Page 15

Tarynn

I thought waking up married was the craziest thing that was going to happen to us today, but I was wrong.

Crow found a bookstore not far from the hotel. Not far by Vegas standards still means plenty of walking, and that’s how we ended up finding the dog.

And racing to the vet.

And promising to cover what is going to be a huge bill for her to stay overnight and get the help she needs. She’s probably had some head trauma at she has a broken front leg.

“She’s skinny and she’s underweight,” the vet—a middle aged man with a shiny bald head and a huge beard, tells us.

I’m standing right beside Crow at the front of the clinic. We were taken directly to the back when Crow walked in carrying the underweight, greasy German shepherd. He had to pay three hundred dollars to the cab driver who quoted the amount up front because of the blood he anticipated getting all over his seats. He did take us, in the end, and I don’t think a drop of blood even got on his stupid interior. Crow drove with the dog over his lap and soaked up most of it.

The vet has solemn but kind eyes. “I don’t want to give you false hope. I think she’s going to pull through, but she’s far from out of the woods and she’ll probably need to stay a few days.”

My heart beats at what feels like twice the normal rate. It hasn’t slowed since we saw some asshole hit the poor dog right in front of us in an intersection. He did slow down and eventually pulled over and got out. Crow ran straight for the dog, checking her over, his hands hovering over her broken body and bloody fur like he could fix her with his touch alone.

I wish he could.

I know the magic of his hands, but in this case, it doesn’t work like that.

The driver was a young kid, although by kid I mean he was just a few years younger than me. Twenty-one, freshly minted, ready to celebrate. He’d rented a fancy car and was probably pissed from the night before. He’d freaked out, saying he hadn’t meant to hit the dog and that he didn’t know what to do. He claimed to have no money. He was blubbering all over the place, until Crow raised his head and froze him with a single look. He’d told the asshole to shut the fuck up, get back in his car, and to stop bothering us before he gave him a birthday gift that he wasn’t going to enjoy. He left that rather ominous threat up to interpretation, but it worked. I’ve never seen anyone peel away as quickly as that douchebag did.

Crow was the one who flagged down a cab while I stayed with the dog on the sidewalk to keep her safe. She was whimpering pitifully, clearly in pain. She never tried to get up. Crow lifted her so very carefully and held onto her the whole way to the vet. He carried her in with just as much care as if she’d been his lifelong best friend, and said he’d pay whatever it cost to get her immediate care.

While the vet looked the dog over in the back, Crow explained everything. He was methodical and thorough.

“Are you sure about this?” The vet asks, not unkindly. “I just want to prepare you for the reality of the bill. It could be over five thousand dollars. I don’t think she’s been someone’s dog in a while, and she might need care unrelated to the accident. I know it’s heartbreaking, but sometimes, it’s kinder to provide mercy.”

Crow leans in, top lip curling off his teeth. The temperature in the clinic plunges a few degrees. I expect him to hurl something about tearing this guy’s face off—like he did with my father—or to tell him where to shove his suggestion to put the dog down when that’s not what we’ve asked for.

He might look like he’s going to lose it, but he reels it in. “I’m willing to pay whatever the bill comes out to. Do your best. I understand that you’re not god, and can’t determine the outcome, but I want you to try. She might not have been my dog before, but she’s my dog now.”

The vet swallows thickly. He glances to the side room where his assistant just vanished to sanitize the place. There are a few other vet techs in the back, but they’re all busy with other animals, seeing to ones in cages, cleaning, and two stayed with the dog.

Crow’s dog.

Our dog?

“I understand. I’ll just print you off a few forms and that’ll be everything. I’ll call you with updates and I’ll be here with her through the night.”

My gaze is directly drawn to where Crow’s fists unclench, hidden by the lip of the front counter. “Thank you.”

A few minutes later, we’re out of the clinic, standing in the sun. The day feels far too nice for what we’ve just gone through. One minute, we were enjoying the walk to the bookstore we’d decided to visit, the next, we were trying to save a dog’s life.

