Chapter 42 #3
“I hate you too,” I say, breathless, meaning it in all the same ways.
We glare at each other as he lifts my hips and takes me deeper, eyes widening, mouths tightening, neither wanting to break first. Neither wanting to admit anything other than hatred.
Then his gaze suddenly falters. He looks down and stops for just a moment. I see the surprise flicker over him and trace his line of sight. He’s looking at my marks.
The sensitive silver markings along my skin are gleaming brighter than they ever have before.
His fingers dig into my hips. He rips his gaze from my markings and lifts my other leg. My ankles lock behind him.
And he fucks me like he hates me. Like he hates this. Like he hates that he’s uttering a string of curses into the crown of my head. His movements are getting more desperate, rougher, hitting a place that makes me bite my lip, heating my blood until it’s boiling.
Everything in this world has always seemed so limited, but this feeling, this pleasure, this fullness seems endless.
Until he slams into me one final time, and the pleasure crests and shatters. Together. We shatter together, our gazes locked, until he closes his eyes sharply and curses so loudly, it echoes through the cave.
The cave. I almost forgot where we were. How we got here. Who, exactly, I was doing this with.
His eyes open again. We’re staring at each other, both panting, chests meeting. We’re waiting for who is going to make the next move.
Embarrassment and shame sink through me. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this. I feel so raw. So exposed. And he’s never going to let me forget it. I open my mouth, and Harlan Raker does the last thing I would ever expect—
He kisses me. His lips crash against mine, and I gasp, then melt as his tongue traces my parted lips.
It’s not gentle. It’s punishing, the way he kisses me, like he wants to swallow my breaths and words and protests.
Like he didn’t just tell me he hates me.
Like he didn’t say, days before, that this very act is more intimate than having sex and that he would never allow someone to get that close to him.
He’s doing it now. Very thoroughly. He’s biting my bottom lip so hard he’s drawing blood, and then he’s licking that too, and he’s stroking my teeth and the top of my mouth, like he’s trying to taste and savor every single inch of me.
He’s still hard inside me.
I start to move on him greedily, the ache building again, and he doesn’t hesitate. He starts to take me with long, brutal strokes, matching the pace of his tongue in my mouth, and I’m on fire. I’m burning.
Heat floods my body, something in my blood calling to his, and this—this is different.
This is us giving up all pretense that we didn’t both want this, need this.
I gasp for air when his lips slip down my neck, licking, sucking, teeth scraping against my pulse. His hand slides between us, and he bites down just as his fingers find my center again, then curses as I tighten around him, a scraping sound leaving my lips.
Then the world tilts. In one smooth movement, he’s standing, and gripping my ass, and then he’s hauling me up against the wall.
The stone is cool and smooth behind my back as he fucks me against it, his mouth still hot against my neck.
He takes his time there, on the sensitive place between my neck and shoulder.
There’s another sting of teeth, and then my back arches off the wall at a blinding flash of pleasure.
He snarls his approval, and then he’s groaning, and I’m whimpering as he takes me deeper and rougher, like he’s still trying to get more of me.
I’m beyond words right now. I’m only panting and insistent movements as my legs wrap around him, heels digging into his back, meeting him stroke for stroke, riding out this pleasure on his cock.
He takes me again and again, shifting my hips and changing angles, each thrust tightening this coil of need within me, until it’s wound almost painfully tight.
“Harlan,” I say, my voice a ragged plea, and his hand moves between us.
With a single brush of his callused thumb, my body bows off the wall as my world shatters into a thousand glimmering steel pieces.
I gasp and then his mouth is on mine again, claiming it, swallowing every pant and cry, and I cling to him as he takes me through every shuddering wave, and then again, like he’s trying to wring every bit of pleasure from my body.
It’s still not enough. Not even close. “I need—”
“I know what you need,” he says, and then my feet hit the ground, and he’s spinning me and pressing me against the cold wall, and lifting me to my toes by my hips, and filling me and—
“Fucking gods, Raker,” I cry out against the wall as he takes me hard and fast.
One of his massive hands curls around the back of my head, pressing my cheek to the stone.
“No. Fucking me, Aris. Only me.”
And then he fucks me harder, like he’s trying to mark me, trying to claim me, and I arch my hips back and meet his every stroke, doing the same.
This. This is what I’ve needed for weeks—the desires I couldn’t even put into words. A pleasure I didn’t even know was possible. This hatred between us has blurred and burned into something far more complicated, endless duels that have all led to this.
We’ve fought and battled and argued this entire journey and now every ounce of tension is being worked out, thoroughly, as if this is its own duel, its own language, and my entire body is going taut, then loose, and I’m tightening around him, and he’s groaning.
He’s gripping my hips, and the world could be crumbling around me, and I wouldn’t even notice, I’m too lost in this pulsing, insistent, desperate madness.
He’s giving me everything I need without me even having to ask for it.
One hand still firm on my hip, his knuckles slowly trail up the curve of my side, to my waist, his long fingers opening one by one, curling around the base of my ribs, then gently stroking the shape of me, like I’m a map he wants to memorize.
Chills erupt across my heated skin, and he touches all of them, feeling how my body responds to his, learning how to make me prickle even more, studying me not like an enemy he wants to conquer, but like an opponent he wants to surrender to.
His thrusts are hard and fast, hammering into me like he wants me to see stars, but his fingers are featherlight.
He’s touching my body with the care and reverence he’s only ever reserved for his sword, like I’m more precious than its metal, like I’m more dangerous than its edge, like he wants to claim me more than any other weapon.
Then his hand is in my hair, and he groans as he touches the long strands, rubbing them between his fingers.
“I was right,” he says, curving over me, mouth at my ear.
“This is dangerous.” It’s what he said in the Traveling City, when he saw it down for the first time.
