Chapter 23 #3
That makes him laugh, so sincere yet terrifying at the same time.
“That’s my girl.”
A couple of thrusts later, I’m done, the result coating his cock. This time, his own orgasm follows mine in a violent duet of shattered souls trying to own and be owned.
My body collapses—emptied of any sort of energy. Only then—only after I’m limp, wrecked, and drenched in everything from tonight—he buries himself one last time, possessive, like sealing his victory. The war? Over. The winner? Still inside me.
The air is thick with everything that happened—sweat, sex, something that feels like lust and need combined. After he unties me, he pulls me into an embrace, his breath coasting along my neck.
I can feel his heart beating.
He doesn’t pull away, nor does he leave as soon as we start breathing normally again. And now, he’s still in front of me, skin to skin, one arm curled tightly around my waist as if letting go might unravel something he’s not ready to face.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips against my skin.
I want to ask him what for, but for now I’ll just enjoy the moment. My body still aches, but I curl into him anyway. It is the only place I want to be right now. I can feel the echo of everything he did still pulsing between my thighs…and I like it.
He doesn’t speak as he picks me up in his arms and carries me down the hall, nor when he sets me on the sink and starts the water in the bathtub.
“You need to use the restroom. You don’t want a UTI.”
Wait, what? Oh, right.
“Right, I’ll go…”
“Stay here.”
“Another fetish, Professor?”
“You are not leaving my sight.” and the way he says it makes it pretty clear it’s final and there’s no negotiation.
“Very well.”
It would be useless to pretend I’m shy, and using the restroom in front of him, while the result of my squirting is still on his hands, is not a big deal.
Once I am done, Azrael steps into the water, pulling me with him. The heat blooms over our skin as he lowers us both into the tub—me in his lap, my back to his chest, his arms wrapping around me.
As we stay in the water, he moves his fingers down my arms, across my waist, tracing over bruises he’d left, cleaning every part of my body. Then moves to kissing my shoulders—barely a brush. Then another, lower.
The aftercare is psychotic compared to what he just did, but this doesn’t stop me from wanting more. I’m barely recovering from the rawness of the sex we’d just had, yet here I am getting wet, wanting him back inside me.
“Are you on the pill?”
The question takes me by surprise, mostly because it doesn’t sound pleading, more like…curious?
“Infertile.”
“Is that something you regret?”
This ‘get to know each other’ is borderline strange, but I also want him to know, I want him to know everything.
“I chose this.”
“I can see you doing that.”
Talking to Azrael about my life choices is not something I would have anticipated not long ago. I would not engage in this if the vibe was off, but this feels authentic, it feels like the Professor has become my Professor, a part of the life he’s asking about.
Over the past few weeks, I could feel his restraint thinning, as he started to see me for what I wanted him to see.
Was this supposed to be a fucked-up game?
Yes. But somewhere along the lines something in him changed, and he finally saw what I knew from the very beginning: that I’m the one person on this entire planet who can understand him, without any sort of restraint.
Not that he, or I, would even care about being understood, but it is one thing to hide your true nature, it’s another thing to be told you can do your worst without any limits.
“I don’t sleep beside people.”
I turn around to look straight at him. This was random but also feels like a very important topic. “You’re about to.”
I want him next to me. Partly because I’m not yet sure either of us completely understands how big of a mistake this is, and partly because I don’t want him to figure it out on his own.
He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. He just rests his forehead against the back of my head and breathes me in. I could get used to this, to him being next to me. It’s such an intoxicating situation, like a drug I want to keep on taking.
Minutes pass before he answers, “Anything for you. Come.”
He stands, lifting me again, water cascading off both our bodies. A towel waits for me, and he dries off every inch of my body, careful when touching the places where his fingers imprinted bruises and marks on my skin.
Once he is done, he walks with me, hand in hand, back to the room. The bed is still warm from before. He helps me get into bed and follows, lying next to me and pulling the covers over us both. Skin to skin, one arm under my neck, the other across my waist.
He presses his forehead to mine, still refusing to kiss my lips—but he doesn’t need to. Every other part of me has already been kissed, claimed, and that…that is something irreplaceable.
“Good night,” I whisper.
“Good night, love,” He answers, kissing my forehead.