I know that this man isn’t my husband. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not truly mine in any way, but I thread my fingers through his. They’re still bloody.

“You were amazing. Everything you did was incredible. You were so calm. I’m the one who’s done all the pre-med training, and I was frozen. I would have panicked if you weren’t there. It’s different, when it’s real life and not just a textbook.”

He wipes sweat off his brow with his free hand, leaving a smear of blood. I bite down on my lip as my stomach clenches. I’d be a liar if I said that mine was any less rocky than Crow’s this morning. I managed not to throw up, but I’ve definitely decided that hangovers suck.

“Should we go back to the hotel? I can get us a cab. We could wash up and uh… I don’t know. Just try to regroup.”

“Find another poker game and make enough money to pay for the vet bill?” He means that to be funny, I think, but it comes out strained.

There’s something seriously wrong.

I mean sure, what we just went through was traumatic, and there’s the whole marriage thing, but I think it’s more than that.

Crow wrenches his hand away and starts walking down the sidewalk. I don’t know which direction our hotel is, but I’m sure that it’s too far to walk. I can’t even see the Strip from here. It’s like we’ve gone to another city. A regular, normal place. I can imagine that the people who live here probably don’t venture anywhere near the busier tourist areas if they don’t have to.

“Crow!” I race after him. He doesn’t slow and I have to wheel around in front of him and cross my arms to get him to stop. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

He grasps his head with his bloody hands, eyes wild. He looks nothing like the stoic, silent man I first met, or the fun and wild one from last night. “I’m not okay. I can’t keep lying to you.” He wrenches the ring off his finger and reaches for my hand, trying to do the same.

I back away, grasping my hands together. “Stop it. I don’t like this. If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine, but don’t—you’re scaring me.”

He falters back like I just slapped him in the face with a spike belt. “I’m sorry.” He holds the golden band up, tilts his head to the sky, and slips it back on his finger. He drops his hand, but not his head. He stares up, up, like something might arrive out of the clouds to help him with whatever is tearing him apart on the inside.

I don’t think he’d welcome my touch, no matter how badly I just want to hug him or be near him—it’s an insane urge anyway—so stay where I am.

“I haven’t told you the truth. I’ve never told anyone but my mother, back when I thought she’d understand. I was falling apart, and I needed someone.” He sounds like he’s tearing apart on the inside, breaking into pieces, though he’s still whole in front of me. “I thought I could trust her. I thought because she was my mother, she was required to love and protect me.”

An invisible fist wraps around my throat. It’s impossible to breathe. The air was hot, but now it feels stifling. The last few days hit all at once, threatening to cripple me, but it’s nothing compared to the twisted anguish on Crow’s face when he finally drops his head.

“I have… there’s… fuck!”

I jump at the force of that word. I’m scared and disturbed, but also… fuck just standing here. I take his hands in mine and press my thumbs into his palms. It’s what I’ve done to myself in the past in order to stay grounded.

“I might not be your real wife or your real anything. We’re barely more than strangers. I know that, but it feels like more. Whatever you have to say, I’m not going to go running. I can’t give you a good reason to trust me, but I won’t hurt you.” My thumbs dig harder into the meat of his palms. “If nothing else, I’d like to be a friend.”

Something in my face or my voice, or the crazy forces that drew us together in the first place, must reverberate with him. His eyes were blown out, but now they change, focusing on me and growing softer.

“I’ve never been diagnosed. I don’t know what technical term I should use. In my head, and sometimes more than that, in this body… there are two of us. I’m Crow. My real name is Adam. He’s Raven, or Owen.”

What ? Of all the things I was expecting him to say, or maybe there were no expectations because I couldn’t even imagine what was so bad… it wasn’t this.

