Chapter 23 Silk Before the Knife
“You look beautiful,” Scarlett exclaims, makeup brush in her hand as she steps back to admire her handiwork.
Cece the calico cat meows, clearly agreeing.
I grin at the mirror, almost not recognizing myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in anything other than sweats or scrubs.
At Scarlett’s insistence, we’re meeting at Arcana the storm isn’t doing enough. I’m climbing, climbing, climbing, but I can’t break.
I can’t fall.
I want to fall.
I reach out again. This time, my fingers find something solid—hot flesh, hard and rippling beneath my palm. I brace there, arching my hips up, my pussy dragging against something thick.
“Fuck!” A gritty voice scrapes against my ear.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I grind over that length, chasing friction, chasing the breaking point.
“Look at you,” a deep voice rasps. “Making a mess. Dripping all over me. So fucking needy. You need me, don’t you? This pussy needs me.”
My core clenches. Releases. Clenches again.
A cry lodges high in my throat. The world swirls around me—darkness and light, mist and clarity.
Then I explode.
“Yes!” I scream, my eyes snapping open to darkness, my body throbbing, dripping, melting under the powerful, muscular man on top of me.
The heady scent of leather and masculine sweat reaches my nose.
Reaper. He’s back.
His mouth is on my neck. His fingers pinch my nipples.
He groans and holds himself still above me. He’s trembling, like it’s taking every ounce of his willpower to stop.
“Reaper?” My voice is a thick, breathy whisper.
“My Aria.”
My heart jolts.
His Aria.
In the dark, it’s just the two of us. And I want to be his.
“You came back.” I hate how my voice wobbles as the orgasm slowly fades.
“I’ll always come back,” he rasps. “As long as you’ll have me.”
The answer rises so fast, it kicks my pulse into a calamitous rhythm.
I want him. Reaper. Even though it’s a bad idea. I want him however I can have him.
“Tell me why we can’t be together,” I ask, moisture gathering in my eyes. “Or don’t come back. Because I can’t do this. I can’t pretend this means nothing.”
His heavy breaths float against my neck.
Then I feel a kiss there, where my pulse beats.
Another gentle press on my chin.
Then my nose.
My cheek.
His thumb brushes away the dampness, and he hisses like he’s upset it’s there.
“Someday you’ll know.”
Then his lips meet mine.
I should stop him. He didn’t answer me. If anything, his kiss feels like a goodbye.
But I don’t.
Acting on instinct, I drag my hands to his face, fisting his hair, then letting go. I mold my fingers to the hard angles of his jawline, trace the unevenness of his skin, the roughness of his short beard, the thick eyebrows, and his closed eyes.
He’s not wearing a mask or his goggles.
He’s meeting me fully in the dark. He might not be telling me his reasons, but he’s giving me more than he has ever given before.
Reaper’s mouth moves over mine—harder, faster—a certain desperation that wasn’t there before, like we’re running out of time.
My heart aches. I don’t understand.
But I don’t want to break our kiss to ask.
Our tongues tangle, my body sparking to life. Heat gathers low when I feel him still hard against me.
He’s fully clothed.
Moaning, I curve my leg around his backside and push, flipping him onto his back so that I’m straddling his lap.
If this is the last time, then I refuse to pretend I don’t want him. I need one last memory—a scorching one to warm me at night when he’s gone.
I grind down.
My wet core drags over his zipper. The bite of the metal hits my clit in the best way.
I grab his hands, bringing them to my breasts, wrapping them around the swollen flesh.
“Aria, I can’t—” Reaper groans when I writhe harder.
I need him again. His rough voice. Heated kisses.
My hips roll, sliding against his pants.
It’s not enough.
I want it all—even if tomorrow takes him away from me.