He meant because it was a risk during dueling.
Now, he takes all of it in his fist—and pulls.
My lips part. His grip is light, not enough to hurt at all, but the possessive move makes my mind spin.
Because this isn’t about either of us giving in.
I see that now. No, this is just like when our blades meet.
Two equal forces, coming together. A push and pull that merges into a perfect joining.
This pleasure is gleaming, ruinous, and I know in my blood it wouldn’t be like this with anyone else. I don’t just want this. I want him.
My arms reach back, wrapping around his neck, arching against him, nipples still pressed to the cold wall, pinned between him and the cave, and he molds to me, until his entire body is flush with mine.
I’m on my toes, his legs against my thighs, keeping me upright.
His hands are back on my hips, fucking me onto him, finding a place that makes a jolt of pleasure race up my spine with every thrust, and I choke out his name.
He does it again. Faster. My eyes close tightly against the surging wave of pleasure.
“Like that?” he says.
This time, I nod against him.
That’s not good enough. He reaches for my throat, thumb gently stroking where his teeth sank into my skin, and says, “I need your words, Aris,” his deep voice echoing, vibrating through my blood. “Please.”
Fuck. I never thought I would hear him beg.
So, I give him what he wants.
“Yes,” I say, looking up at him. His forehead is leaned against the cave wall. He’s staring down at me like he doesn’t ever want to look anywhere else. His mouth is just inches away. “Just like that, Harlan.”
His fingers dig into my hip and throat—and then he unleashes, dragging against that gleaming place in a ruinous, unyielding pace.
I cry out, lightning spearing through my veins, and he growls his approval.
He keeps going and going like it’s his sole purpose in life to get me over the edge, like he wants to test just how much pleasure I can take.
I need to taste him. We’re facing the same direction, and my head is tilted up, his is down, but my fingers fist his hair, and I pull his mouth to mine, and—
This angle shouldn’t work. But my tongue brushes his lips and he groans when it meets his.
The kiss is messy, and insistent, and he’s holding me to his mouth by the throat, he’s tasting me like he can’t get enough, and I could die from this.
From the perfect stretch of him desperately filling every aching part of me, from the sound of his moans in my mouth, from the all-consuming feel of him.
He kisses me until I can’t think, I can’t breathe, and then I suck on his bottom lip, licking and stroking, biting him like he bit me, marking him, until another wave of pleasure rolls through me and I release him.
His eyes have darkened into ink. He looks half-crazed. Enraptured. He looks a moment from losing his fucking mind, like I control his sanity, and I’m about to snap its final string.
“Aris,” he says, his voice a tortured rasp. “You will be the fucking end of me.”
“Harlan,” I breathe. “If only.” Our gazes are locked. I throw my head back. His name is on my lips as my desire crests.
Then I’m falling back onto my heels again. Before I can miss his fullness, he’s turning me back around, and lifting me to his height, and my legs are around him, and he’s pushing into me again, and—
His mouth crashes against mine in a brutal kiss that’s all teeth and smothered gasps, and this, this is how I want to finish, with me facing him.
I’m close, and he seems to know it. His hand reaches down, thumb stroking me toward the edge of this cliff, until I’m on its brink, trembling with pleasure that’s ready to pull me under.
I try to fight it, give myself more time, bucking my hips, chasing this desire until its very end.
Now, it’s his back against the wall. His forehead is pressed to mine. He’s not even moving anymore, he’s just watching me ride him, watching me take what I need, watching my thighs tremble as I stave off my release, as I curse because this feels too fucking good.
I try to take him deeper, but it’s hard at this angle, and—
I don’t even have to say a word. All it takes is a fold in my brow, and he’s sliding to the floor, pulling me down with him, and I’m bracing my hands on his wide shoulders as I move on him.
Better. Much better. He’s curved, leaned close, watching me ride him needily, desperately. I’m panting right against his mouth.
“I still hate you,” I gasp.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I say, breathing hard. “I hate you so much.”
His hands tighten around my hips.
“Good. Hate me harder, Aris.”
The same words he said as we dueled. Hate. Me. Harder.
I do. I ride him as hard as I can, and he groans, watching me take him, over and over, letting me use him. I lean forward and grind against his hard muscles, chasing my pleasure. My hands are in his hair, his face is just inches away.
Not close enough. I want him to flood my senses, I want to feel him, smell him, taste him. I duck my head—and slowly run my tongue along the thin line across his throat. The only scar he has.
A reminder.
He groans. I feel him twitch inside me.
“Aris,” he says, my name like a prayer on his lips.
And I shatter. I pulse around him, crying out, and he seals his mouth to mine, swallowing the sound.
He starts to take over then, fucking me faster than before, in hard, brutal strokes, like he can read me, like he knows this is exactly what I want from him.
Then he stands in one smooth motion, holding me with what seems like no effort, presses me against the wall and fucks the sanity and attitude and anger out of me, never even breaking our kiss.
He tastes me like he’s starving, like he needs this, and when I suck on his tongue, then rake his bottom lip through my teeth, he groans and breaks too.
I feel him, pulsing within me, our gazes locked, our mouths now just inches apart.
We’re panting, sharing breath, studying each other.
Fuck.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be the cure to everything I never knew I needed.
This was supposed to be quick, and meaningless. But—
His previously unmarred chest is now marked with long lines where I clawed at him. I can feel blood hot against my lip where he bit me. My neck is tender. There’s an undeniable soreness between my legs and liquid dripping down my thigh.
We’ve ruined each other. And by the time we finally go to sleep in the pile of sheets, we’ve ruined each other even more.
When I wake up, my body is sore. Aching. Sensitive everywhere.
And Harlan is gone.
He took my sword.
He betrayed me, just like I always knew he would.