Chapter 12 #2
She kisses me again, and it’s different this time — like she’s memorising the shape of me, tracing the edges she knows will hurt later, stealing whatever pieces she can before I inevitably disappear.
And I let her.
Fuck, I let her.
Because being wanted by her feels like something I’ve been running from and crawling toward all at once.
Her body trembles, just slightly, beneath my hands — not fear, not hesitation, just the weight of wanting something dangerous. Something broken. Someone like me.
So I slow it down.
Ease back just enough to see her face — her messy hair tangled from my fingers, her lips swollen, her chest rising and falling in soft, stuttering breaths.
“You good?” I murmur.
Her lashes flutter.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Just… didn’t expect you to be soft.”
That hits harder than any bullet ever could.
Soft isn’t a word people use for men who’ve seen what I’ve seen.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say softly, brushing my nose against hers.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not soft, Cassandra. I’m not safe. And if you keep looking at me like that…” I trail my thumb over her bottom lip, slow enough to feel the shiver that rolls through her. “I’ll prove it.”
Her eyes lock onto mine.
And she smiles like she wants me to.
She grabs the lapel of my jacket and tugs me closer, breath warm against my mouth. “So what happens now?”
I exhale hard. “You mean before or after I ruin you?”
Her breath catches.
And I can’t take it back.
I don’t want to.
“I should take you home,” I mutter, voice tight.
“You don’t want to,” she says softly.
“Doesn’t matter what I want.”
She tilts her head. “You said you don’t do romantic soldier?”
I bite back a grin. “You calling me soldier now?”
“You’re wearing dog tags,” she shrugs. “And you just kissed me under the stars on a rooftop. That’s pretty fucking cinematic.”
“Yeah?” I tug her closer by the waist. “Wanna see what else I can do with a view like this?”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t shy.
Doesn’t step back.
So I don’t kiss her again.
Not yet.
I want her to feel this — the burn of wanting, the ache that stretches from her chest to her thighs, the anticipation that makes the whole damn skyline feel electric.
“Take me home,” she whispers.
But she isn’t talking about an address.
She’s looking at me like I am home — like every jagged, violent, wounded part of me is where she wants to land.
“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for,” I rasp.
She steps in, so close I feel her breath move through me. “Then show me.”
And that’s it.
That’s the end of my restraint.
My hand tangles in her hair as I drag her mouth back to mine, the kiss no longer gentle — it’s hungry and rough and starved, like I’ve walked through hell just to get back to this moment, and maybe I have.
She moans, soft and desperate, and I swallow the sound as I walk her backwards until her spine meets the stone ledge of the rooftop. Her fingers claw at my jacket like she needs me closer, like she’ll go mad if there’s even an inch of air between us.
“I should stay the fuck away from you,” I mutter against her mouth, trailing kisses down her jaw, across her throat. “But I can’t. I fucking can’t.”
“Then don’t,” she breathes.
Her voice is shaking.
So is mine.
“I can’t just keep fucking you in the dark,” I say, hands sliding up her thighs beneath her hoodie, fingers brushing lace. “You’ll ruin me, butterfly. I already know it.”
She exhales like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “You saying that while your hand’s under my hoodie?”
I grin, savage.
“You want romance?” I whisper. “Or you want me to bury my face between your legs and remind you why you taste better than peace?”
Her gasp goes straight to my cock.
She doesn’t answer.
She doesn’t have to.
Because she’s already climbing into my lap, straddling me on the ledge like the city doesn’t exist, like the stars aren’t watching, like I didn’t just spend a week in hell thinking I’d never get to touch her again.
“Lay back,” I order, voice gravelled.
“On the rooftop?”
“On the stars.”
She sucks in a breath as I guide her down to the blanket, her hair fanning out beneath her like a fucking halo. Her hoodie rides up, thighs parted, eyes wild.
“You sure?” I ask, kneeling between her legs.
“I want your mouth,” she says. “Nothing else. Just that. Just—just you.”
I let out a broken groan.
And lower myself like a man begging absolution.
But there’s no God here.
Just her.
Just the scent of her — hot and sweet and fucking addictive.
I drag her panties down her legs, slow enough to make her squirm, then toss them somewhere I don’t give a fuck about.
“Open wider,” I murmur, kissing her inner thigh. “Let me see what’s mine.”
She does.
Shaking.
Breathing like she’s already on the edge.
And then I taste her.
Fucking heaven.
Her hips jerk, a curse spilling from her lips as I flatten my tongue and drag it slow through her slick folds, letting her feel every single second.