“I’m the dominant. I’m the one who is here most of the time, but when he’s not the one driving this body, he’s in my head. Some people hear their thoughts in sentences, and it’s like that. Constantly. There has never been a time when I’m not still there, observing, deep from within my own body, but last night, I can’t remember a thing. When you kissed me, Raven took over.”

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.

“We’ve never been in agreement over one single thing before, until you. He wants you. I want you. We want you to be our woman in whatever way you’d like, which is probably no way, now that you know. I can’t keep lying to you, even if that means I lose you. I need you to know the truth.”

I don’t know what to say. What words could possibly do any of this justice? Crow’s obvious pain—and Raven’s pain—cries out, tortured, like a screaming wind rattling around me. The tendrils of his sorrow and the ache of his past reach deep inside, undoing something in me.

He’s strong, tattooed, anyone would easily say scary. There’s likely more blood on his hands than what is literally there right now, but his dark eyes carry a new fragility. A raw vulnerability. He expects a wide rip to be torn in the universe that we were creating. It’s been so very easy from the start, even though it should have been the most difficult thing either of us has ever done.

I’ve taken too long to say anything. I don’t know what my face is doing, but Crow takes it as rejection.

“Okay,” he says, his voice unusually. He turns, ready to just… walk off.

Like we’re finished.

I’m so far from done with him.

“Wait!” He doesn’t.

I have to chase him, race in front of him, and throw my arms out against his shoulders. My palms sink into warm cotton, buffeted by the granite breadth of him beneath.

“You know what I see right now? A man covered in the blood of a homeless animal that he poured his heart out to save. An intelligent, funny, tender, misunderstood, lonely person who needs to be loved as badly as anyone else. You didn’t lie to me. This isn’t something that you just blurt out. I don’t know how to help you, but I think you’re tearing yourself apart. I don’t know what to do, but I can try and help you figure it out. I don’t mean doctors or clinics if you don’t want. I mean books and reading and going over endless question and answers, tirelessly, if we have to.”

“Why are you not afraid or appalled?”

“I’m surprised, but I also learned about all sorts of different medical conditions. I’ve never met anyone yet, and certainly I’m no doctor, but I know this is very real.”

Anger and pain flit across his face. “A very real disorder.”

“Technically that might be what people call it, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. Not in the way that word could make a person feel like they’re condemned or broken.”

He holds his bloody palms up, breaking my hold on him, but his just stay there, in the air. “I’m tired, Tarynn. I’m exhausted. I feel broken.”

I don’t care that we’ve only known each other for a short time or that this would be too much intimacy for people who have already spent a lifetime together. I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms as far as they’ll go. I tuck my face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Crow. Raven . It’s okay. You’re both going to get through this. You’ll survive this, like you’ve survived everything else. It’s okay to need a break. Let me be here for you the same way you were there for me. No questions asked. Balls to the wall. Err- I don’t have balls, but if I did, that’s right where I’d be sticking them.”

A low rumble of a laugh rattles through him and finally, his hands land on my back. “If your parents have any responsibility for shaping you into this person you are right now, I guess that I can’t hate them.”

Vegas is so wild that no one stops us or gives us a second glance even though we stay locked together for a good while.

When we break away, Crow leads us to a busier street and gets us a cab. The elderly man is a surprise. He’s polite, though, and doesn’t charge us extra because we’re dirty and bloody.

We have to walk through the hotel like that, and we do get a few funny looks. Opening up the door to my room feels like a safe place. The silence envelops us. We both stand there, soaking it in, until Crow moves. He heads into the bathroom and starts scrubbing at his hands and arms. He shucks his blood stained t-shirt.

I creep in, my heart in my throat, but he doesn’t tell me to leave. I think about getting the shower going, but I think he needs more than that. It seems as though he’s gone a lifetime without being touched and that’s what I want to do for him now. Hold him .

I start filling the huge jet tub instead.

While Crow is still washing up, I slip out of the ripped up jeans, toe off my boots, and shimmy off the thin long-sleeved shirt with the motorcycle on the front. It’s another reminder that plans have changed, and we need a new solution.

