Chapter Nadia #2
I look at this man. Crouched in front of me in his mother's kitchen at night with blood on his jaw and wrapped knuckles and calm, steady eyes that are asking me to let him take care of me.
"Okay," I say.
I let him lead me to his room without turning on the overhead light.
The only glow comes from the bedside lamp he clicks on, low and warm, and from the moonlight spilling through the big window that overlooks the dark grounds.
His room smells like him, clean soap, faint leather, and that quiet masculine warmth that’s become my new definition of safe.
Rafferty closes the door behind us with a soft click. Then he turns to me, slow and careful, like I’m made of glass he’s afraid to crack. His wrapped knuckles brush my cheek as he studies the bruise Kyle left behind. His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle.
“You’re shaking again,” he says. “Come here.”
He guides me to the edge of the bed and sits me down. Then he crouches in front of me again, hands resting lightly on my knees. His dark eyes search mine.
“I can sleep on the couch if you need space,” he offers. “Or I can hold you. Whatever you want tonight, Nadia. No expectations.”
The words settle over me. For three years I was powerless.
For three years I let a man control my body, my money, my fear.
Tonight Kyle tried to take even more, but Rafferty stopped him.
And now this man, this dangerous, beautiful man, is kneeling in front of me offering me the one thing I’ve not had in so long: choice.
I want it back. All of it. My power. My body. My pleasure. And I want to take it with him.
I slide my fingers into his hair, feeling the thick strands, still slightly damp from the night air. “I don’t want space,” I whisper. “I want you.”
His breath catches. “Nadia—”
“I know what I’m asking.” I lean down and kiss him. “I want to feel something real. Something that’s mine to choose.”
He kisses me back, deep and hungry, but he keeps it controlled, hands staying on my knees, letting me set the pace. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“I need to shower first,” he says, voice rough. “I’ve got his blood on me. I don’t want any part of that bastard touching you again.”
I nod, but the decision is already burning in my veins.
He stands, peels off his shirt, and I get the full view of him, broad shoulders, the ink across his chest and ribs, the fresh bruises and split knuckles that he earned for me.
My stomach flips with heat. He disappears into the attached bathroom, leaving the door open.
A moment later the shower turns on, water rushing loud against tile.
I sit there for ten seconds, listening to the spray, feeling the pulse between my legs grow heavier. Then I stand up.
I strip slowly, jeans first, then the sweater, then the plain bra and panties I put on this morning. Naked, I walk to the bathroom doorway.
Steam is already curling out. Through the glass shower door I see Rafferty under the hot water, head bowed, hands braced on the tile, letting the water beat across his shoulders and back.
Blood and dirt swirl down the drain at his feet.
His body is all hard muscle and tension, every line of him carved by the life he leads.
I step inside.
The steam wraps around me like silk. The water is scalding when it hits my skin, but I don’t flinch. I slide the glass door shut behind me.
Rafferty’s head snaps up. Water streams down his face, darkening his lashes. His eyes rake over me and his cock thickens visibly against his thigh before he can even speak.
“Nadia,” he rasps. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” I step under the spray with him, close enough that my breasts brush his chest. Water slicks between us. “I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you. Right now.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him like I’m starving. He groans into my mouth and finally lets go, big hands sliding down my back, gripping my ass, hauling me flush against him. His cock is hot and hard between us, pressed against my stomach, and the feel of it makes me moan.
“Tell me what you want,” he says against my lips, voice wrecked. “I’ll give you anything.”
I reach between us and wrap my fingers around his cock. He’s thick and heavy. I stroke him once, slow and firm, and his hips jerk.
“I want you inside me,” I say, looking straight into his eyes. “I want you to fuck me until the only thing I remember about tonight is how you feel. I want to come on your cock and know it’s because I chose it. Because I’m yours and you’re mine.”
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
He spins me so my back hits the cool tile wall, then drops to his knees in the spray.
Before I can catch my breath, his mouth is on me.
His tongue drags through my folds, finds my clit, and sucks hard.
I cry out, fingers fisting in his wet hair.
He doesn’t tease; he feasts. Two thick fingers push inside me, curling, stroking that spot that makes my knees buckle.
The water beats down on us, steam everywhere, and the only sounds are my broken moans and the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on my pussy.
I come hard and fast, thighs shaking around his head, screaming his name as the orgasm rips through me. He keeps licking me through it, gentling but not stopping until I’m trembling.
Only then does he rise, lift me like I weigh nothing, and pin me to the wall with my legs wrapped around his waist. His cock nudges my entrance, thick and insistent.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do. Water streams down his face, his eyes are black with lust and glittering with desire.
He thrusts in with one long, smooth stroke that seats him to the hilt. We both groan. He’s so deep, stretching me perfectly, and the fullness is everything I needed.
“Move,” I beg, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t be gentle. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
His control snaps.
He fucks me against the shower wall like he’s been waiting his whole life for permission.
Hard, deep strokes that slam into me and drag over every sensitive part of me.
The wet slap of skin, the steam, the way his pubic bone grinds against my clit on every thrust, it’s overwhelming.
I’m moaning, cursing, crying out his name while he growls filthy praise against my neck.
“That’s it, Nadia. Take every inch. This pussy is mine now. You’re mine. You’re going to come on my cock again and I’m going to feel you milk me dry.”
The second orgasm crashes over me even harder than the first, walls clamping down around him so tight he curses. He fucks me through it, hips stuttering, until he buries himself deep and comes with a raw groan, pulsing hot inside me.
We stay locked together under the spray, breathing hard. He presses soft kisses to my bruised cheek, my split lip, my forehead. Everywhere Kyle marked me, Rafferty erases with reverence.
When he finally sets me down my legs are jelly. He washes me gently with soapy hands, then dries me with a thick towel and carries me to his bed like I’m something precious.
We slide under the dark sheets naked. He pulls me against his chest, one arm banded around my waist, the other hand stroking slow circles over my hip.
“You okay?” he murmurs into my hair.
I smile against his skin, already drifting toward sleep for the first time in years without fear.
“I’m perfect,” I whisper. “I feel like me again.”