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“Hungry?” Ark asks, deliberately ignoring the elephant he left sitting in the corner of the room.
I want to push him some more, to reopen the lines of communication he’s endeavoring to shut down, but I also need a minute to wrap my head around the fact I shared the source of Tillie’s conception without hyperventilating.
Tillie wasn’t planned, but she is very much wanted. She gave me the will to live when I wanted to die and the strength to fightonly yesterday when I thought my life had rewound a decade, where I was in Dr. Babkin’s office, striving not to die.
I am terrified about Tillie learning the method of her conception. It has nothing to do with who she is. She is much more than a byproduct of rape. She is my world, and I won’t allow anyone to make her believe differently.
But since I need time to work out how I can ensure that remains the case, instead of pushing, I say, “More like starved.”
I accept a soapy bowl from Ark before rinsing and drying it and placing it and two wine glasses into the kitchen cabinet. We’ve worked side by side for the past two hours cooking, eating, and talking.
It’s early. I don’t know the exact time since I haven’t been able to take my eyes off Ark for a single second. My guess is sometime in the a.m.
Despite the hour, I’d give anything for our exchange to continue. Our conversations rarely veered beyond meal prep and our mutual hunger, but a lack of conversational skills isn’t to blame. Another mutual craving has kept our word count at a minimum. It is very much sexually based.
You’d swear there’s a timer above our heads, ticking down too fast for us to keep up with, so we’re rushing through the stages most couples take months to achieve in hours.
The haste of our gathering would be scary if it didn’t feel so right.
It’s rushed but undeniably beautiful.
I shouldn’t be surprised. The shock of still being wanted after showing so much of my ugly side is addictive. I crave it as much as the sneaky glances Ark has hit my thighs with in the past twohours. His hooded watch has my hunger at a pinnacle, and I’m once again lost on how to ignore the elephant in the room.
I close my eyes and breathe in deep, inhaling the scent of Ark’s heated skin.
God, he smells good.
His cologne is pricy, and his choice of shampoo makes me feel safe, but I pay the most attention to our combined scents. I can smell my arousal on his skin and see the crinkles our heated exchange caused to his once pristine dress shirt.
I moan, incapable of denying the tension for a second longer before I pop open my eyes.
Ark is facing the same torturous battle. The front of his pants is extended, and he’s opening and closing his hands like he’s fighting the urge to delve them back into my hair.
“Ark…”
He saves me from making a fool of myself. In three quick strides, he takes my mouth hard and fast, the urgency of his touch sending sparks straight to my clit.
He kisses me desperately, tasting the spices that flavored our shared meal and distributing a taste that is uniquely him.
I respond to the urgency of his embrace with just as much rigor. I match the strokes of his tongue and moan into his mouth when his kiss makes my thighs shake.
The effortless strokes of his tongue and the playful nips of his teeth make me so legless that I stumble backward, needing something to brace against.
The moment my backside lands against the kitchen cabinet with a thud, Ark lifts me to sit on it and then yanks up my skirt. His tug when he shreds off my panties chafes my skin, but I’m lost in a sensation too perfect to convey panic.
I gasp into his mouth, loving how greedy he is to please me again when he wedges himself between my splayed thighs before he plays with the wetness between my legs.
“Mara…Christ.You’re drenched for me.”
I should be ashamed by how wet I am, embarrassed I’ve barely sat still over the past several hours, but I’m not.
Being desired is a drug I don’t see myself quitting anytime soon.
Ark groans when I rock against him, desperate for friction. I’m frantic for him to touch me, to make me scream his name, but since I can’t remove his cock and guide it between the folds of my pussy without touching him, I must wait.
Patience is not my strong point when it comes to this man.
“I need to get you ready for me. I don’t want to tear you?—”