I leave my bra and panties on and get into the tub. It’s so huge that I feel lost in here, the edges so high it’s basically a tiny sized swimming pool.

Crow pivots, chest heaving. A fine sheen of sweat stands out on his skin, even though the AC is blasting in here and it’s borderline chilly.

“Come here. Get in with me. Please.”

He hesitates, looking torn, but then kicks off his boots and removes his jeans. He leaves his boxers on and steps over the edge of the tub. I don’t scoot forward. He sits down in front of me, and I wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him which is rapidly becoming familiar and comforting. The water rises around us as we breathe together.

“What Owen told me about… about you not having a relationship with your parents…”

“It’s true.” His voice is a rumble that echoes up beneath my cheek. The water is around our waists now and he leans forward to shut the tap off. “They tried to institutionalize me. That’s not the word they used, but when I got there, it was clear what they wanted to do. Commit me. Raven went berserk. He broke us out. I was sixteen, so technically the cops could have dragged me back, but my parents never called them. I’ve been on my own since then. The only state I haven’t been to is Alaska. I’ve done every odd job you can think of, anything for cash under the table. Did it for ten years, saving up, until I wandered into this strange little town and never left.”

“Hart.”

“Yeah. I guess it’s home now. The club is a weird family, but for most of us, all the assholes there are the closet thing that we’ll ever have to family again. The guys there come from every background you can imagine. Ex-soldiers, ex-cons, cons who should be ex but never did get caught, men who used to belong to gangs, even the damn mob.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.”

I try not to stiffen. My dad wasn’t entirely wrong about the motorcycle club, and I knew that. It’s not just made up of a bunch of guys who are motorcycle enthusiasts. He said they were criminals, and I knew he was right. It didn’t stop me from wanting to know Crow then, and it won’t stop me now.

“I learned all sorts of handy skills looking after myself. I was always artistic, but when I got to Hart and was encouraged to turn that expression into tattooing—it was a good fit. Something in me just wanted to stay in one place for longer than a few months. It was Raven that was drawn to the club, but I guess I was too. I was a desirable prospect. A man with a dubious past, almost no family, lost in life, a jack of all fucking trades, but smart and quiet, I did everything they asked of me. I prospected for a year and patched in after that. The club needs legitimate businesses, so I was encouraged to open up my own shop. The club bought the building, until I made enough money to pay them back. I wanted it in my name, which suits them just fine. I was able to hire more artists, put an addition on, remodel the upstairs to a living area. From there, I bought more properties, rentals and houses to flip and fix up.”

“The club doesn’t care that you have your own money?”

“Other ones might, but Tyrant is a good president. He’s good shit on a human level, which hardly anyone is. As long as I do all my work for the club and take my shit seriously there, remain loyal and put them first, he doesn’t mind that I have my own life. He has his too. A lot of the men do. We’re not just bikers. I did mention that most of them have jobs. Most of them are gear heads or good for muscle, so it’s natural that they work at the garages the club owns, and do security at the clubs. I’m quiet, and that puts a lot of people off, but a few years ago, Tyrant put my name forward for club enforcer. It was a surprise to me that most of the club voted yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“Mostly just that I maintain order. It’s a small club, but big enough that we have a few men who do it. I only agreed because it wouldn’t take up all of my time.” He hesitates and I press my lips to his shoulder, kissing him to urge him to go on. “Raven likes it when he gets to knock heads together. I guess that partly, I accepted for him, but I’d never admit it. I’m not… I haven’t been… I think of myself as the dominant. The personality that is there most of the time. I’ve mostly kept him locked away. Lately, I’ve been wondering if frustrating him that way, not allowing him to experience life the way I get to do, has made him an asshole, always ready to boil over. I haven’t given him a fair deal. We could have been friends, but… it’s hard to want to be friends with someone you don’t want there in the first place. He’s what kept me from being normal all my life. It’s not fair, but I always hated him for that. I never could accept that one day, he wouldn’t just piss off and leave me alone. I’ve realized lately how unfair that is. He probably feels the same way about me.”

