Page 15 of Daggermouth

“Do it.”

He slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one excruciating thrust. Shadera cried out, her fingers clawing at the blankets as he set a punishing pace.

This was what she needed—raw, mindless friction that drowned out everything else.

“That’s it,” he growled, one hand sliding up her spine to grip the back of her neck. “Take all of me.”

Each thrust drove her forward, the force of it making the bed frame creak against the wall. She pushed back against him, meeting his rhythm with hunger.

“Harder,” she gasped through clenched teeth.

The sound of flesh against flesh echoed off the concrete, punctuated by their ragged breathing and the occasional curse torn from her lips.

Jameson’s grip on her body tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh at her hips, his other hand flexing across the base of her neck.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, his voice strained with effort and desire.

“Yes.” The admission ripped from her throat.

Her body was betraying her again, responding to his rough handling with desperation that made her hate herself.

He leaned over her, chest pressed against her back, his mouth at her ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Taking everything I give you.”

The praise sent electricity down her spine, and she felt herself clenching around him involuntarily. She could feel the tension building, that familiar coil of heat threatening to snap.

The angle hit something devastating inside her, sending sparks of fire through her veins. She bit down on her wrist to muffle the sounds threatening to escape. But Jameson noticed—he always noticed.

“Don’t hide from me,” he commanded, his hand tangling in her hair and pulling her head back. “Moan for me, Shade.”

The heat building inside her reached a breaking point at the sound of his words. Her body exploded around him, muscles contracting as waves of pleasure crashed through her. She came with a broken cry, her release coating him as her legs trembled with the force of it.

“Fuck, yes,” Jameson groaned as she spasmed around him. “That’s my girl.”

He pulled out suddenly, his hand working himself as he spilled across her back with a guttural moan. Hot liquid painted her skin as he shuddered through his climax.

They collapsed together, breathing hard in the warehouse’s frigid air. Shadera felt the wetness cooling on her back, marking her in a way that should have disgusted her, but somehow didn’t.

“Well,” she said after a long moment of catching her breath, her voice carefully neutral again. “That was adequate.”

Jameson laughed, the sound genuine and satisfied. “Adequate? I’ll take it.”

“Hand me that rag.” She nodded toward a cloth on the floor.

Jameson retrieved it, gently cleaning her back. The tenderness in the gesture made her want to pull away, but exhaustion kept her still.

“You’re going after Greyson Serel,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

She turned to face him, already rebuilding her walls. “Maybe.”

“That’s a suicide run, Shade. Even for you.”

“Everything’s a suicide run in this city.” She sat up, reaching for her clothes.

Jameson caught her wrist. “Promise me something.”

“No.”

He ignored her. “Promise me you’ll be careful. The city needs you alive.”