Chapter Seven #2
Reaper stayed near the door, arms loose at his sides, watching her like she was something wild that might bolt if he moved too fast. She crossed to the small dresser and grabbed one of the beers she grabbed from the MC kitchen fridge the night before when she couldn’t sleep.
“Warm beer?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Sure,” he said.
She handed him one can. Their fingers brushed. Again, came an immediate and unavoidable spark.
They drank standing up, neither quite ready to sit, the alcohol warming her throat but doing nothing to slow her pulse. She leaned back against the dresser, the wood cool through her clothes.
“I really appreciate what you’ve done for me today,” she said quietly.
“You did what you needed to do,” Reaper said.
She looked at him then, really looked. The lines at the corners of his eyes. The scars that told stories he didn’t offer freely. She pushed off the dresser and stepped closer.
“So,” she said softly, “what do you want, Reaper?”
He laughed once, low and rough. “You’re asking dangerous questions,” he said.
“Answer anyway?” she pressed.
He set his can down carefully, like he needed both hands free.
“I want you,” he simply said.
Her breath caught.
“I’m right here,” she whispered.
He closed the distance between them in two steps. Reaper wasn’t touching her yet, although she wished he was. He stood close enough that she could feel his heat, smell leather and smoke and something unmistakably him.
“Okay,” he said.
She lifted her hand and pressed it to his chest. Felt his heart, steady and strong beneath her palm. His restraint snapped like a wire pulled too tight. He cupped her face with both hands, brushing his thumbs along her jaw, and kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It was deep and deliberate, like he was memorizing her. His mouth moved against hers with controlled intensity, asking and taking at the same time. She opened for him with a soft sound she didn’t recognize as her own.
The kiss turned hungry fast. She slid her hands up his arms, over hard muscle, fingers curling into the back of his cut. He groaned quietly into her mouth, the sound sending heat pooling low in her body.
When he pulled back, their foreheads rested together, breaths tangled.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.
She shook her head. “Don’t stop.”
It seemed that was all the permission he needed. Reaper slid his hands to her waist, his touch firm and possessive without being too rough. He backed her up until her calves hit the edge of the bed. She sank down, tugging him with her by the front of his shirt.
He followed, standing between her knees, looking down at her like she was something he’d waited a lifetime to touch.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice a little rough.
She reached for him again, this time pulling him down until his mouth was on her neck. His kiss there was slower, more intimate, lips lingering, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
Elena slid her hands into his hair. It was short, thick, softer than she expected. He made another low sound, this one deeper, like it came from somewhere he didn’t let many people see.
Time stretched and blurred. They dispensed with their clothes.
Reaper explored her body with his talented hands, touching the curve of her waist, the line of her spine.
Every touch was deliberate, grounding. When he kissed her nipples, they tightened to points.
Just from his touch alone, Elena’s thighs were wet with need.
Reaper pressed his mouth against hers again. She kissed him back just as fiercely, tasting beer and want. When he finally pulled back again, his eyes were dark, blown wide with heat.
“If we keep going,” he said quietly, “I’m not going to want to stop.”
Her heart hammered, but there was no fear in it now, only clarity.
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
Reaper fumbled for his discarded jeans, grabbing a condom before returning to her. She watched his beautiful cock—thick, beautiful, erect and ready for her. After slipping the condom on, he lifted her legs over his inked shoulders. He leaned forward, kissing her, then entered her.
He didn’t shove all the way in, he went slow and steady, ensuring she felt every delicious inch of him. Finally, he was buried deep in her and she moaned.
“Hurt?” he asked her. Elena only shook her head.
“Ride me, Reaper,” she begged and he complied.
He started with a steady rhythm first, before picking up the pace at her request. In a matter of moments, he reduced them both to panting messes. Sweat slicked their bodies. Each time Reaper entered her, it felt like their hearts connected.
It struck Elena, she had never felt this way with anyone else. No one had ever gotten under her skin the way Reaper did. Reaper switched the angle of his thrust and Elena gasped, eyes widening, arching her back. Having found her sweet spot, Reaper went for it again and again.
Needing something to hold onto, Elena gripped the sheets behind her. The pressure building inside her burst open at Reaper’s next push. The room fell away from her line of sight. Elena came, screaming out his name. Several thrusts later, Reaper climaxed.
Panting softly, Reaper slipped out of her. He made a quick trip to the bathroom, probably to dispose of the condom. When he returned, he had a small towel with him, and he cleaned them both up.
He slid in beside her, drawing her close with easy familiarity. Warmth wrapped around her as she settled against him, the solid rise and fall of his breathing steady beneath her cheek.
Feeling satisfied and pleasantly languid, Elena rested her head against his inked chest, tracing the edge of a tattoo absentmindedly with her fingers.
The world slowed, the tension of the day finally loosening its grip.
Before she realized it, sleep claimed her, deep and untroubled, wrapped in his arms.