I kiss a path between his shoulder blades. “I’m so sorry that you were made to feel like there was something wrong with you. In other cultures, in the past, you would have bene revered. Someone who could walk in other worlds. Someone with extra spirits. That would have been incredibly sacred.”

He chokes and I do the same, but I’m choking back laughter. “My dad doesn’t even know that in my religious studies electives, I studied far more than Christianity. He’d call those ideas pagan, but I find other religions and ideas fascinating.” I cup water and trickle it down his back. The muscles bunch and stiffen like it tickles. I watch his strong, inked beauty in fascination. “Maybe getting a bike isn’t high up on the priority list right now. I think that we should buy an old but reliable car instead, and drive it back. We can take the dog that way, and she can travel at her own pace, in comfort. I’ll have to call Patti and ask for a few extra days off. I hope she’s not mad about it.”

“She won’t be,” Crow responds. “You’re with me. It’s club business.”

I manage not to sigh. I don’t want to use that as an excuse. I don’t want to use him in any way. “I can always get a bike later. I have to admit, my parents’ station wagon grew on me. I’d like one of my own. It’s great for camping out in. Probably one of the only cars you could spend the night in comfortably. I have some money saved. Use what you got last night for the vet bill.”

“I never had a dog. I was never allowed.”

I hear the fear in his voice. It cuts straight through me. “She’ll make it. She’s tough. She deserves a good life. I know that the universe is far crueler than it is merciful, but I have a feeling about her. She’s going to be okay.”

“I’d love her and care for her.” He sounds fascinated by the idea, that he’d have someone to love him back, exactly as he is.

I set my cheek on his hot shoulder again. I can’t say things like that myself. It’s far too soon and he’d think I was insane. I should think I’m having more than a lapse of good judgment.

“I love your hair. It’s so soft and… I just… I like that it’s long. I like everything about you.” My face gets hot, and the rest of my body follows, though it’s not embarrassment that generates the ache. “Can I wash it for you?”

He turns slightly, incredulous. “My hair?”

“Yes.”

He grinds his teeth tighter so suddenly that I can hear his molars crunching. “You do that and I’m going to want to be balls deep inside of you.”

My breath hitches. My body rockets into a crazy state of disarray. “What if I want that too?”

He drops his head in his hands. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” I run my finger down his spine, holding my breath until my lungs feel bruised.

“Because you don’t know what you’re getting into. You truly, truly don’t.”

“You’re right. But that doesn’t change my mind. I want you. I want you exactly as you are. All the things you’ve done and not done. Said and not said.” I bite down on the meaty part of his shoulder. He hisses. “Please.”

He twists faster than I can imagine, hauling me up by my arms. “There’s nothing in here to wash with. Come into the shower.” He edges me across the bathroom, to the glass enclosure. He steps in, cranks the spray, and thrusts me under it.

He stands just far enough apart that I can tell he still thinks there should be distance between us. Still thinks that he broke whatever good thing we’d shockingly woven together, that forever and always, he’s going to have to remain on the outside.

I’m having none of it.

My hand closes around his forearm, swinging myself around and swiveling him under the warm water. There are small containers on the wall with a pump. Shampoo, conditioner, soap. I load up with a huge glob of shampoo that smells like herbs. Rosemary or mint, then lather my hands together.

Before I can reach his hair, Crow’s hand snakes around my waist. His fingers bite into my hip as he tugs me into him. Our bodies slam together and then his mouth is on mine. It’s not a war, but the way he kisses is deeply passionate. Every long, deep draw of his mouth on mine echoes between my legs.

I get my hands on his hair and lather up the thick, luxurious, black strands.

His cock twitches in his boxers, throbbing against my belly.

