Page 21

Present

D ay four.

He’s been here with me for three days. and every moment is spent with utmost caution—we both hide away, careful to avoid drawing attention.

I cannot risk anyone catching a glimpse of his coming or going.

In our family, even a fleeting moment of intimacy becomes fodder for whispered inquiries and probing questions.

He lies sleeping in my bed beside me. I gradually slide beneath the blankets, delving ever deeper into the soft embrace of the covers until I position myself between his legs. Skillfully, I free him from the confines of his boxers.

He won’t stay much longer and he’s been too chicken to touch me in the ways that I want.

.need…because of my injuries. I let my lips trail languidly along the sensitive tip of his cock, savoring the delicate sounds he makes, both a signal of his pleasure and a plea to continue—quiet yet unyielding, like a secret whispered in the dark.

My body still aches.

I’m at his shaft before he’s halfway awake.

I move my fingers over him lightly, breathing on the root of him until he’s shifting against the mattress and panting a little bit and looking for my face.

“Babe,” he says, hopelessly. I hum low around his head—yes, I’m here—and dig my fingers into his thighs. Yes, yes.

One of his hands finds my wrist and squeezes three times soft like don’t fucking stop this time. His other hand moves to the back of my neck, urging me on. I let him put pressure on me, let him guide the even, greedy pull of my mouth. I know he won’t last long. He flings the blankets off us.

I flick a glance up to his face and his eyes are pinched shut, like he can’t quite believe it. He’s so beautiful.

I continue my slow, deliberate actions, taking him in a way that makes him shudder long before full wakefulness sets in; I feel the tide of his arousal rising.

“Babe,” he whispers again—this time with more urgency—and in that moment, I taste the mingled salt and desire as he trembles, unraveling in the warmth of my throat.

With a lazy, possessive grace, he gathers me close as I crawl up to nestle against his neck,

His fingers ghost over the spot where I’m bruised darkest while our breathing evens out together.

He slides his free hand between my legs.

Fingers push aside my panties. I gasp, and his breath is salty and warm on my cheek.

He makes this low sound in his throat like gravel tumbling down a hill, and I clutch at him like he’s the edge of a summer storm, and I want the rain so bad. He brings me to the edge and stops.

I whine. But he settles between my legs with his head low and shoulders tense like a spring trap already sprung. There’s a split second where the heat of his breath makes me buck and squirm against sheets.

Then he’s licking at me open-mouthed and messy like time is almost up for us.

My back arches, and I moan so loud it surprises the both of us.

He groans in response, digging his fingers into my hips like he’s holding on for dear life.

His tongue moves with a furious rhythm that leaves me breathless, dizzy, in a haze of wanting more.

I curl my hands through his hair, tugging him closer, pushing him deeper.

My heart beats like a relentless drum against my ribs.

Underneath my skin, a delicious pressure builds—intensely consuming and molten hot. I ride the wave of passion until I can resist no longer. I ride it until I can’t anymore. Then I’m falling hard and fast into white heat, like fireworks behind closed eyes.

He doesn’t let up through any of it, keeps going until I’m twitching from the aftershocks and too sensitive to breathe right. Only then does he shift to kiss his way up my stomach, chest, neck—a trail of promises on my skin. When our mouths meet again, he tastes like salt and fire and me.

He looks at me like no one else exists, not in the whole damn world. My hips work toward him, desperate. He slides inside me slowly, deliberately, as though this intimate ritual were a familiar indulgence, each movement leaving me more unraveled in its wake.

Our moans collapse like stars imploding. They’re gonna hear us through the walls, across the street, into the city’s beating heart. We’re breaking rules with every thrust and don’t even care. I clutch the sheets as he pulls me deeper, calls me deeper with barely a whisper, but that’s all it takes.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

My breath catches on a new wave of him, hitting places I forgot I had until now, and his mouth curls up in a smile like he knows he just unlocked something dangerous.

The pressure builds again, relentless and electric, converging like a storm.

It’s a decadent kind of madness we cultivate, a reckless kind of chemistry.

He rolls us over without breaking contact, and I straddle him, find my footing like an addict finding faith.

“You’re so…” his voice trails off. I move above him with everything that I am—he watches me like I’m the secret to the universe.

Our bodies press and pivot until it’s all impossible friction and zero gravity—trouble brewing like a new religion.

Neither of us holds back; we come undone in perfect disarray.

I collapse against him, hair sticking to my slick back.

We’re heaving for air and staring at the ceiling like there might be something written up there for us.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin.

When our breathing slows and the room cools from inferno to something survivable, he pulls me close again, almost tender this time. My head fits perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder.