“What?” she asked, wary. She knew that look; knew she wouldn’t be ready for whatever came next.
“Wear that,” he said. “Every morning.”
She huffed, reaching for coffee like a shield. “I’m not moving in.”
He didn’t smile. His fingers tapped the counter, pinky to forefinger. “You will after we’re married.”
Her coffee nearly sprayed across the bench. She coughed, wiping her mouth. “What?!”
“You heard me.”
“Rafael…” The sound was meant to be a laugh. It escaped as a bleat. “You can’t just say things like that.”
And yet, since he had said it, her mind was already painting pictures she couldn’t unsee. Rings, vows, mornings like this. She wanted to fling it away and also clutch it like a secret prize.
He crossed the room in silence, hands finding her waist like it was their natural place. “It wasn’t a joke.”
Her eyes flew wide. Her palms landed on his chest, as if holding him at bay.
“Sex between us is a watershed,” he said, with the slightest rasp. “You know it. I know it.”
Did she? Had she? The question fluttered, too fragile to catch.
“Do you know why you finally let me have you, little Bea?”
Her throat tightened; silence was the only answer she had.
“Because I do.” His certainty folded around her, steady and absolute. Then his lips found hers, and there was no more need for words.