Chapter 16 #2
Sweat beaded across his forehead and chest, his muscles taut with the effort of restraint. I could feel him trembling slightly, fighting his own need to move faster, harder.
He leaned down and I gasped as he took my nipple in his mouth. His groan vibrated against my breast as my body clenched around him.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, releasing my nipple to look at me. “So perfect around my cock.”
The familiarity of his body against mine, inside mine, was soothing in a way I hadn’t expected. I’d missed him, though I’d never admit it out loud. But my body confessed what my pride wouldn’t allow, my hips rising to meet his thrusts, my hands pulling him closer.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. “Let go for me.”
I closed my eyes and let myself be carried away by sensation, by the steady rhythm of his body moving with mine, by the growing tension coiling tighter with each thrust.
For just this moment, I allowed myself to forget everything but the feel of him—not Cipher the Villain, not the man who had betrayed me, just the one person who somehow knew exactly what I needed even when I fought against it.
Just for now, I would let myself have this. Later, I could hate myself for it.
Later, I could hate him again.
But not right now.
The tension inside me coiled tighter, then shattered. I cried out, rocking my hips against him. His rhythm faltered, his breathing harsh against my neck. He suddenly pulled back, withdrawing from me with a groan. His hand worked furiously over his length as he positioned himself above me.
The first hot splash against my stomach startled me. His eyes burned into mine as he continued stroking himself, more of his cum painting across my skin.
“Fuck,” he growled, his chest heaving. Another pulse, another splash across my stomach and breasts. The look in his eyes was feral, possessive. When he finally stilled, his eyes raked over my body, taking in my flushed skin and the glistening mess he’d made of me.
I liked the possessive weight of his stare. I liked the undeniable visual proof of his ownership. My body hummed with a deep satisfaction as it recognized its master.
His lips curved into a satisfied smile as he trailed his finger through the wetness on my stomach, drawing a lazy circle across my skin. I shivered.
The physical reality of us was so fucking easy. I belonged to him, but I still had no idea how to trust the man holding the leash. I didn’t know how to forgive him yet.
“You’ll probably want to shower,” he sighed, his voice rough around the edges.
I nodded. My body felt boneless, my mind blissfully quiet for the first time in months.
“Are you going to fuck me in the shower?”
Cipher’s eyebrow arched. “Would you like that?”
I nodded again. “I don’t want gentle. I can’t do gentle again.” I tried to make it sound commanding, tried to grasp the freedom and power he was offering me, but the words came out all wrong, desperate instead of demanding.
God, he could probably hear it, how much I wanted to feel numb to everything but the sensation of him pounding into me until I couldn’t remember anything, let alone all the reasons I should hate him.
His eyes darkened as he studied my face. He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. “I’ll fuck you whenever and wherever you fucking want.”
His hand slid around my neck. “But don’t think for a second that means I’m not going to give you gentle sometimes too.” He tightened his grip. “Because you need both, Annie. Even if you’re not ready to admit it yet.”
“Shower,” I managed. “Now.”
I stood frozen in Cipher’s walk-in closet, water from my shower-damp hair dripping onto my shoulders. My body still buzzed with satisfaction after our shower—where he’d delivered exactly what I’d asked for, fucking me against the wall until my legs gave out.
But now, all that lingering pleasure evaporated as I stared at the section of his closet that stopped me cold.
My section. A dedicated space filled with clothes in my size, my style, my colors.
I reached out, fingers brushing against a silk blouse in the exact shade of blue I always gravitated toward. Tags still attached. Unworn. Waiting.
For me.
“You bought all this before...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Before I discovered his betrayal. Before everything fell apart.
“Yes.” Cipher leaned against the doorframe, watching me. His body was still slightly damp, a towel slung low around his hips.
“Why didn’t you get rid of them?”
Cipher didn’t answer.
I swallowed hard, trying to process what this meant. While I’d been forcing myself to forget him and move on, he’d kept a shrine to my absence. A space carved out and waiting, as if he’d known I’d eventually return.
“If they’re not to your liking, I can get something else,” he finally said, misinterpreting my silence.
“No, they’re...” I cleared my throat. “They’re good.”
I grabbed the first things my hands touched, a simple black shirt and jeans. I needed to escape the weight of what the closet represented. The weight of knowing that while I’d been trying to erase him from my life, he’d been keeping space for me in his.
