Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
SHILOH
Inside, Reva is a caged predator, prodded with sharp objects to make her tame. She paces a tight circle and swings her arms like she’s trying to shake off a memory.
I keep my distance, leaning against the closed door with my arms loose instead of crossed. I don’t touch her.
I let her come to me.
If anything’s gonna happen between us, it has to be her decision. Instinctively, I know she needs to reclaim her agency, whether that’s through conversation, sex, or just a cuddle.
I can stop at a cuddle and some conversation. And if she wants none of it, I’ll walk right back out the door and call it a night—for both of us.
Her circles tighten. Smaller. Sharper. Then she stops with her face angled to the floor. When she lifts it again, the slant of light from the bathroom catches her features. Even the drawn curtains aren’t enough to cast the room in darkness. There’s always a sharp line of light peeking through.
She takes a hesitant step toward me and stops with mere inches between us, close enough for me to make out the lighter flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Her stare latches on my mouth again and heat curls in my abdomen.
“Reva—”
“Kiss me.”
It’s no simple request. It’s a demand. A decision. A test of my will or desire or who the fuck knows what.
And I’m happy to oblige.
I tilt my head slowly, eyes open and locked on her, and let the back of my fingers skate along the soft skin of her upper arms. She glances down at the touch, then back up to my face, her brow wrinkled.
Has no one ever been soft with this girl? Slow? Bothered to seduce her?
The first brush of my mouth against hers is just that—a whisper of connection, a small taste. Her eyes flutter closed and her chest hitches in the heartbeats before contact, her hands rising to curl into my chest. I keep the kiss slow at first, give her control—because she’s close to bolting.
Her muscles are tense with one proverbial foot out the door if anything feels wrong.
And when she gives in—when I catch that slight softening right before her lips open—I go deeper. My lips work hers gently, our chests inches away from touching.
Reva tastes like sin and salvation, the same potent combination she hinted at when I pulled over to help her. There’s something different about a woman who brings ruin—something you can’t quite place until you’re already in too deep.
A low moan in her throat rattles through me.
My tongue slides against her lips, a tease to get her to open fully. When she does, when she angles her head and sways into me, I’m sunk.
She clutches my shirt, anchoring herself. Her taste is smoky and rich, our tongues tangling.
“I can’t—” she breaks off, breath hitting my mouth as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to think.”
Her words shoot straight to my cock. It hardens in my pants and pushes against the layers separating us.
“Then don’t.”
My murmur throws her over the edge. Her grip changes—loosens—until the first bite of her nails against my skin has me one second away from losing control.
My hands slide from her arms to her hips to her ass and squeeze before hauling her up against me. I grind my erection against her softness, memorizing every giving place. She groans and arches against me, invitation and desperation hanging on the movement in equal measure.
I walk us to the bed until my knees hit the edge of the mattress, then lay her down. She stretches her arms over her head, lifting her chest in offering. From there it’s a slow travel over her body, my mouth finding the places where her moans turn to gasps.
Reva’s chasing sensation to drown out the dark. It’s clear in the hesitation before she reaches for me.
I palm her breast and circle the hard bud of her nipple with my fingers—careful, slow—trying to be pleasure without threat.
Reva deserves tenderness. She tosses bravado around like glitter, a magic show designed to fool the crowd.
I see her, though. She’s a heartbeat away from running.
Whatever sent her down here from Chicago is still chasing her, nipping at her heels.
I’m just a stop-gap on the way to her ultimate destination, unless I can figure out how to be something different.
That’s a puzzle for a different moment, though. Right now, I can’t hold back. And I can’t push too hard.
So I take my time lifting her shirt over her head, letting my fingers skim the delicate structure of her ribcage. The fabric disappears with excruciating slowness, even though my cock weeps for release.
Pain is nothing. Pain is a promise and a test to see which one of us wins.
I always win.
She toes off her boots, the sound of them hitting the floor a loud thunk in the quiet room. I don’t pay any attention, my gaze riveted on the lean, fine-boned lines of her body beneath me. She’s small, delicate, even, and yet a toned, deceptive strength undercuts every muscle.
I run a finger down her breastbone to her bellybutton, eliciting a full-body shiver, and she sits up.
“My turn.” She reaches for me, brushing her fingers against my zipper and yanking at the button of my jeans, and my eyes shudder shut. I stop—just for a second—because that touch isn’t playful. It’s searching.
“Sweet Jesus,” I tell her softly. “You take your time. Touch anything you want, darlin’. I’m yours.”
“I don’t want to take my time.” Her hips move restlessly, and she tugs my zipper down. “I want you.”
Then it’s a fucking good thing I’ve got a condom in my wallet.
She tugs my shirt off as I reach for my back pocket, hands fumbling, catching flashes of her expression in the shadows. Her eyes are hot and heavy-lidded, teeth clamped on her lower lip.
I manage to get the condom free and toss it to the bed beside her as she kicks my pants down to my knees. I step out of them, losing my shoes in the process, and she frees my cock, wrapping her hand around the base and rewarding me with a languid squeeze that has my teeth gritting.
