36. Cora
Cora
He catches my wrist. In one expert motion, he spins me so my arm is behind my back, and the next second, I’m pressed up against the wall with Brady behind me.
He keeps me pinned with one arm across my shoulder blades, the other holding my wrist behind my lower back. Even like this, he’s careful to avoid the bruise on my spine. He’s trying to make me understand his monstrous side, and yet he won’t hurt me.
If I told him to let me fucking go, he would.
But I don’t. I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder, my tearstained cheek against the smooth wall. He’s baring his teeth at me like an animal.
“You can’t care about me.”
“That’s too damn bad,” I tell him, and my palms start to sweat. But the terror I feel has nothing to do with being pinned to the wall. It’s my body warning me not to proceed, not to let myself be vulnerable, especially not with him.
But the words come out anyway.
“Because I love you.”
His grip relaxes in surprise. It’s not how I wanted to tell him, but hell, none of this is what I thought I wanted.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, even though he knows it’s the truth. He lowers his arm from my shoulder blades and loosens his grip on my wrist. But I stay where I am. I get the sense that it’s easier for both of us to talk this way, as fucked up as it is.
“Would I have risked my life to save yours if I didn’t mean it?” I ask.
Brady exhales slowly. I feel him lean forward, and then his face is next to mine. He presses his forehead to the wall beside me as he closes his eyes, like he’s feeling the weight of everything. He lets go of my wrist and slides his hand to rest on my hip.
“You did save my life.” He turns to face me, his nose an inch away from mine. I see the honesty of it in his gray-green eyes.
He meant for that fire to end him.
A hole opens in my chest at the thought of him leaving me like that, at the thought that he’d want to leave at all.
He’s troubled by his demons, there’s no avoiding them in this life. Our world has shaped him into who he is, and because of that he thinks I can’t love him. But even though I’ve seen my husband at his darkest, I love him all the same. I have my darker side too.
I love Brady for his sins. Because they’re part of him.
I kiss him softly. It’s a little awkward at first, with him behind me and both of our faces close to the wall.
But as the kiss deepens, we find our balance in each other.
Brady leans closer, pressing himself against my back.
The heat of his bare skin envelops me, the masculine scent of him more dangerous with its undercurrent of smoke.
He shifts his hips so I feel his hard cock against my ass, just my dress and flimsy panties between us. I moan with anticipation, my clit already aching.
“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me what I saved.”
He makes a noise of satisfaction that rumbles deep in his chest. We’ve never been like this before, with me clothed and him bare. It feels like devotion, the way he’s not hiding anything, with all of his attention dedicated solely to me.
He glides his hands up my bare thighs and lifts my skirt. He tsks lightly when he discovers I’m wearing panties, but there were no instructions given. As he pulls the lacy pair slowly down my legs, he murmurs about how wet I am.
He leaves my panties around my ankles, which surprises me a little. I won’t be able to spread my legs for him as much as he likes. It’s almost as if he knows I love the sensation of him fucking me from behind with my legs together, the friction it generates, the angles it hits.
Brady positions himself behind me as I put my hands on the wall.
With my skirt lifted, he rubs the head of his cock along my wet folds, and I moan when he hits my swollen clit.
He keeps rubbing himself there, his thick cock sliding against my sensitive spot.
Just feeling how hard he is for me makes me even wetter, and my orgasm takes me by surprise.
I shudder, my pussy clenching around nothing.
We both know it wasn’t enough.
I’m about to beg for his cock when I feel his broad tip nudge against my entrance.
Then he’s sliding inside of me, stretching me so wide I feel like I might burst. He sinks himself in up to the hilt as I bite my lip against screaming.
Beneath my skirt, he slides one hand up to my belly, pressing lightly to feel how deep he is.
He groans in satisfaction as he starts to move inside me.
I’m breathless, trying to cling to the flat wall for support. Brady angles my hips back so I’m leaning forward slightly, and I’m able to brace myself against the wall as he thrusts. He goes slowly at first, with both of us savoring every delicious inch.
I feel him nudge my ankles together with his feet, and then I’m standing with my thighs pressed together, with Brady’s cock hitting my G-spot at the perfect angle.
I gasp as I beg for him to give it to me harder, and he grips my hips tighter, slamming faster in response.
The feel of his thick cock against my inner spot is so good it’s almost unbearable.
Then he slips one hand down between my legs, and I’m done for.
With my thighs pressed together, he has to shove his fingers roughly against my clit, and it’s exactly what I need. I feel my entire body tense up, the pleasure building like pressure inside me. I cry out that I’m about to come, and he rubs harder, shoves deeper until the pleasure bursts.
There are stars behind my eyes as all of my muscles convulse, and Brady starts slamming into me so hard that I know he’s coming too. I spasm around him until I go limp, my entire body spent.
When Brady slides out of me, he has to support me by my waist, my legs too weak to stand.
He scoops me up and carries me to the bed, laying me down like I’m precious.
Somehow my ballet flats are still on, and he slides them gently off, tossing them and my panties to the floor.
He arranges my skirt so it’s not uncomfortably bunched around my waist, then he climbs into the other side of the bed.
As he settles onto his back, he lifts me toward him so I’m curled into his side. I lay my head on his chest, and he strokes my hair absentmindedly as we lie there in peace.
“I love you, Brady,” I say, looking up at him. This was how I’d meant to say it.
His lips curl slightly, his smile almost entirely in his eyes. When he says nothing back to me, I get a little bolder.
“I don’t love you, Brady.”
“Lie.”
It’s the happiest that accusation has ever made me.