I want to take him out. I want him in my mouth again. I want to know what it’s like to finally take him inside of me. It crashes into me that it wasn’t him who did this with me. I can understand how he’d feel betrayed by that. Not by me, but by Raven. I don’t know how I can help them. Either of them. I’m afraid that I’ll become another reason for a schism between them, a constant source of contention and fight, but then I remember what he said.

That I’m the one thing they’ve ever agreed on.

Crow kisses differently than Raven. Raven didn’t hurry, but he was borderline desperate. Far more bodice-ripper than sensual. I thought it was sheer need, but now I know that he knew his time might be brief. He’s the kind of person who lives hard, knowing every minute might be their last. Crow takes his time. He savors me like I’m a fine, expensive wine. I would almost call him shy or reserved, but that’s not right. Crow’s like an iceberg. He’s such an incredibly deep person that it would take a lifetime to know him even just a little. I bet he’s read more books already than I could hope to do in all the years I have left on this planet.

His hands rove over my body, almost hesitant, exploring, waiting for my permission. He doesn’t want to scare me. He doesn’t want to be too much. He’s searching for me, but maybe he’s also searching for himself inside of me.

I don’t know where that thought comes from. I don’t even know how that could be possible.

He drops his head, kissing away water droplets from my neck, running his tongue over my shoulder and collarbones. He slides my bra strap down my arm and kisses the tiny mark it left behind. I know he’ll be a gentle, tender, thorough lover, with artist’s hands that make me come alive, but I don’t need him to think that I’m fragile or reluctant.

Before him, want was nebulous. It didn’t have a face or a name. Now, I can’t imagine wanting anyone else.

His eyes fly up to mine, gripping my midsection like a tight squeeze. They were hollowed out with worry at the vet clinic, and the ice hasn’t completely left.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Why would you ever do that?”

“I…” His eyes are deep wells of pain. “I want to make sure that Raven didn’t.”

“Oh.” Oh. “No! I…” I cup his face as his hand curls around my hip, brushing the drops of water away as his finger smooths a small circle along my pale skin. “I feel like it’s not something you really want to hear, what we did together. Kissing and telling is kind of gross, but I certainly wasn’t hurt.” I drop my hand and catch his, flattening it against my belly and then directing it down, down, between my legs. “Fuckkkk.” My head falls back, the water soaking the front of me, sluicing along my breasts and traveling down, like a riverbed guiding the current straight to my hot, aching center. “You might not remember, but I think your body will.”

He tries to respond. His lips work, but the only sound that comes out is a groan. His hand splays over me, his finger slowly caressing down my slick seam. I whimper, arching into his hand, so needy and desperate that I’m half ready to spear myself on his fingers all on my own.

His free hand shoots out, collaring me lightly. He doesn’t press against my neck. His eyes darken, feral with hunger.

I tilt my face up in silent supplication and part my lips.

He leans in until our faces are only inches apart, our breath mingling together. He searches my face, eyes darker yet, almost black, soft and hard mingled like a tightly braided rope. It’s so intimate that it steals my breath.

His mouth drops to mine, his lips parting. Like everything he’s done so far, it’s a question.

I wrap my arms around his neck, digging my nails into his shoulder, dragging him into me. I want his fingers buried inside of me. I want his tongue in my mouth. I want him to pin me to the shower wall with his massive body and split me in half with his thick cock.

I kiss him like a wild animal, thrashing against his fingers, moving my hips to guide him to my entrance or my clit. Either. Both. I just need him. I need his sweet mouth, the rich taste of him, smoke and leather, salty metal when I score my teeth over his bottom lip harder than I mean to.

He growls, his tongue stroking mine feverishly, but his fingers don’t impale me. They play in my wetness, stroking me softly, parting me to explore the shape of me, dancing sweetly over my clit and away, stroking the burn into something nebulous and maddening that crowds the edge of my mind like a punishing cloud.

