Chapter 13 #2
My fingers tangle in his hair. Holding him there. “K—”
His hand slides down my stomach. Over my hip. Between my thighs.
When he touches me—really touches me—I nearly come apart.
“So wet,” he murmurs against my breast. “So ready.”
His finger slides inside. Then another. Stretching me. The heat of his touch is almost unbearable. Not painful, but intense—like his body temperature extends to every part of him.
Hot enough that I feel claimed by it. Branded.
I rock against his hand, chasing the pleasure building in my core. His thumb finds the bundle of nerves above where his fingers work, and I cry out.
“That’s it,” he says. Voice rough. “Let me hear you.”
The pleasure coils tighter. My hips move without conscious thought, riding his hand. Desperate for more.
When his fingers curl inside me, I’m gone. The orgasm hits hard and fast. My body clenches around his fingers as pleasure floods through me in waves that leave me gasping.
He works me through it. Gentle now. Drawing out every last tremor.
When I finally come back to myself, he’s watching me with eyes that burn gold in the firelight.
“I want you,” he says. Simple. Direct. “All of you.”
“Yes,” I say, breathless. “Yes… now.”
He positions himself between my thighs. The broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
I’m slick enough that he could slide in easily. But he doesn’t. Just holds there, letting me feel the promise of what’s coming.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says. “If I hurt you—”
“You won’t.”
He pushes forward. Just the tip. The stretch is immediate and overwhelming.
I gasp. Try to adjust. But his heat makes everything more intense. More.
He stills. “Mara?”
“I’m okay. You’re just—” I can’t finish. Can’t explain how full I feel, how the heat of him seems to radiate through my entire body. “Don’t stop.”
He moves. Slow. Careful. Giving me time to get used to his size, his temperature, the sheer overwhelming presence of him.
Then deeper.
My nails dig into his shoulders. My legs wrap around his waist, trying to pull him closer even though there’s nowhere left to go.
“God,” he breathes. “You feel—”
He can’t finish either.
Then he’s moving. Long, slow strokes that make me feel every inch of him. The drag and pull. The heat sinking into my bones.
I’ve never felt anything like this. This complete. This consumed.
His mouth finds mine again. Kisses that taste like desperation and need.
The pleasure builds. Not sharp and sudden, but rolling. Building in waves that make my breath catch and my body arch.
“More,” I gasp against his mouth. “Please.”
He obliges. His rhythm increasing. Thrusts coming deeper. The sound of skin on skin mixing with our ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire.
My world narrows to this. To him. To the heat and pressure and the way he fills me so completely there’s no room for doubt or fear or anything but sensation.
His hand slides between us. Finds where we’re joined. Touches my clit with sure strokes that make my back bow off the pallet.
“Come for me,” he says against my throat. “I want to feel it.”
The pleasure spikes. Sharp and sudden and almost too much.
I shatter.
The orgasm crashes through me with enough force to steal my breath. My body clenches around him, pulling him deeper, and I hear myself cry out—his name, wordless sound, I don’t know.
He follows seconds later. His rhythm breaking. Thrusts becoming erratic as he buries himself deep.
His face presses into the crook of my neck. His breath hot against my skin. Body trembling as he spills inside me.
And then—
“Lyria.”
The name is hoarse. Breathless. Muffled by my hair.
But it’s not mine.
What the fuck?
Everything stops.
The warmth drains from my body, replaced by ice so cold it burns.
He called me Lyria.
Not Mara. Not even a slip of the tongue that could be laughed off.
Lyria.
Whoever the fuck that is.
K’s body is still trembling with aftershocks, face buried against my neck. He doesn’t realize what he said. Doesn’t know he just destroyed everything.
I push at his chest. “Get off.”
His head lifts. Confusion clouds his eyes. “Mara—?”
“Get. Off.”
He pulls back immediately, and I scramble out from under him. Grab the discarded shirt, yank it over my head with shaking hands.
“Mara, what—?”
“Who’s Lyria?” My voice cracks. “Who the fuck is Lyria?”
Understanding dawns in his expression. Then horror.
“I—” He reaches for me. “I did not mean—”
“Don’t.” I back away, arms wrapped around myself. “Don’t touch me.”
“Please. Let me explain—”
“Explain what?” Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “That you were thinking about someone else while you were inside me? That I’m just a convenient substitute for whoever this Lyria is?”
“No!” He’s on his feet now, naked and devastated and so fucking beautiful it hurts. “That is not— You are not—”
“Then who is she?” I demand. “The woman you dream about? The one you thought I was when you kissed me yesterday?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. “I do not know.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t.” Desperation bleeds through his voice. “I cannot remember her. I only know—” He stops. Jaw works. His mind clearly working. “I know I lost her. That she is gone. And that some part of me still—”
“Still loves her.” I spit the words out. “Yeah. I got that.”
“Mara, please—”
I’m already moving. Pulling on my pants, lacing my boots.
“Where are you going?” Panic edges into his tone. “It is not safe—”
“I don’t care.” I yank open the door. Cold night air rushes in. “I need space. I need to not be here right now.”
“Mara, wait—”
But I’m already running.
Out into the darkness. Away from the dwelling and K’s stricken face and the name that keeps echoing in my skull.
Lyria. Lyria. Lyria.
I’m such an idiot.
Of course he was thinking of someone else. Of course I was just a replacement. A convenient body to project his lost love onto.
Story of my fucking life.
Always temporary. Always second choice. Always the one people settle for when they can’t have who they really want.
Tears blur my vision as I run through the darkened village. I don’t know where I’m going. Don’t care.
Just need distance. Space. Air that doesn’t smell like sex and broken promises.
And yet, each step away from him feels like I’m pulling against an invisible chain. Stupid body doesn’t want to believe what my mind is now processing. I want to go back.
Don’t be a fool!
I hit the tree line at full speed, branches whipping at my face and arms. The path is barely visible in the moonlight, but I don’t slow down.
Can’t slow down.
If I stop moving, I’ll have to feel this. And feeling this might actually kill me.
A branch catches my foot. I stumble, catch myself against a tree trunk.
That’s when I hear it.
Voices. Low and professional. Speaking English with American accents.
My blood freezes.
I stop short, pressing myself against the tree. Barely breathing.
Through the undergrowth ahead, I see them.
Tactical gear. Night vision goggles. Weapons.
Syndicate operatives.
And they’re heading straight toward the village.
Oh God.
Fear crashes over me, washing away the hurt and anger.
I have to warn him. Have to get back before—
A hand clamps over my mouth.
An arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off my feet.
“Well… what do we have here?” The voice is mocking. Too close to my ear.
I try to scream. Try to fight.
But there are too many of them.
And the last thing I see before a cloth pressed over my nose makes everything go dark is the village in the distance.
Where K is.
Where I left him.
And it’s too late to warn anyone.