Chapter 27 #2
She tremors beneath me, her hips lifting, pressing her core against the rigid length of my cock trapped in my jeans.
I growl low in my throat, breaking the kiss to trail my mouth down her neck, sucking hard on the sensitive skin there, marking her as mine.
My hands move to the hem of her black shirt, bunching it up slowly, exposing the soft plane of her stomach.
I drag my lips lower, licking along her collarbone as I push the shirt higher, over her ribs, until her breasts spill free—full and heaving with each breath.
“Fuck, Lucky,” I murmur against her skin, my voice rough with need. “You're so goddamn beautiful.”
I yank the shirt over her head in one swift motion, tossing it aside, and immediately latch onto one nipple, sucking it deep into my mouth, my tongue flicking over the hardened peak. She cries out, her fingers threading into my hair, pulling me closer as her back arches off the bed.
I switch to the other breast, biting gently before soothing with a swirl of my tongue, my hand kneading the first one, pinching the nipple between my fingers until she whimpers.
All the while, my hips grind against hers, the friction of our clothes—my jeans against her ripped denim—building the ache between us.
She's barefoot, her toes curling against the sheets, and I love how vulnerable she looks like this, stripped down to just her jeans now, trembling under my touch.
Her hands fumble at my shirt buttons again, more insistent this time, popping them open one by one.
I pull back just enough to shrug it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, baring my chest to her exploring fingers.
She traces the lines of my muscles, nails scraping lightly over my inked skin, and I hiss in pleasure, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss.
I slide down her body, my mouth worshipping every inch—kissing her navel, dipping my tongue into it before moving lower. My hands hook into the waistband of her jeans, fingers working on the fastening and zip.
“Lift up for me,” I command softly, my tone laced with that possessive edge, and she obeys instantly, raising her ass off the bed.
I peel the tight denim down her legs slowly, deliberately, savoring the way it clings to her thighs before sliding off.
The rips reveal glimpses of her pale, inked skin as I tug them free, and when they're finally off, I toss them aside, leaving her completely bare. She’s not wearing any panties, her pussy is exposed, glistening with arousal, and I groan at the sight, my cock throbbing painfully against my zipper.
I kick off my work boots one by one, the heavy thud echoing in the room as I stand at the edge of the bed.
Lucky watches me with wide eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly, lips parted.
I unbuckle my belt, the metal clinking, then pop the button of my jeans and drag the zipper down, freeing some of the pressure on my erection.
She reaches for me, but I shake my head, stepping out of my jeans and shoving my boxers down in one go. My cock springs free, thick and hard, the tip already leaking pre-cum. Her eyes lock on it, and she licks her lips unconsciously, making me growl.
“Not yet, darling. I need to taste you first.”
I climb back onto the bed, settling between her spread thighs, my hands gripping her hips to hold her steady.
I lean in, inhaling her scent—musky and sweet—before dragging my tongue along her slit, from her entrance to her clit.
She bucks against my mouth, a sharp cry escaping her, and I pin her down with one hand on her stomach, the other spreading her folds open.
I lick her again, slower this time, circling her clit with the flat of my tongue before sucking it between my lips. Her thighs tremble around my head, her heels digging into my back as she writhes. I thrust my tongue inside her pussy, fucking her with it, tasting her wetness as it coats my chin.
“So fucking wet for me,” I mutter against her, the vibrations making her gasp. “This pussy is mine, Lucky. All mine.”
She moans my name, her fingers twisting in the sheets, and I add two fingers to the mix, sliding them deep into her tight heat, curling them to hit that spot that makes her scream.
I pump them in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue on her clit, building her up until her body tenses, her breath coming in short pants.
“Come for me,” I demand, my voice muffled but fierce. “Let me feel you shatter.” And she does—her pussy clenching around my fingers, her cries filling the room as she floods my mouth with her release. I lap it all up, not stopping until she's limp and panting beneath me.
I pull back for just a moment, forehead against hers, gasping, hands still holding her, gripping her thighs possessively. I let her see the fire, the possessiveness, the protectiveness in my eyes.
“Every part of you. I’m not letting go,” I murmur, low, dangerous, reverent.
Her eyes flutter closed, lips parted, and I feel her surrender, fully, utterly, and it drives me over the edge.
I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock nudging her slick folds, and thrust in slowly, inch by inch, stretching her around my thickness.