“You don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to,” Cipher said, his eyes tracking my movements as I clutched the clothes against my chest.
“It’s fine.” I turned away, unable to look at him or the closet anymore. “Everything’s fine.”
But nothing was fine. Not the clothes. Not his silent admission. Not the way my heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to crack them open and expose the bloody mess underneath.
I was still struggling with the zipper of my borrowed jeans when Cipher emerged from the closet fully dressed in dark slacks and a button-down shirt. The transformation from naked Villain to polished businessman happened so fast it gave me whiplash.
“How annoyed would your henchmen be if I called for a ride home?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
Cipher’s brow furrowed. “It’s their job to drive you if you request it.” He straightened his cuffs. “But why would you call them when I can take you home myself?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” His tone left no room for argument, that familiar commanding edge creeping back in.
I sighed, too tired to fight this particular battle. “Fine.”
“Would you like breakfast before you go?” he asked, already walking toward the door.
I raised an eyebrow. “You can cook?”
He shrugged, the gesture almost boyish. “As long as you want scrambled eggs and toast, yes, I can cook breakfast.”
A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll eat when I get home.”
“There isn’t anything for breakfast in your fridge or pantry,” he said matter-of-factly.
I opened my mouth to be annoyed that he knew the contents of my kitchen, then closed it again. What was the point? Of course he knew. He probably had a satellite dedicated to monitoring my grocery situation.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” he said, already heading for the kitchen like the decision was made.
I hesitated, then followed him, settling onto one of the stools at the massive kitchen island.
The whole scene felt surreal, me perched at Cipher’s kitchen counter while he pulled eggs and bread from his refrigerator.
This was uncomfortably intimate. Fucking was one thing.
It was raw and physical and disconnected if you tried hard enough.
But breakfast? Breakfast was domestic. Normal. Something couples did.
“You’re overthinking it,” Cipher said without turning around, cracking eggs into a bowl. “It’s just breakfast.”
“Stop reading my mind,” I muttered. “It’s creepy.”
“I’m not reading your mind. You’re just extremely predictable when you’re uncomfortable.” He glanced over his shoulder, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Your left eyebrow twitches.”
I immediately tried to relax my face. Great. Now I had to add “facial tic management” to my list of things to worry about.
“Do you always cook breakfast for women you kidnap?” I asked, trying to reclaim some semblance of normalcy.
“Only the ones I plan to kidnap again.” He flashed me that dangerous half-smile that did unfortunate things to my pulse.
Footsteps padded down the hallway, and I froze mid-sentence, expecting Hunter to enter the kitchen.
Instead, Dawn rounded the corner, her copper curls a wild nest around her sleepy face. She wore an oversized t-shirt that definitely wasn’t hers and rubbed her eyes.
“Morning, Thomas,” she mumbled, not even glancing my way as she zombie-walked toward the coffee maker.
“Good morning, Dawn,” Cipher replied, his voice suddenly wrapped in that soft Scottish accent he used as Thomas. The transformation was jarring. It was like watching Clark Kent put on glasses and somehow become unrecognizable.
Dawn stopped mid-stride, her hand hovering in the air. She turned slowly, eyes widening as they landed on me.
“Annie?” Her voice climbed three octaves.
“Um. Hi.” My voice emerged as a strangled croak.
Oh god. What was I supposed to say? Just stopping by for some post-coital eggs after using Cipher’s body to exorcise my emotional demons. How’s your morning going?
“I can explain,” I blurted, then immediately realized I absolutely could not explain. Not without sounding like I’d lost my entire mind along with my dignity somewhere between Cipher’s bedroom and kitchen.
Cipher, the traitorous bastard, just continued to cook the eggs, not even attempting to help me out of this social quicksand.
“I...” My voice trailed off pathetically.
Dawn’s eyes widened further, her gaze darting between us with growing comprehension. The corner of her mouth twitched upward.
“Oh. My. God.” Each word emerged with increasing volume and delight.
Cipher’s Scottish lilt still colored his voice as he asked, “Would you like some breakfast too, Dawn?”
But Dawn was already backing out of the kitchen, her face splitting into a grin. “No, no, don’t mind me. I just need to—“ She pointed vaguely down the hallway.
“Dawn, it’s not what you—“ I started.