Chapter Thirty-Five #2
We settled on the couch later, some mindless movie playing that I hadn’t bothered to follow.
My hands wandered deliberately, finding the curve of her hip, the soft dip of her waist, the perfect weight of her breast in my palm.
She melted against me like sugar in hot coffee, her body responding to my touch like an instrument I'd been born to play.
“Again?” I teased as my fingers slipped beneath the lace of her panties, finding her already slick and ready. The evidence of her desire for me was more intoxicating than any drug.
“It’s your fault,” she defended, her hips rolling against my hand. “You keep touching me.”
I chuckled, the sound low against her neck. “I can't help it.” I rubbed her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm. “You're too fucking beautiful when you come for me.”
I worked her slowly, my fingers teasing and retreating, building her up only to ease back just before she tipped over the edge. Each time she approached her peak, I would slow my movements, denying her the release her body so desperately craved.
She writhed against me, desperate pleas falling from those perfect lips, nails digging into my thighs hard enough to leave marks through my sweatpants. She came with such pretty sounds, her body convulsing against mine, her face buried in my neck to muffle sounds I’d never let anyone else hear.
I held her through it, telling her how perfect she felt, how fucking beautiful she was when she surrendered to me, and how nothing in my life had ever been as right as her body against mine.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of touch and pleasure and breathless laughter. Each time, I worshipped her body with hands, mouth, and cock, drawing out her pleasure until she was limp with satisfaction.
She came every time, sometimes sobbing, sometimes laughing, always lost in the pleasure. I lost count after the eighth orgasm, her body so oversensitized that she jerked at the brush of my lips against her nipple.
“Let's let you breathe,” I finally growled as twilight painted the sky in purples and blues. I carried her limp form to the oversized soaking tub, cradling her against my chest.
She floated in the bubbles I'd drawn, eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction, while I washed her with gentle hands, lingering between her thighs, making her gasp as the loofah purposely brushed against her swollen, sensitive clit.
“Why?” she murmured drowsily as I toweled her dry, her head lolling against my chest.
“Why what?” I wrapped her in a plush robe that swallowed her small frame, my hands lingering on her shoulders.
“All of today... the touches... everything.” She gestured vaguely, her movements slow with exhaustion.
I cupped her face between my palms, forcing her sleepy eyes to meet mine. “Because you saw the worst of me,” I murmured. “And you're still here.”
She nuzzled into my touch, eyes drifting closed as fatigue claimed her. “Always,” she whispered, the word slurring slightly. “I'll always be here.”
I stayed with her until I was sure she’d fallen into a deep sleep, brushing her hair back from her face, memorizing the way she looked in the soft lamplight, and trying to keep my fucking cock down.
My sweet girl, at peace, if only for a little while. I pressed one last kiss to her temple, whispering a promise I intended to prove true tonight.
“I'll always protect you. No matter what.”
Only then did I slip from the bed, moving silently through the penthouse.
I checked the locks, the cameras, the security feeds—everything in place, everything secure.
I texted Jax and Adrian, letting them know I was on my way.
My hands were steady, my mind clear. Tonight, I'd make sure no one ever threatened Sierra again. I hadn’t bothered with the hydroxyzine, given I’d tired her out with orgasms today.
Mara, outside my door, nodded as I passed, her face impassive, but I saw the respect in her eyes. She knew what I was capable of. She vaguely knew what I was about to do.
Jax and Adrian were waiting in the van, the engine idling, exhaust curling in the cold air.
Adrian was grinning and covered in blood, his eyes wild and bright, a hunting knife spinning between his fingers.
Jax lounged in the driver’s seat; impeccably clean with sunglasses perched on his head, his mouth twisted in a cocky smirk.
“Ready to make some art, Killer?” Adrian asked, his voice low and eager. He’d always loved the torture part more than the kill, there was something dark and twisted in him that surpassed Jax and me.
Jax drove with one hand, the other resting on his silver shotgun propped between his knees. His lenses reflected the streetlights, turning his eyes into hollow voids. “Mason’s been singing show tunes since we dosed him,” he said, voice flat. “Keeps begging for his mom, it’s pathetic.”
I flexed my gloved hands, the leather sliding quietly. Sierra would be under for hours yet, but every minute away from her tightened my nerves just a little more. “We’re not here for theater,” I growled. “Mason dies quickly. Jerry’s the main course.”
Adrian’s laugh was a sharp bark. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got a whole curriculum planned for stepdaddy.” He held up a modified staple gun, its muzzle filed into jagged teeth. “Ever tried nailing someone’s tongue to their chin? It’s hilarious when they try to scream.”