I don’t know how to get what I want, but when I arch my back and my nipples brush against his arm, I immediately do it again. The sensation of my fiery skin meeting his muscled hardness, sends a blinding jolt through me that leaves me panting against his lips.

I try to edge closer to him, but he pins me to the shower with one strong hand, his fingers splayed against my belly. He has me just about perfectly contained, but I free one hand and reach around, stroking the side of his steel abs, angling just enough to grasp a handful of his rock hard ass. It’s mostly fabric that I grab, but not all.

Unable to stop himself, he drives his hips forward, the length of his hard cock mashing into my stomach and his hand.

I don’t remember getting married to him, but I do remember before. Snippets of after we got back to the room. I remember the sharp taste of him, the salt of his come on my tongue, how my pussy wept, leaking down my thighs, how much I loved having him in my mouth, but how I ached to have him between my legs, the hot jets of his come filling me to overflowing.

“I want you inside of me,” I whimper, nearly biting him again.

He tears his mouth away and stares down at me, so dark and unfathomable.

“Not like this.”

“Yes, like this.” I try and lift my leg, edging it up to wrap it around his waist. He’s slick and all I manage to do is climb his calf with my toes before they slip away.

He releases me and drops down to his knees, the shower spray half soaking his face. He looks up at me through starred lashes and my heart crashes down into my stomach. He’s so tall that even on his knees, he only has to tilt his face to be able to latch onto my nipple. His mouth is a thousand times hotter than the shower. His tongue is glorious as it laps at the stiff bud, sending lightning jolts and painful static arcing furiously through my body. All the electricity gathers between my legs. I grind my thighs together, but the pressure doesn’t ease.

I try to squirm away and buck closer at the same time.

He bites down suddenly. Not hard, but enough that the jolt roars through me like I’ve wrapped my hand around a livewire and the electricity won’t release me. The heat spikes at the sweet sting, ebbs as his tongue flows over it. I’m so wet and slick between my legs, so empty and demanding, a new, desperate level of hunger rearing its head.

My brain short circuits as he trails his lips down, kissing me with tender, blazing kisses down my stomach. His hand skates up my thigh, fingers grazing the tender skin.

My stomach cramps and flutters madly when he kisses over my smooth mound. I’m not drunk this time. The lights should feel scalding. I should be nervous or embarrassed, shouldn’t I, that he’s down there, eye level with the most intimate part of me, and I’m so wet that I can feel the moisture smeared down my thighs?

I have no desire to hide. Not when he parts my legs with his hand, arranging me so he can reach me with his mouth. Not when he inhales deeply, a little grunt of primal satisfaction torn from his throat. Not when he surges forward, diving into me like I’m the only thing that can bring him relief, licking me from my clit to my entrance.

“Fuck,” he sighs on a growl that sounds both hungry and immediately sated. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”

I grasp his wet hair as he latches his mouth to me, sucking and licking my clit until my legs are shaking, though it only takes a moment. I spread my legs wider for him, letting him pin me to the wall, balancing on his shoulders so that I don’t fall over, gripping his hair so hard it has to hurt. The pleasure roars through me, shredding my limbs and echoing in my ears like wind screaming through a tunnel.

I used to wonder what this would feel like. When I rode the showerhead, I thought it would be good, but I had no idea.

Crow’s fingers are the first thing that’s ever been inside of me other than well—medical stuff. The medical stuff sucked. His two fingers are thick at my entrance, two of them doubled together. He pauses there, swirling them around me, stretching me open, but just a fraction. His tongue does something sinful to my clit that makes me open mouth pant.

I’m half gone when he stops. He turns me around, guiding me so that the spray hits me again, water gliding over goosebumps on my arms, over my peaked nipples.

I turn my face to the spray and open my mouth, letting the water fill it and trickle over, down my lips and chin.

Crow watches me intently. I swallow the rest of the water—pointedly—and watch his face harden as he struggles to keep control. I don’t know how to describe what that does to me.

