Chapter 7 — Carina #2
Then he's on the bed settling between my thighs and I stop thinking about anything except the weight of him and the heat of his skin against mine.
His mouth finds my neck and he bites down hard enough to sting.
I gasp and he does it again lower, sucking the skin into his mouth and marking me deliberately. His tongue soothes each spot before he moves to the next, working his way down to my collarbone.
"Want you to see these tomorrow," he says against my skin. "Want you to remember exactly how you got them."
His hand slides between my legs and I'm already wet, slick and ready. He groans when his fingers find me.
"Christ, you're soaked."
His fingers slide through my wetness, exploring and learning.
He finds my clit and circles it with firm steady pressure and I moan, my hips rocking up into his hand seeking more. He keeps the pressure consistent and I'm already trembling, my hands gripping his shoulders.
Then his fingers slide lower and push inside me.
Two of them, thick and calloused and exactly what I need. The stretch makes me gasp and he stops immediately, letting me adjust to the intrusion.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Don't stop."
He starts moving, slow pulls almost all the way out before sliding back in deep.
The drag of his fingers inside me is intense and when he curls them and finds the spot that makes my vision go white I cry out.
"Right there," I manage. "Don't—don't stop doing that."
He doesn't. He works that spot with deliberate focus while his thumb finds my clit again, the dual sensation building fast. I'm already climbing, the pleasure coiling tighter with every movement of his hand.
"That's it," he says, watching my face. "Let me watch you fall apart."
The orgasm hits sudden and hard, ripping through me with enough force that my back arches off the bed. My inner muscles clench rhythmically around his fingers and I'm making sounds I can't control, high and desperate.
He works me through it, his fingers steady and relentless, drawing it out until I'm shaking and oversensitive.
He pulls his hand away and I watch him bring his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact.
The sight sends another pulse of heat through me even though I just came.
"You taste good," he says.
Then he's positioning himself between my thighs, the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
I'm still sensitive and when he starts to push inside the stretch is immediate and intense. Too much. I make a sound and my hands come up to his chest.
He stops immediately, buried maybe two inches inside me.
"Breathe," he tells me. "Just breathe through it."
I do, focusing on pulling air into my lungs while my body adjusts to the intrusion.
He stays perfectly still and I can see the effort it's taking, the tension in his jaw and shoulders, the way his arms are shaking slightly with the strain of holding back.
After a moment the discomfort starts to ease. "Okay. You can move."
He pushes in another inch and we both groan. The fullness is overwhelming but it's starting to feel good, the stretch turning from uncomfortable to exactly right. He pulls back slightly and pushes in again, working deeper with each slow thrust.
It takes time.
He's patient, reading my body and my breathing, giving me space to adjust.
When he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against mine and his cock buried completely inside me, we both go still.
"God," he breathes. "You feel—I can't even—"
He starts to move. Slow and deep, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with deliberate precision.
Each thrust hits something inside me that makes my toes curl and sparks shoot up my spine. I wrap my legs around his waist and the angle changes, gets deeper.
"More," I tell him. "I can take it. Give me more."
Something shifts in his expression.
He adjusts his weight onto his good arm and then he gives me what I asked for, driving into me harder and faster.
The bed creaks under us and the headboard hits the wall with each thrust and I don't care about any of it.
His hand slides down to grip my hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there with bruising force.
The pressure sends sparks of pleasure-pain through me and I clench around him involuntarily.
"Fuck," he groans. "Do that again."
I do, tightening my inner muscles around him deliberately, and his rhythm falters. His grip on my hip becomes almost painful and he starts pounding into me in earnest, the angle shifting so he's hitting that spot inside me with every single stroke.
The pleasure is building again already, coiling tight and hot in my belly. I'm climbing fast, my whole body drawn tight as a wire.
My hands slide down his back to grip his ass, pulling him deeper with every thrust.
"Touch yourself," he says, voice wrecked. "Want to feel you come on my cock."
I slide my hand between our bodies and find my clit, swollen and slick and so sensitive that the first touch makes me cry out.
I start circling it with quick tight movements, chasing the edge I can feel approaching.
"That's it," he groans. "You're getting so tight around me. I can feel it building."
He's right. I'm right there, every muscle in my body tense and trembling. His next thrust hits perfect and I shatter completely.
The orgasm is devastating, so intense I can't breathe or think or do anything except feel wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me.
My inner muscles clench rhythmically around him and I'm making noises I've never made before, desperate pleading sounds that I can't control.
"Carina—" His rhythm breaks completely. "I'm going to—where do you want—"
"Inside," I manage. "Stay inside me."
He slams into me one final time and goes rigid, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he comes.
I feel the warmth of it, feel him throb and jerk with aftershocks while he groans my name against my neck.
His hips keep moving in small shallow thrusts, drawing it out, until finally he collapses against me with all his weight.
We lie there breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin where our bodies are pressed together.
I can feel him softening inside me, can feel the wetness between my thighs where we're still joined, and I don't want him to move. Don't want this moment to end.
After a long time he shifts and pulls out. The loss makes me whimper and he makes a soothing sound, rolling onto his back and immediately pulling me into his side.
I curl against him, my head on his chest and my hand resting over his heart where I can feel it gradually slowing from its frantic pace.
Neither of us speaks for a long time.
Finally he breaks the silence. "You know I've been alone since Zoe was born."
It's not a question but I nod against his chest.
"Twenty years," he continues. "And I was okay with it. Convinced myself it was tactical, that keeping my world small kept everyone safer. That wanting anything for myself was selfish when Zoe needed me focused."
I stay quiet, listening.
"Then you walked into that clinic and I wanted things again.
Wanted you in ways I haven't wanted anyone in two decades.
And it terrified me because wanting you makes you a target.
But last night Zoe got taken anyway, not because I pursued you but because of who I am.
The danger's constant whether I'm alone or not. "
He's quiet for a moment and I wait.
"What I'm trying to say is I love you. I know it's been three days and that's insane but I'm certain about this. About you. And I need you to know that before anything else happens."
My throat is tight. "I love you too."
His arm tightens around me. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I tilt my head to look at him. "It is insane. Three days ago I didn't know you existed and now I'm lying in your bed having just had the most intense sex of my life and telling you I love you. But I'm certain too."
He pulls me up enough to kiss me, slow and deep and full of things we don't have words for yet.
When we finally break apart he says, "Tonight I want to take you to the clubhouse. There's church and after I want to introduce you to everyone properly. Claim you in front of the whole club."
I process what that means. "So everyone knows I'm yours."
"So everyone knows you're under Vigil protection. That you're family. That anyone who comes at you comes at all of us."
"That's a big step."
"It is." He's watching me. "You ready for that?"
I think about it. About what it means to be publicly claimed by him, to be officially part of this world. About the danger and the violence and the illegality.
About the fact that my hands were steady last night and I handled it and I'm stronger than I thought.
"Yeah," I tell him. "I'm ready."
We lie there a while longer, wrapped around each other in the wrecked bed. Eventually we get up and stumble to the shower together, washing the evidence off our skin.
He's gentle when he soaps my body and I'm careful around his bandaging.
When we're dressed it's almost noon and my stomach growls loudly.
"When did you last eat?" he asks.
I have to think about it. "Dinner. At your house. Which was yesterday."
"Come on."
We end up in his kitchen making scrambled eggs and toast. I butter the bread while he scrambles the eggs and we move around each other easily, like we've been sharing this space for years instead of hours.
We sit down to eat and the normalcy of it is almost jarring after everything that's happened.
"I need to go to the clinic," I tell him. "Check on Hamlet and handle the messages that came in overnight."
"I'll come with you."