Chapter 5 #2
The authority in his tone sent a jolt of arousal through me. I complied, positioning myself on his king-sized bed while he hastily shed his own clothes. When he joined me, his body radiated heat like a furnace, burning against my skin where he pressed against my back.
“Mine,” he growled, one large hand splaying possessively across my lower back. “Say it, Eliot.”
I looked over my shoulder at him, startled by the intensity in his eyes—eyes that definitely flashed gold in the dim bedroom light.
“Yours,” I heard myself say, the word pulled from some primitive part of me that recognized the truth of it.
His response was a sound more animal than human. His hands gripped my hips, positioning me as his mouth traveled down my spine, leaving a trail of biting kisses that would surely mark me come morning.
“Need to taste you,” he muttered, and before I could process his meaning, his hands were spreading me open and his tongue was—oh god.
“Rafferty!” I gasped, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as he licked into me without preamble. The sensation was overwhelming—wet heat and insistent pressure that had me rocking back against his face shamelessly.
He worked me open with a thoroughness that bordered on worship, his beard scratching deliciously against sensitive skin. When he finally pulled back, I was a trembling mess, cock leaking steadily onto the sheets below.
“Look at you,” he said roughly, one thick finger replacing his tongue, sliding into me with little resistance. “So ready for me.”
A second finger joined the first, stretching and curling to find the spot that made me see stars. I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my cries as he worked me mercilessly, adding a third finger when I began to push back against him.
“No,” he said sharply, his free hand fisting in my hair to pull my head up. “Want to hear you. Every sound.”
The slight pain of his grip sent a shudder of pleasure through me. This domineering side of Rafferty was new, and unexpectedly arousing.
“Please,” I moaned as his fingers continued their relentless assault on my prostate. “Need you. Inside. Now.”
He withdrew his fingers, leaving me empty and aching.
I heard the snap of a cap, then felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against me.
Despite our numerous encounters over the past week, I still wasn’t entirely used to his size—thick and long, stretching me to the point of sweet pain as he pushed steadily into me.
“Fuck,” he hissed, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise while the other pressed between my shoulder blades, keeping me pinned. “So tight. Every time.”
I forced myself to relax, breathing through the initial burn until it melted into pleasure. When he was fully seated, he paused, his chest pressed against my back as he wrapped one arm around my chest to hold me against him.
“Mine,” he repeated, voice guttural in my ear. “My mate.”
Before I could question the strange terminology, he began to move, and coherent thought fled. Each thrust was powerful, deliberate, striking that perfect spot inside me with unerring accuracy. The hand on my hip moved to wrap around my cock, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts.
“Not going to last,” I warned, feeling my orgasm building with embarrassing speed. “Too good.”
“Come for me,” he commanded, pace increasing to a punishing rhythm. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
His crude words pushed me over the edge.
I came with a shout, spilling over his fist and clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed through me.
Behind me, Rafferty’s movements became erratic, his breathing harsh against my neck.
With a sound that was definitely more growl than groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his cock pulsing inside me.
For several long moments, we remained frozen in that position, both of us panting. Then, with surprising gentleness, he eased out of me and guided me down to the mattress, tucking me against his side. His hand stroked lazily up and down my spine as our breathing slowly returned to normal.
“You okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I was rougher than usual.”
I took mental inventory. I would be sore tomorrow, certainly, with likely visible marks on my hips and neck. But the lingering pleasure far outweighed any discomfort.
“More than okay,” I assured him, tracing patterns through the hair on his chest. “Though I am curious about something.”
“Hmm?” He sounded half-asleep already, his body relaxed against mine.
“You called me your ‘mate.’” I felt him tense slightly. “That’s an interesting choice of word.”
For a moment, I thought he might deflect again. Then he sighed, his arms tightening around me. “It’s just… something that slipped out in the moment.”
“Rafferty—”
“Not tonight, Eliot.” His voice was soft but firm. “Please.”
I wanted to push, to demand answers to the questions multiplying in my mind. But his expression was so raw, so vulnerable, that I found myself nodding instead.
“Okay. Not tonight.”
Relief softened his features. He pulled me closer, kissing me with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you.”
As we drifted toward sleep, tangled together in his bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Rafferty was hiding would change everything between us. And despite my lifelong devotion to rational thought, I found myself hoping that some legends might contain a kernel of truth after all.