Chapter Nineteen #2
My hand moved before I could stop it, as if drawn by some magnetic force I couldn’t resist. Slowly, carefully, almost reverently, I traced the curve of her body, starting at her shoulder, following the graceful line of her arm, down to the dip of her waist, over the gentle swell of her hip.
Her skin was buttery soft beneath my fingertips, warm and alive and impossibly perfect, like silk warmed by the sun.
Every inch of her felt like a discovery, a secret revealed just for me.
And as I touched her, goosebumps rose across her exposed flesh, spreading like wildfire everywhere my hand traveled.
Her body responded to mine in ways that made my breath catch in my throat while I watched, mesmerized, as her skin came alive under my touch, each tiny bump a testament to the electricity that crackled between us.
Her body knows me. The thought sent a surge of possessive satisfaction through me, dark and primal and utterly consuming.
It wasn’t just desire. It was something far more visceral, more ancient.
Her skin recognized my touch before her mind could catch up.
Her breath hitched in that particular way it only did for me.
Every involuntary shiver, every subtle arch toward my hands, every unconscious lean into my presence.
Her body betrayed her, telling me secrets she would never admit out loud. And I reveled in it.
She didn’t wake. Didn’t stir. Didn’t even shift position or murmur in her sleep.
Just kept sleeping, completely still except for the rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing shallowed, uneven, almost labored.
Her eyelids remained closed, unmoving, and yet her body responded to my touch even in unconsciousness.
A slight tension in her muscles, a subtle change in her breathing pattern, small involuntary reactions that told me some part of her was aware, even if her conscious mind remained somewhere far away in the depths of sleep.
My dick was hard as a rock, painfully throbbing in my jeans. The pressure was unbearable, a relentless ache that demanded release.
I looked down at her, as my gaze traveled slowly across her form.
I noticed the way her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing a narrow strip of her stomach.
The skin there was pale and soft-looking in the dim light.
I observed the way her shorts clung to her hips.
The fabric hugging her curves, leaving her thighs bare and vulnerable to the cool evening air.
There was something unguarded about her posture in that moment, something that made her seem smaller, more fragile than usual.
Fuck.
Without thinking, I reached down and unbuttoned my jeans.
The sound of my zipper was loud in the quiet room, but she didn’t wake.
Didn’t move as I pulled my cock out, already hard and leaking, and wrapped my hand around it.
The first stroke sent a jolt of pleasure through me, sharp and electric.
I bit back a groan, my eyes locking on her body, on every inch of her exposed skin.
I stroked again, faster this time, my hand moving in a rhythm that felt both familiar and desperate.
My eyes traveled over her slowly, deliberately, taking in the curve of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, the way the material clung to her skin and shifted with each breath she took.
I traced the dip of her waist with my gaze, following the graceful contours of her body down to the smooth expanse of her thighs, where the soft light cast delicate shadows across her skin.
I memorized every detail, every line, every shadow.
The subtle rise and fall of her ribcage, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the way her hair fell across her collarbone.
I wanted to commit it all to memory, to hold on to this moment and never let it slip away.
The more I looked, the faster I stroked. My breathing grew ragged as my chest heaved and my pleasure built, coiled tight in my gut.
She is mine. She is fucking mine. The thought consumed me entirely, obliterating everything else in its path.
The club, with its pulsing lights and suffocating crowds.
The money I had been chasing for months, the money she stole.
Morpheus’ stern warning echoed in my head, telling me to stay away, to keep my distance, to not cross that line.
None of it mattered anymore.
Not a single goddamn thing.
All that mattered was her. The way she looked at me with those eyes. The curve of her neck. The sound of her breathing. And the intoxicating, dangerous fact that I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to her, and I knew she would let me.
My hand moved faster as my grip tightened, and the pressure built to an unbearable peak. I could feel it coming, could feel the release barreling toward me like a freight train.
And then I came. Violently. My body jerked, my hand still moving as I sprayed her body with my cum. It landed on her stomach, on her thighs, on the thin fabric of her tank top. I watched it happen, my vision blurring at the edges, my breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps.
Fuck. Fuck.
The release was overwhelming, and damn near left me shaking and spent, my hand still wrapped around my cock. And when I finally looked up, when I finally dragged my gaze away from the mess I had made on her body, I saw her face.
Her eyes were open.
Staring directly at me.
She had been watching.
Fuck.