CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #3
Slowly, still looking in his eyes, I slide my hands up and grip his sides.
Touch his scar, rough and coarse but his, with my hands.
His entire body flinches at this, but I’m not deterred.
I don’t even know if someone has touched him there, on his scar, let alone done what I’m going to do.
Which means it’s going to come as a shock to him, but he’ll be okay.
I watch his eyes flare and go dark as I inch closer to him, to his scar.
His jaw clenches when I’m so close to his skin that he can probably feel my hot breaths on it.
But before I can put my mouth on his body, he breaks into action.
He grabs my soaked braid and yanks my head back, stretching my neck.
Then, growling, “What the fuck are you doin’?”
I keep my grip on him tight as I reply, “Getting down on my knees like you told me to.” His brow furrows and it looks like he’s going to say something, but like before, I don’t care what he has to say and I continue, “So see, the problem is, I’m not really good at math.
I can’t give you the exact figure, down to the second, as to how long it’s been since I’ve been thinking about you and dreaming about you.
I’m not very good at stalking either. Or breaking into your barn when you’re not there and hiding cameras so I can watch you twenty-four seven.
I can’t even open the door to your room, let alone sneak into it without your knowledge.
All of this you already know, but what I’m trying to say is that I may be a slouch in certain areas.
I get that. I also get that you have a lot more experience than me, even though you haven’t been with anyone in seven years.
You know what girls want, but I am a girl too.
And I read somewhere that men are idiots.
They think they’re all tough and strong and smart, but girls are smarter.
We’re tougher and stronger. Not all, mind you, but some.
Me. Sometimes you have to tell men what you want or they’ll never figure it out.
So this is me telling you: I will get down on my knees for you.
I will let you do whatever you want to me, but I’m not going to turn around.
I’m not going to close my eyes or whatever you think I should do so I don’t have to look at you or your scars.
Because as it turns out, I like to watch too.
And you are my favorite thing to watch. You are the only thing I ever want to watch.
Is that clear enough for you? Or do you want me to explain it in more detail, how if I’m yours, you are mine.
Mine. You belong to me. Every part of you is mine, and even you don’t get to take that away from me. ”
Then I can’t help but add, “Oh, and one more thing. Turns out, I also have a taste for blood. Because I want you to tell me the name of that girl when we’re done. The one who ran from you. Because I’m going to hunt her down and I’m going to make her pay.”
She’s the one who made him believe he didn’t deserve anyone. She made him choose a life of loneliness, and I hate her for that. Loathe her for that.
I’m so immersed in my angry thoughts maybe that’s why I don’t see it coming. I don’t notice his abs flexing and him leaning down. Or that he lets my hair go and pulls me up to my feet. But that’s not all; he picks me up off the floor and makes me climb his body until I’m wrapped around him.
No, I don’t notice any of that until it’s already happened.
And by then, he’s kissing me. It’s not a kiss like before where he was eating me up, devouring me.
No, this kiss is all hard presses and choked breaths.
It’s like he wants us to become one. He wants to crawl inside of me and never leave.
Which is great, because I want to crawl inside of him and never leave.
I want to stay with him forever, kissing him, touching him, loving him.
This is how we make it back to the bed. All kissing mouths and tangled limbs, my soft curves sliding against his hard muscles.
Entwined and roped.
When he breaks our kiss, I say fiercely, through panting breaths, “I’m going to kill her.”
Settled between my thighs, a current of amusement runs through his previously angry features. He frames my face with his hands and presses another hard kiss on my mouth before rasping, “Reckon you need to calm down, darlin’.”
I make clumps out of his drenched hair and say, “And I think you need to give me that name right now because I don’t think I can wait until the end of this.”
He looks deep into my eyes and presses another kiss on my mouth, this one soft. “No.”
I tug at his hair and kiss him back; mine is hard, though. “Why not?”
His eyes rove over my features as he caresses my flushed cheeks with his thumbs. “Don’t want any other name on my lips now that I know yours.”
God, why does he have to say these things and make me love him harder?
“You’re beautiful,” I blurt out, my heart in my eyes.
His own eyes flare and there’s genuine surprise in them, shock, before he mutters as if to himself, “Christ, she really believes that.”
“I do,” I tell him, just as fiercely as I told him I wanted to kill that girl.
He swallows thickly. “Thought you did, but…”
“And I’m going to make you believe that too,” I vow.
Then it’s his turn to blurt out, in a completely atypical fashion, “Didn’t like talkin’ about other girls with you.
Didn’t like bringin’ them between us, in our bed.
No one else belongs here; you understand what I’m sayin’ to you?
No one. Not a single soul, not a single secret belongs between us. It’s just you and me.”
I know. I know what he’s saying. Not those girls who came before, not my father and his sins; nothing belongs between us. And God, I’m so thankful for that. I’m so thankful that there are no shadows and secrets when we’re finally coming together.
“Just you and me,” I whisper, my eyes wet with tears.
“Just the Princess and her Phantom.”
I hiccup. “Just the Phantom and his Princess. Oh, and…” I lean up to his ear and whisper, “You don’t need a condom with me.” He stiffens and I move to look into his darkened eyes. “I have a shot. I started getting them as soon as I could because… You know, how my father is and—”
His eyes get angry at the mention of my father before he comes back down and kisses me again, halting my words.
And this time, when his hands roam my body, mine roam over his.
This time when he moves between my thighs, rocks against my swollen pussy, I rock back against him.
Against his hard length that I can finally feel, skin to skin.
It’s so slippery and hot against my core, my belly.
It’s throbbing and pulsing and rubbing against me in a way that’s slowly driving me crazy.
Driving me mindless and thoughtless and I pant against his mouth, “Radisson, I—”
“I know, Princess,” he whispers, his fingers on my face, his forehead rolling against mine. “I know what you need.”
“Please.”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Been a long time since I did this, but I’ll take care of you, yeah?”
This reminds me of something else he said before and I ask, “You really, uh, came in your pants when you watched me?”
Something heated flashes through his eyes as he responds, “Came in my pants the night you rode my stomach up on that cliff.”
I gasp. “No way.”
“And that day at the bar. Came the moment I tasted your cunt and you flooded my mouth with your juices.”
“Stop,” I whisper, my eyes wide. “How did I… I didn’t even notice it.”
He takes me in fondly, tenderly at that. “Yeah, don’t blame you, though. You were busy bein’ my good girl.”
I shudder at his praise.
And he simply keeps rocking into me, dragging his cock up and down my core as he gets back to business. “Wrap your thighs around me.”