She gasps, her nails raking down my back, and I bury myself to the hilt, groaning at how perfectly she grips me.
I adjust to let her rise against me, her hands clutching my shoulders, her body seeking mine, and I give myself to her, letting every ounce of control, of desire, of care flow into this, into her, into us.
I pull back and slam in again, setting a hard rhythm, my hips snapping against hers.
The bed creaks under us, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, and I lean down to capture one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard as I fuck her deeper.
“Take it all,” I growl against her skin, my hand sliding between us to rub her clit in tight circles.
“You're so tight, so perfect—made for my cock.” She whimpers, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me in closer, and I lose myself in the sensation, pounding into her with possessive force, claiming every inch of her body.
Her walls flutter around me, another orgasm building, and I angle my hips to hit that spot inside her relentlessly.
“Come on my cock, darling,” She shatters again, her pussy squeezing me like a vice, and it's enough to push me over— I thrust deep one last time, spilling inside her, hot spurts of cum filling her as I roar her name.
And as she trembles beneath me, cries low and breathless, gasping my name, I hold her, steady her, anchor her, letting her know that in this storm, in this chaos, she is safe. She is mine. And I will never let anything take her away.
I collapse beside her, pulling her into my chest, our sweat-slicked bodies tangled together. My hand strokes her hair, my lips pressing soft kisses to her temple.
“I've got you,” I whisper, my voice steady now, protective. “Always.”
Her breath evens out slowly against my chest, each inhale still shaky, each exhale a soft rush of warmth across my skin. She’s melted into me—utterly, completely—her thigh hooked over mine, her fingers curled loosely against my ribs like she’s afraid to let go even in her sleep-dazed state.
I don’t move. I barely breathe.
She’s fragile right now. Soft in a way I’ve never seen her. Definitely not Lucky Pink, the version of herself she performs for the world. Just… her. Raw. Spent. Safe.
I drag my hand down her spine, slow and steady, feeling the goosebumps rise under my palm. She sighs at the contact—tiny, involuntary—and something in my chest gives way.
Christ.
I hold her tighter.
Her cheek is pressed against my sternum, warm and damp from sweat, and I kiss the top of her head again because I can’t help myself. She fits there—right there—like she was meant to.
My pulse is still running high, but it’s not the sex.
It’s her.
The way she clung to me like I was the only solid thing in her world.
The way she said my name like it meant something.
The way she let go in my arms.
Lucky shifts slightly, burrowing closer, her breath brushing my neck. A quiet hum escapes her, the kind people make when they feel safe without realizing it.
I close my eyes.
Safe.
She hasn’t had that word in her vocabulary for a long time. Maybe ever.
My fingers slide into her hair, combing through the dark strands gently, untangling knots one at a time. Hers tighten against me in response, like she’s holding onto a lifeline.
“You’re all right,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re all right.”
She nuzzles closer, like she hears it even half-asleep.
The room is quiet, save for the soft buzz of the ceiling fan and her slow, more relaxed breathing.
I can feel the faint tremor in her muscles beginning to ease, the tension uncoiling after everything she unloaded yesterday—fear, guilt, trauma, the stalker, her past, her mother, the persona she was forced to become.
She gave me all of it.
And she gave me herself.
My hand keeps moving—down her back, up her arm, into her hair again—rhythmic, calming. She needs touch after fear. Needs anchors that don’t hurt. Needs someone who won’t disappear.
“Sleep,” I murmur against her temple. “You’re safe with me.”
Her breathing deepens, the last of the tremors fading, and before long her full weight settles onto me—her body trusting mine completely.
That’s when it hits me.
I’m not just holding her.
I’m holding something I can’t lose.
I exhale slowly, staring at the ceiling, letting the truth settle in the quiet dark.
I’m in deep. Too deep to walk away. Too deep to pretend I don’t feel it.
Lucky Vale—this chaotic, brave, trembling woman—is asleep on my chest like she’s finally allowed to rest.
And I’m not letting anything get near her.
Not Scheifer.
Not the industry.
Not her fears.
Not her past.
Not even my own.
I press one more kiss to her forehead, softer this time, almost reverent.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” I whisper. “I’ll keep watch.”
And I do.
I stay awake, listening to every small breath she takes, guarding her like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever been trusted with.
Because she is.