Chapter 9 #2
“Please, hero,” I whispered. “My he—ungh.”
My entire world condensed to one point of contact, to the burning, overwhelming sensation of my body opening for his. There were twinges of pain that burst into heat as my channel clenched around him like it couldn’t decide: stay or go.
I looked up to see him arched above me, head thrown back, weight on his palms, arms corded with muscle, and jaw clenched with tension. A man built for war and worship.
How I want to worship him.
Reaching between us, I caught the pendant dangling from a long gold chain, winding it around my fist to slowly tow him in.
His body followed, eyes dropping to mine to alter me forever with a single look.
“Move.” The word was guttural and all I could manage.
The dam of his control seemed to snap, black fire igniting in his eyes.
Immediately, he pulled back and slammed back in, leaving no room for thought or breath.
My stomach muscles clenched, and I cried out as he did it again and again, making my arms fall to the bed as I succumbed to the intense pleasure rising inside me.
Finally relenting, he lowered to a push-up position above me, our chests inches apart, and ground his hips into me, dick rubbing over my prostate and ripping a strangled cry from my throat.
I grabbed his face, and he smashed our lips together, the kiss nothing more than tongue and teeth as he continued to push in and out, then grind inside me until I was nothing but a quivering mass of need.
Between us, my dick smeared us both, bouncing with every powerful thrust. One of his hands curved around the small of my back and pulled me right against him, eliciting a moan that filled the room.
“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, suddenly wrapping both arms around me and collapsing on the bed. I had a moment of understanding what it must be like for him to be swallowed up by shadows because, right then, I was surrounded.
My arms were trapped between us so I couldn’t let them roam, so I pushed my face into his neck, pressing fragile kisses to the hammering artery running down the side and then across his shoulder.
Groaning, he lifted his head and captured my lips in a languid, almost lazy kiss.
Strands of his hair tickled my cheeks, and I melted into the bed, chasing his tongue and nibbling at his lips.
His hips began moving, not as urgent as before but instead a slow, sensual slide.
The way his hips undulated was pure seduction, rhythm so fluid it was practically a silent command.
My body followed, utterly intoxicated as though I were under some sort of spell.
I sighed and whimpered, body flushed and hovering at its peak, the gentle fucking holding me back from falling over. Ripping my mouth from his, I kissed over his jaw and down his neck, across his chest.
He pushed up a little then, and I freed my arms so I could stroke across the width of his back.
His sinuous, graceful movements stuttered, and a new sense of urgency ignited.
Reaching between us, he wrapped his fist around my dick, hard calluses scraping over my sensitive skin and lighting me up all over again.
Every stroke matched his thrusts, and soon, my toes were curling into the bed, my body straining toward his.
“That’s it, Pip,” he crooned, grinding against that sensitive spot inside me. “Come for me.”
My vision whited out when the orgasm roared through me, taking over my body like it was no longer my own. I shuddered as pleasure ripped through me and burst free, the hot spill splattering my stomach and filling his hand.
His satisfied rumble sent another wave of bliss through me, and my cock spasmed again, completely draining me dry.
Instead of releasing me, his grip tightened and hips increased their pace, thrusting fast and hard, leaving no time for me to catch my breath.
The squelching sound my release made as he used it to stroke my semihard cock was lurid and seemed to push him over the edge.
Head thrown back, he moaned loudly, the muscles in his neck bunching while he pumped me full of his warm release.
I clamped down on his still-shuddering dick, milking it for every drop before we both collapsed in a sweaty, sated heap.
Moments later, he carefully slid free and flopped onto his back, exhaling into the ceiling.
Rolling onto my side, I waited, figuring it was about that time for him to tell me to leave. The arm closest to me stretched out across the bed, fingers tangling in my bed head.
“Come here.”
Surprised, I wiggled closer, making him grunt and pull me in until I was plastered against his side. His arm tucked around me, hand pushing my head onto his chest before gliding down to cup my bare ass.
I lay there for a moment, not sure what to do, until his chin angled down and I felt the pull of his eyes. “Not a cuddler, huh?”
I jolted. “W-what?” Then, “N-no. I like to cuddle.” At least, I thought I did.
“Yeah? Then what’s with the statue imitation?” he wondered, gesturing to me with his free hand.
I realized then that I was stiff as a board, trying to hold my own weight. “Uhhh…”
“It’s cool, Pip,” he said, starting to pull away. “I respect a personal space enthusiast.”
A what? I wondered, only to realize he was almost completely gone.
“Wait!” I panicked, grabbing his forearm and squeezing.
He glanced at where I clutched him and then at my face.
“I’m not that,” I implored.
“What?”
“A space enthusiast,” I said, still not sure what that even was but knowing I wasn’t it. “I’m just—” I said, nerves getting the better of me and numbing my tongue. You ever tried to talk with a numb tongue? It was like someone unplugging your mouth.
Do not recommend.
He waited, and when I said nothing, he started to get up. Again.
“No one’s ever cuddled with me before!” I burst out, words overly enunciated as if my tongue had to prove itself.
Dark eyebrows flew up his face. “Say what now?”
Slumping, I dropped my face. “I’ve never cuddled,” I mumbled. Then, “I thought you were gonna kick me out.”
“I’m sorry. The subtitles on this conversation seem to be broken. I’m going to need you to repeat that in something other than mumble.”
“Maybe you’re the one who’s hard of hearing,” I muttered.
He drew back. “Did your tone just grow teeth?”
Of course he heard that. I heaved a loud sigh. “No one’s ever cuddled me before.”
He blinked. Blinked again and then turned and went into the bathroom. When he was gone, I slid out of the bed, my body twinging in new places as my head swam. Hearing the sink turn on, I straightened and looked around for my clothes.
They were nowhere to be found, so I looked under the bed.
“You know, that’s not a bad view,” he said, coming right up behind me. “But what the hell are you doing?”
“Looking for my clothes,” I replied, resisting the urge to cover my bare butt with my hands.
“You thought I put them under the bed?”
Seemed kinda stupid when he said it. I shrugged.
“They’re folded in the bathroom,” he said, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.
I started forward, but he stepped in my way. I tried to slip around him, but he blocked that path too. I stopped and scowled.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
It reminded me to look at his tattoo.
Squinting, I leaned closer. The second I read it, I gasped.
Born to die.
“What is that?” I pointed at the offensive text.
“You’ve never seen a tattoo before?”
“That is not a tattoo. That’s a death wish!” I accused.
He scoffed.
I glared. “Then what would you call it?”
“A reminder,” he deadpanned.
Unease twisted silently beneath my ribs. He’s walking around with a reminder etched into his skin that he’s going to die. I know I didn’t really know him, but the idea that he could die was somehow paralyzing.
“Back to bed you go,” he said as if I wasn’t standing there speed-running an existential crisis. Like the idea of him dying wasn’t a state of emergency.