Chapter 31 #3
She exhales, shivering under my touch, but doesn’t move. Her palms stay flat against the sheets. Her blindfold doesn’t slip. She just lies there, offered and claimed.
“Look at you. So fucking perfect like this. Covered in my cum and marked by me.”
My fingers trail lower, across her belly, smearing more of it. There’s something twisted and intimate in it now. She wears it not because I made her, but because she wants to.
Because she knows what it means.
“Lift your legs.”
Her knees draw up, thighs parting as she folds into herself, hips tilted just right. Ass raised, every inch of her spread open and offered. She doesn’t flinch or hide. And it undoes me.
I kneel over her, my hands full of her ass, tilting her hips just right. She’s slick, flushed, and bare to me. All it takes is one lean forward, and I’m there—tongue dragging through her pussy.
She moans softly, the sound trembling in her chest.
I don’t start fast.
I go slow.
My mouth hovers for a beat—enough to make her squirm—then I drag my tongue through her folds in one long, deliberate stroke. She gasps. Her hands curl into the sheets, and her knees tremble just slightly.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
I hum against her, tongue circling her clit before pulling back to tease the sensitive skin.
She lifts her hips, chasing the pressure, but I grip her tighter, keeping her pinned.
I work her with slow, steady precision. Savoring.
Worshiping. Driving her to madness one flick, one suck, one breath at a time.
She whines.
The sound is wrecked and helpless. Her thighs start to shake, and her hips twitch with each stroke of my tongue. I slide two fingers into her, and she clenches around them so tight I groan.
“You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
She makes a strangled sound, halfway between a moan and a plea. Her blindfold is still in place. She can’t see me, but her body speaks for her now. There’s no hesitation in it. Just hunger and need and pure, unfiltered trust.
I curl my fingers inside her, pressing to the spot that makes her breath hitch. My mouth never leaves her clit. I suck, flick, and press—working her until her thighs tremble so hard she can barely hold position.
Her back arches.
Then I flatten my tongue and circle the tip of her clit, teasing slowly.
Her thighs tremble. My free hand spreads her wider—and I slip my slick finger from her dripping pussy and press it to her tighter hole.
She jerks and moans, but I don’t stop. I push it in, knuckle-deep, and start to fuck her there, while my mouth keeps tormenting her clit.
I want her shaking, gasping, and unraveling for me—one pulse at a time.
I’ll have to settle for finger-fucking her ass—for now.
But I can’t wait to slide my cock into her tight, puckered hole.
“Bastien…” she gasps.
Her orgasm hits in waves. Her whole body tightens, goes still, and then breaks. She moans, her pussy pulsing against my tongue.
I don’t stop.
I keep going through the aftershocks, licking her gently now, fingers easing back as her moans fade into soft, breathless whimpers.
When I finally pull away, her body goes limp.
Spent, satisfied, and undone by my mouth. Exactly where I want her.
I ease my finger out of her ass, and press a kiss to the inside of her thigh like a benediction.
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.
I crawl into bed beside her, and this time, I guide her up the mattress with me until we reach the pillows. She follows without a word, limbs loose, body boneless. I peel the covers back, tuck her beneath them, then slide in behind her.
My body curves around hers like it was built for this—like I was made to shield her. To fuck her. To hold her through the fallout.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her temple.
She presses back into me, her spine melting to my chest, and everything in me fucking settles. The monster inside me goes quiet for her. For now.
I smooth my palm over her stomach, and her breathing slows. I match it, each inhale syncing with hers like we’re sharing the same lungs. Same pulse. Same need.
Her stillness is the kind that only comes after surrender. No fight left. No edge. Just a body molded to mine like she never wants to move again.
Her hand slides along my forearm, and she grips it.
Possessive as hell.
I rest my chin on her shoulder and close my eyes, the scent of sex and sweat curling into my lungs.
I’ll hold her all night if she lets me.
And if she doesn’t—I’ll hold her anyway.
She falls asleep like she trusts me.
Blindfold still on. Breathing even. Her mouth slightly open against my arm. Every now and then she twitches—little aftershocks rippling through her body.
Terrence needs my help. A woman and her kid are depending on me to do what I always do—slip into the shadows, handle the ugly parts, disappear without a trace.
No feelings. No fear. No complications.
But Laurette is a complication. And all I can think about is what could happen if I leave.
That thought alone is enough to knock the air from my lungs. I tighten my grip on her, and hold her closer, like I can keep her safe with proximity and pressure and force of will.
But I can’t protect her if I’m not here. And I can’t stay without letting someone else be in danger.
I don’t know how to do both.
All I know is if something happens to her—if she vanishes from my life, if I lose this—I won’t survive it.
I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in, memorizing the feel of her in my arms.
This won’t last.
But for tonight, she’s mine.
And I’m hers.