Another snippet of last night rocks through my brain. I’m sure my face is scarlet. I don’t know if he remembers somewhere, what I wanted, but my body goes into riot mode, in a good way, when he runs his fingers up my ass crack.

“I want to taste you here. Want to have my cock here one day too. There isn’t a part of you that I don’t want to devour.”

“Are you sure?” I crank my head over my shoulder again, sassing him. “We’re not drunk right now.”

“I’m sure, wife .”

Fuck. There’s that. But the way he says that word, half with a great deal of sarcasm and half with wonder and want so strong that it makes his voice gravelly.

I plant my hands on the shower glass and wriggle my hips. I don’t even know who I am right now, but I’m rewarded with Crow’s strong palms pressing into my ass cheeks, opening me up for him.

He reaches between my legs, his fingers slipping through my wetness, straight to my clit. I expect a tentative lick. The whole, shit, I’m not sure if I’m going to like this, so I should probably test the water before I dive in deal, but there’s no testing. He tongues my tight hole, pressing into me. He works my clit in little circles that builds a heavy, delirious weight in my limbs.

It’s good, but it’s not as good as I thought it would be.

Crow’s patient, but I think he can tell.

“Tarynn?”

I bite down on my bottom lip. I have a feeling if I’m honest, he’ll laugh at me. No, he won’t. Raven wouldn’t either. I might burst into a laugh attack at myself, and that would be just as bad.

“I just thought that doing more taboo stuff would be crazy good.”

“It’s not crazy good?”

“It’s just… regular level good. I feel bad for making you do that.” I dare to look at him, but when I catch a glimpse of his face over my shoulder, all I see there is determination.

“We can try something different. Touch your clit for me.”

I obey eagerly, missing his hand as soon as he takes it away. He drags his fingers through my slit, gathering my juices. I press too eagerly on my clit, nearly mashing it in my haste.

“Slowly,” Crow commands in a deep voice that makes my knees feel like water. “I don’t want you to make yourself come.”

“That hardly seems fair,” I pant. It is my body, after all.

“I want you so edged out, so right there, so wild with need, begging to be fucked, that when I finally do, it won’t…”

He trails off and my fingers freeze. “That it won’t what?” I prod.

“That it won’t hurt.”

The fact that he’s so obviously worried about that, makes me soft and fuzzy. His care is a warm blanket in front of a fire. To look at home, no one would take him for a big old softie on the inside.

“I’m not that worried about it.”

“All the same.”

I grind my teeth in frustration, but ease off my clit.

He makes up for it but running his fingers around the rim of my asshole. He presses one in slowly, before I know what’s coming. My palms slap against the glass.

“Oh my god! That’s—different.”

“Different good?”

Shockwave. High voltage shockwaves that pulse through me hard enough to make me tremble. “Yeah.” I work my clit, letting my fingers dance away when it gets too be too much.

Between his finger thrusting lightly into my tight hole, and my own touch, the pleasure ebbs and recedes, builds again, and is torn away. Each time I get ready to fly, the temptation to let myself fall over that edge is torn away. It sets all my nerves on edge, until I’m tight enough to snap.

At this point, getting to come would be a relief. Sweet, painful, pleasureful relief.

Another few minutes is all I can take. I have to grasp my wrist and tear my hand away before I make the tingling pleasure peak. I’m high on it. Frantic for it.

“Crow… I can’t- I- will you fuck me now? Please?”

He stops teasing my asshole. The pause probably only lasts for a fraction of a second, but it feels like half an eternity.

Finally, he moves. He stands up abruptly and turns off the shower. Opens the door, snatches a huge white towel, and wraps it around me from behind. He doesn’t get one for himself. He sweeps me up in his arms, his muscles and tattoos flexing all over the place. He’s as beautiful as a statue, a fallen angel, a dark god.

The little thrill that the last bit of blasphemy sparks doesn’t make me feel guilty the way it used to.

If this is corruption, I want more. I want it all.