“God, Dax—”
“No gods here,” I growl. “Just me. Just my mouth.”
She cries out when I flick her clit, and I hold her down with a hand across her stomach, watching her fall apart under the sky.
“You taste so fucking real,” I mutter against her. “You taste like sin and sweetness and mine.”
Her fingers clutch the blanket, her body arching.
“You’re not a dream,” I whisper. “You’re not. You’re real, aren’t you?”
She looks down, eyes glazed. “I’m real,” she whispers. “And I’m yours.”
That’s when I lose it.
That’s when I suck her clit into my mouth and make her scream my name so loud I hope the stars fucking hear it.
Her pussy clenches around my tongue—pink, swollen, glistening like ripe fruit. The taste of her floods my mouth—sweet salt and musk, addictive as a drug. I can feel every ridge, every delicate fold against my lips as I devour her.
She's trembling.
Not just trembling—coming apart. Her thighs quake against my cheeks, her wetness coating my chin. I can feel her pulse hammering through the tender flesh under my tongue.
"Dax—fuck—I can't take anymore—" she gasps, voice cracking.
I look up over the landscape of her body—flushed skin, heaving breasts, stomach muscles clenching. "Yes, you can," I growl, sliding two fingers into her silken heat. Her walls grip me, impossibly tight, impossibly hot. "Feel how your body's begging for it? How wet you are for me?"
She whimpers when I curl my fingers against that swollen spot inside her, when I suck her clit between my lips. Her hips buck wildly against my face.
"That's it," I murmur against her slick flesh. "Let go. Fucking drown me."
When she comes, it's with a raw, animal sound that shoots straight to my cock. Her release floods my mouth, her pussy pulsing around my fingers in waves I can count.
One. Two. Three. Four.
And I still don't stop.
Because this woman was made to destroy me.
And I'm going to worship every inch of her while she does.
She collapses back, panting, skin slick with sweat and starlight. Her chest heaves, nipples still tight and flushed dark pink against her trembling body.
I drag myself up her body, tasting salt on her skin, my tongue tracing the hollow between her ribs where sweat has pooled.
My stubble scrapes against her softness as I move higher, feeling her shiver beneath me.
My cock throbs painfully against denim as it drags through the slickness between her thighs.
"You want more?" I rasp, my thumb tracing her lower lip, swollen from biting back screams.
She nods, pupils blown so wide her eyes are nearly black. "I want all of you inside me."
Fucking hell.
I grip her jaw between my thumb and forefinger, holding her still as I claim her mouth.
Her taste mingles with her own arousal still coating my tongue.
She whimpers—a sound so broken and needy it makes my cock jerk against her.
Her nails dig half-moons into my shoulders as she grinds against the ridge straining my zipper.
"I should stop," I breathe against the pulse hammering in her throat.
"Then why aren't you?" she whispers, voice cracked and raw, her breath hot against my ear.
I pull back just enough to see her—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes that see right through me.
"I can't," I admit. "Not when you look at me like I'm worth saving."
Her fingers slide up my neck, thumb pressing against my racing pulse.
"I'm not trying to save you," she says, arching up so our foreheads touch. "I just want to feel like I'm not the only one falling apart."
Fuck.
I sit up, metal belt buckle scraping my stomach as I tear at my jeans, shoving them down just enough to free my aching cock.
The steel barbell piercing the head catches the moonlight.
She watches, pupils blown, lips parted, breath coming in little gasps.
Her inner thighs glisten with slick arousal, dress bunched around her waist.
"I need to be inside you," I rasp, voice like gravel. "Right fucking now."
She reaches for me, fingers trembling against my hip bones, nails digging crescents into my skin.
I hook my thumb around her thighs. The scent of her hits me—primal, raw. When I push inside, the piercing catches on her swollen flesh, making her back arch violently off the ground.
"Fuck," I hiss as her walls grip me, molten silk pulsing around every vein and ridge. Sweat drips from my forehead onto her collarbone, sliding between her breasts.
"I should go slow," I pant against her throat, tasting salt.
She sinks her teeth into my shoulder, hard enough to break skin. "I don't want slow."
"What do you want, butterfly?" My voice breaks as she clenches around me.
"Make me feel you everywhere," she breathes, copper-sweet against my mouth.
I slam into her so deep she cries out, her fingernails raking fire down my back. Her pussy grips me like a vice with each thrust, the wet sound of our bodies colliding echoing in the night air.
And I claim her like she's oxygen.
Every nerve ending electric.
Every thrust making her walls flutter.