41 #2
Hips thrusting against hers another time, and another, I close my eyes and bury my face in her neck, inhaling the hot-fucking-cinnamon scent of her. Absolutely delicious.
“Tate,” she purrs deliberately now and scratches her nails over the buzzed hair at my nape, causing a full-body shudder to roll through me.
“Yeah, baby. Again.” My mouth attacks her neck then, sucking bruises into the skin there to mark her with me, teeth nipping and tongue lapping to soothe the stings.
Sexy little breaths are drawn from my girl as she pants for me, the soft moans scattered throughout spearing me right in the dick—the dick I shove up into her in punishing, frenzied motions, chasing both our releases, starving for her cum to seep through her underwear and mine to meet my skin beneath.
Tate.
It’s in my head that she speaks this time, and I grunt at the velvety texture of it gliding along the walls of my mind. “Mhmmm, fuck. Again, again, again . . .”
She does, and euphoria rushes through me as I hear her in my head once more. Her hips meeting mine, our bodies collide again and again as if I’m actually inside her, and all the while, my own mind growls back, Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine . . .
I change the angle of my hips before punching them up again, the head of my cock nudging against her clit, and I earn a louder moan for that.
So I do it again and again, fingers leaving their imprint on her skin as I clutch her to me tighter while attempting to hold off the orgasm that’s already tried to take over far too many times.
I’m not giving in yet. I don’t ever want this to end. I want to savour every moment.
But I can’t stop it anymore when Ezla cries out, her head tipping back against the wall and the warmth between her thighs increasing as her thong soaks with her release, her nails digging into the back of my neck.
“Havoc!” I roar as my cock pulses with a never-ending stream of cum, hips jerking and jolting.
My body the most alive it’s ever been, rapture floods me from head to toe, my fingers sinking deeper into her flesh as I groan deliriously.
The pleasure is so great, it’s fucking painful.
I want to feel this way forever. I have to chain her to me.
It’s over far too soon, and I’m a heaving, sweaty mess, skin sliding against hers in a way that makes my sensitive dick twitch all over again. “Love you, love you, love you . . .” I chant my next mantra and pepper her damp skin with kisses.
Still quivering with aftershocks, her palms move between us to push me back, and my attention flicks down to where they look so small against my broad chest .
. . before it shifts up to those stunning mismatched eyes, the crimson scar slashed through the right one on my left only magnifying her beauty, adding a crueller look to her that turns me the fuck on.
But when I think of how bad it must’ve hurt to get and who put it there, a snarl rises up my throat.
I want to know everything about her, especially who the fuck sliced up her goddamn enthralling face and why the scar is that colour when Avri clearly got to it before it should’ve scarred at all; rather than simply healing the wound, it appears to have filled it in, either keeping it open like a messy stitching or maybe it is completely healed and left a mark.
But nothing adds up with the way all Avri clusters can be commanded to change colour, ordered to be undetectable to the eye when used in hospitals for any kind of treatment.
Something is up, and I’ll find out what.
But right now, I’m aware this isn’t the time. This is the happiest moment of my life, and I’m not ruining that by hurting my Havoc in any way by bringing up what’s very likely trauma.
“Love you,” I breathe again, one more time, and lean in to kiss the tip of her nose. But she shifts out of my reach before my lips can make contact, and my heart drops like a lead weight.
But I understand.
This is over.
For now.
It kills me to, but I set her down gently, like she’s made of porcelain—a severe contrast to the way I’d handled her just moments ago—when she makes it obvious that’s what she wants.
And before she can say anything to push me away from fear of someone getting too close—because I’m starting to get very, very good at reading her—I let all my vulnerability flow into my admission: “That was the best moment of my life, and I am . . .” I’ve never been great with words, but I want her to have all of them.
“That meant everything to me, Havoc. My heart is yours, and if I could carve it out of my chest and give it to you without death coming to claim me and take me away from you, I would.”
Her distant mask is back in place, and she offers me nothing in return other than a blank stare.
I wait a moment, fingers twitching as they attempt to reach for her, entire body trembling with restraint. How the fuck am I meant to control myself when she’s right. Fucking. There?
My nostrils flare, teeth gritting. I don’t know how the hell I manage to stay in place, but I do. And I’m just waiting . . . and waiting . . .
Another beat, and I’m still receiving less than nothing.
Fuck, I can’t do it.
I reach for her—
Yanking myself around, I drag myself across the room, turning away from her.
It fucking feels like I’m dying. Every step is a battle, but I’m trying to do this right.
Because none of my attempts so far seemed to have swayed her.
Not truly. I want her heart, need it to be complete.
But she’s refusing to give me an ounce of it.
Tell me to stay. Don’t let me leave, Havoc. I’m yours.
My throat clogs up when my pleas are met only with silence.
I leave the room.