Chapter Four #2
“Freckles.” His voice has gone low, rough, and my gaze snaps to his eyes. They’re dark now, blown wide with something that makes my breath catch. “You’re looking at me like that again.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to own you.” He sets his glass down, the movement deliberate, controlled, and leans forward. “I know you’ve never done this before. And I’m telling you now—if you don’t want to be fucked hard, you need to stop looking at me with those eyes.”
My face flames. I should be embarrassed, should retreat into my shell, but I’ve had a taste of what Raiden can do to my body, and it feels like I’m in perpetual heat around him.
“I want you,” I say, and my voice barely shakes. “I’m not afraid.”
He stares at me, unblinking, and the silence stretches until I can hear my own heartbeat, until the air between us feels charged. Electric. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he says finally, each word measured and deliberate.
“If I start, there’s no going back. Do you understand? You’ll be mine. To own. To use. To keep.”
A tremor runs through me, a full-body shudder that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the image his words conjure. Me, owned and his to use. “I don’t want to go home,” I whisper.
He holds my gaze for what feels like forever, saying nothing, letting the tension build until it’s all I can think about, all I can breathe. My skin feels too tight, my clothes too heavy, and I’m aching, desperate for him to touch me.
“Come here,” he commands.
The words pulse through me like a physical blow, and I feel it between my legs, a pulse of heat and wetness that makes me gasp.
I’m shocked by my own reaction, by how my body responds to his voice, his commands.
But I’m already moving, crossing the small space between us on unsteady legs until I’m standing between his knees.
He doesn’t touch me. Not yet.
“Kiss me,” he orders.
I lean down, tentative, soft, pressing my lips to his with a gentleness that comes from naivety. For a moment, he lets me explore the shape of his mouth, the cool metal of the barbell through his tongue. Then his hand comes up to grip my hair tightly, and he takes over.
The kiss is ravenous, consuming, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to claim every inch.
I whimper, swaying, and his other hand catches my hip, steadying me, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against him, feeling how hard he is through his jeans.
He devours me like he’s been starving, like he’ll never get enough, and when he finally breaks away, we’re both breathing hard.
“You’re mine now,” he growls, and then he’s lifting me, standing in one fluid motion, carrying me like I weigh nothing.
I cling to his shoulders as he moves through the apartment, past the small kitchen, into a bedroom that’s all shadows and clean sheets and the smell of him.
He sets me down with surprising gentleness, and then his hands are on me, stripping my clothes away piece by piece until I’m bare before him, exposed and trembling.
“On the bed,” he says. “Lie back.”
I obey, the cotton cool against my heated skin.
I watch as he drags his shirt over his head, revealing the full canvas of his chest—ink everywhere, intricate designs that draw my eye and make my fingers itch to trace them.
He’s magnificent, powerful, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.
“Open your legs,” he commands, and I do, spreading myself for him, feeling the air against my wetness, the vulnerability of the position. “Keep them there. Don’t move.”
He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between my thighs, and starts at my ankle. His mouth is hot, wet, tracing a path up my calf, my knee, and the inside of my thigh. The barbell on his tongue creates delicious sensations as he explores.
He takes his time, licking, sucking, and marking my skin with his teeth. By the time he reaches my hip, I’m writhing, desperate, my hands clutching the sheets to keep from reaching for him.
“Please,” I gasp, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
He doesn’t answer. He simply moves higher, his tongue tracing the curve of my waist, the underside of my breast, the hollow of my throat. Everywhere he touches burns, and I’m so wet I can feel it slick against my thighs. So aroused I think I might shatter from the tension alone.
When he finally reaches my pussy, I cry out, my hips lifting off the bed. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t hesitate. He buries his face in me, his tongue finding my clit with devastating accuracy. I scream, the sound torn from my throat, the piercing heightening my pleasure.
He eats me like he’s starving, like he could survive on the taste of me alone. He doesn’t put his fingers in me. He doesn’t give me anything to hold on to or clench around. There’s nothing to do but lie there with my legs open where he told me to keep them and let him take it out of me.
“Raiden, please, I-I can’t…”
“You don’t get to decide that,” he growls against me, the vibration making me gasp. “You told me you were mine. I’m collecting.”
He sucks my clit between his lips, working it with his tongue, one forearm braced across my hips to hold me down, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, surging through me violently.
But he doesn’t stop. He works one finger into me while I’m still coming, slow and steady, keeping me on the edge even as I try to squirm away from the intensity.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, kissing my thigh, my hip. “I need you open for me. Need you ready to take all of me.”
He adds another finger in, stretching me, and the burn is a little uncomfortable but delicious. I’m so wet I can hear it, the obscene sound of his fingers moving inside me, and it makes me blush even as it makes me hotter.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice thick with wonder and lust. “So wet for me. So desperate. Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” I gasp, pressing into his touch. “Raiden, please, I need…”
“What do you need?” He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss, at the empty ache he leaves behind. “Tell me exactly.”
“I need you inside me,” I manage, my face burning with the words, with the need. “Please, Raiden, I want you to fuck me.”
He groans, the sound torn from his chest, and then he’s stripping off his jeans and his boxer briefs. His cock juts out, hard and thick, and already wet at the tip. I stare, fascinated, aroused beyond belief, and he smirks as he catches me looking.
“Like what you see, Freckles?”
I nod, unable to speak.
Something moves behind his eyes, dark and satisfied, and he doesn’t say a word about it.
He positions himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me, stretching me already. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, his voice strained with control. “But I’ll make it good for you. I’ll make you forget everything but me.”