She leans forward, wraps her other palm around one asscheek, and pulls me forward. Her eyes glint up at me in the dim light as she opens her mouth and slowly, carefully, swipes a delicate lick around my tip. “I want to taste you,” she murmurs.
My mouth goes dry. “I won’t say no,” I manage.
With a siren’s smile curving her lips, she wraps her lips around me and swallows me down. My eyes fall closed at the suction of her warm, wet mouth—absolute fucking perfection—but I force them back open, unwilling to sacrifice the sight her bobbing on my dick.
“Fuck...”
If I don’t stop her, I run the risk of embarrassing myself. I swallow a groan and pull her gently off of me. “My cock needs to be in your pussy. Now.”
Her dark chuckle disappears beneath another kiss. Her skin burns straight through me—hot and tight—and my mind flashes to her question in the truck.
Did we…
No.
But someone did. And the thought makes me want to break something.
“You like?” she asks, breathless.
My kiss turns bruising. “More than.”
I roll the condom down my length and pause between her legs. Her knees lift around my hips. Her jeans are still on.
Shit.
“Up,” I tell her. “Off with the bra.”
She jumps at the demand—then obeys. The bra goes flying into who-the-fuck-cares territory, and I drag my mouth down to the button on her jeans, kissing the skin just above it like a claim.
She helps me pull her jeans and panties free in one smooth motion, and then I’m pushing her back to the bed and settle between her thighs.
Her scent hits me, and my mouth waters. Pretty, pink, and dripping wet.
I lower like I’m going to taste her—because I want to—but her fingers tangle in my hair and she drags me up, mouth on mine again.
Okay. Later.
I notch the head of my cock at her core. A quick thrust and I’ll be home.
She grabs me again and guides me exactly where she wants me. Without breaking the kiss, I push inside her inch by inch, giving her time to adjust.
“You feel so fucking good, Yank,” I grind out.
She throbs around me, milking my cock for pleasure in a way that tells me she’s chasing something more, something harder than just sex.
I link my fingers through hers and tug her arms above her head before I start moving again.
A quick angle buries me. I pull back, intent on keeping control—only to ruin myself when she cries out.
“Yes. Yes.”
I drag my length through her soaked folds, teasing until her breath saws out.
“You like this? You want—”
She shushes me with another kiss, then wraps her legs around my waist and locks at the ankles. “No talking.”
I go still, latching onto it. The boundary. The crack in her control.
Then she lifts her hips and grinds against me, and the last of my restraint snaps clean in half.
“Shiloh, please.”
I surge into her so fast and hard she scoots back several inches and her breath leaves her in a gasp.
My name. She’s here, in this moment. With me. There’s no shadow of what happened earlier, and it’s all I can do not to bust right now.
Moving so I’m holding her wrists with one hand, I reach between us and press my thumb to her throbbing clit.
The bud is already swollen. She jerks and whimpers when I find the right spot, and I increase the friction along with the speed of my thrusts.
She feels better than I imagined—hot and tight, dripping for me.
I slam into her until her nails bite into my skin and her keening threatens to wake her neighbors.
Good.
I fuck her hard, to the point of pain without losing myself to the frenzy. The slap of skin, the pound of my body into hers, becomes a roar in my ears.
Her orgasm splinters through her. She squeezes me tight, her cunt gripping my cock, keeping me where she needs me while she rides it out.
I’m not far behind.
I bury myself deep and chase my own release, hips jerking. When it hits, I go still and spill into the condom, cursing once through clenched teeth.
Sweat sticks us together.
After, Reva is quiet. Too quiet.
She stares at the ceiling with her eyes half open like she’s listening for a presence that isn’t here.
I gather her against my side as far as she’ll let me. The inches between us are too cavernous for me and not wide enough for her. She rests on her side with a hand to my chest to hold me just a few inches distant, face angled up las though the boob light on the ceiling might answer her questions.
Throat dry, I ask softly, “Who are you runnin’ from, Reva?”
Her throat bobs in a swallow.
“Just myself. A past I’ve already lived and can’t outrun.”
I don’t push. I store every tell like a hoarder—how her gaze drops for a second, her chest tightening, her fingers curling like she’s trying to hold on to something that isn’t there.
When the silence stretches too thin and I feel her distancing herself still further, I pry myself away and hunt for my clothes in the tangle on the floor.
Dressed, I write my number on the hotel’s notepad and leave it on the nightstand, tapping my finger against it. “You won’t call, but I’m gonna leave this anyway. I’d like to see you again, Reva.”
She says nothing.
A piece of me stays behind once I’m out the door and bleached by the godawful yellow hallway light. Something’s wrong—in my bones.
Not regret. Not exactly. It’s more a sense of being watched, the brush of eyes on my skin a tangible thing.
Or maybe it’s the feeling that Reva didn’t walk into trouble tonight. Trouble walked into her. Found her when I was supposed to be on watch.
I exhale and shake my head, then go sit in the truck to keep watch until morning.
She asked me if we fucked… like she couldn’t trust her own body to tell her the truth. And that says one thing clear as daylight—someone touched her in the dark.
I’m gonna find out who.
Then I’m gonna tear their insides out.