Chapter Twelve
The Thing We Reach For
Raven
You don’t reach for someone when you’re whole.
You reach when something inside you is fraying and you need proof that you’re still connected to the world in a way that hurts enough to be real.
The compound is too quiet tonight. It’s not peaceful or safe.
It’s quiet like a held breath that doesn’t know whether it’s about to become a scream.
Ghost is stable but still unconscious, Cherry is out of surgery and will be fine, eventually, and the rest of us are on edge, our nerves pulled tight by near-misses and bad timing.
And Savage hasn’t touched me since the first blood was drawn. I’m not sure if it’s accidental or deliberate, but that absence sits heavier than his hands ever did.
In the early morning hours. I find him where I know I will, his room, the lights down low, his cut hanging from a hook beside his door, his sleeves rolled up like he’s been trying to scrub the day out of his skin and failing. He looks up when I enter, eyes dark and tired and sharp all at once.
“Raven,” he says.
“You didn’t come earlier,” I say.
“No.” His voice is carrying the weight of his decisions.
“You didn’t check on me.”
“No.”
The space between us is thick with everything we’re not saying, about danger, about cost, about the way the world keeps testing how much we’re willing to lose before we flinch.
“I don’t want to talk,” I say.
He studies me carefully. “That’s not usually true.”
“It is now.”
Silence stretches. Then he nods once. “Okay.”
I cross the room and stop in front of him. He doesn’t stand or reach for me. He waits like he’s bracing for impact without knowing what direction it’s coming from.
“Touch me,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “Raven...”
“Not gently,” I cut in. “And not like you’re trying to fix something.”
His eyes flicker. “This won’t solve anything.”
“I know,” I say. “And I don’t want it to. I just want to forget everything.”
That’s the truth. I want the friction. The heat. The sharp reminder that we still want each other even when we don’t know how to stand in the same space without cutting ourselves open.
“Tell me to stop whenever...” he starts.
“I won’t.” I cut in.
He stands then, slow and deliberate, and the air shifts with the movement. His hands come to my hips, firm, grounding, and the moment his fingers press into me, my breath stutters.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes.”
That single word is all it takes.
His mouth crashes into mine, not careful or exploratory, but hungry and frustrated. Like he’s been holding the line with his teeth and finally let go. I kiss him back just as hard, biting, swearing into his mouth when he crowds me back against the door.
“This is a very bad fucking idea,” he growls.
“Then stop talking,” I snap.
He laughs once, sharp and breathless. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still fucking talking,” I fire back.
His hands are everywhere, not claiming, not gentle. He pulls my shirt over my head while I do the same. His hands find my breasts the moment my bra falls away and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes me, not that I try.
The callouses on his hands scrape against my soft skin and nipples, sending shivers through my body and heat to my core. His grip is firm but not painful.
“You’re pissed,” I say as his mouth drops to my throat.
“Yeah,” he admits. “I am.”
“Good.”
I shove him back toward the bed and he lets me, not because I’m stronger, but because he wants to see where I take this. We both strip out of our jeans and underwear before falling onto the mattress. I climb over him, knees bracketing his hips, hands fisting in his hair.
“You don’t get to disappear into control right now,” I tell him. “You stay with me.”
“I’m right here,” he bites out.
I slam down on his thick cock, a loud moan falling from my lips as he fills me perfectly. Kane curses beneath me as I arch my back and thrust my breasts forward. He tweaks a nipple and my pussy clenches on his length. I ride him hard, like this might be the last time and I need to make it count.
The sex is rougher than before, not violent, but edged with something unresolved. We move together without choreography, without grace, bodies fitting because they remember how even when the rest of us is misaligned.
“Fuck,” he swears. “Raven...”
“Don’t say my name like that,” I snap. “Say it like you’re angry.”
The room fills with breath and sound and cursing, the bed creaking under the force of two people who want each other and don’t know what to do with that want anymore. I move how I need to, fast and sharp, chasing sensation instead of meaning.
This isn’t tender and it sure as fuck isn’t careful. It’s reconnection through pleasure, proof that the thread still exists even if it’s burning.
“You feel that?” he mutters. “You were made to take my cock.”
“Yes,” I hiss. “Fuck me harder.”
He flips us over and positions one of my legs over his shoulder. I feel split open as he hammers me with his erection, each thrust causing my breasts to bounce on my chest.
“Fuck,” he curses, biting down on a nipple harder than I was expecting.
I scream out loudly, my release coming hard and uneven. Kane fucks me harder, through the orgasm that feels like it will never end. My muscles are taut and my breathing is fast as he swivels his hips and sends aftershocks coursing through me.
“Again,” he demands, his thumb finding my clit.
“I can’t,” I mutter with my head thrown back even as I feel another orgasm stir deep inside me.
“You can. And you will.” He grabs the headboard and fucks me with long even strokes, reaching a place only he can. “You’re going to come on my cock and milk me dry.”
“Shit.” Dirty talk always gets my libido going but when he does it... It’s perfect. “Harder,” I urge.
His cock disappears but I don’t get a chance to complain as he flips me to my knees and strokes back into me.
“Fuck, Raven, you’re dripping.”
His hands caress my ass as he continues to thrust into me, My breasts sway with each stroke and my hands curl around the headboard as I push my ass back against him. I feel his thumb between my ass cheeks and a soft sigh escapes me as he runs the pad of his finger over the rosette of my asshole.
“Next time, I fuck you here. But for now...” His thumb presses in and my breathing stalls.
“Savage...” I mewl. “Please.”
“You’re perfect,” he mutters above me, pushing his finger deeper as he continues working his cock in and out of my pussy. “You just got wetter and gripped me tighter. You fucking love this.”
“Yes,” I hiss, pushing back, wanting, needing more.
“Hold on.”
And then he fucks me. Hard. My knees barely hold me up when his other hand thrusts between my legs and harshly pinches my clit, sending me into a second, more powerful orgasm.
I make incoherent sounds, saying words that don’t make any sense as the world around me fades into a mess of colors and sensations.
“Fuck!” he roars. I feel his cock kick inside me before he floods me with his seed.
Savage rolls onto his back, arm flung over his eyes like he’s blocking out more than the light. I sit up, pulling the sheet around myself without hurry.
“This didn’t fix it,” I say.
“No,” he agrees.
“And it doesn’t mean I’m okay with how things are shifting.”
“I know.”
I glance at him. “Then why didn’t you stop me?”
His voice is rough when he answers. “Because I wanted you.”
That’s honest. It’s also not enough. I stand and dress without ceremony and he doesn’t try to stop me. That hurts more than if he had.
“We’re still not aligned,” I say quietly.
“No,” he agrees.
“But we’re not done.”
He lowers his arm and looks at me then, eyes sharp again. “No. I don’t think we ever could be”
I pause at the door. “Next time we touch, it needs to mean something different.”
He nods once. “Agreed.”
I leave with my pulse still racing, my body warm but my mind colder than it was before. Sex didn’t reconnect us to safety. It reconnected us to truth. We still want each other even though we still don’t know how to stand in the same place without shifting the ground beneath us.
And tomorrow, the world is going to test that harder than it has yet. Because the moment you stop pretending sex is the answer, you have to face the question it was distracting you from.