Page 34 of Grim

The soft smirk he offers suggests that the pause in that sentence was intentional. He thinks he’s being cute, but I know he’s simply trying to deflect before this conversation gets any more personal. I relent and give in to the quietness of the wind and the rain.

The roof is slick beneath my bare feet, rain falling in sheets that glitter beneath the almost-full moon.

Lightning shreds the sky, illuminating Kane’s silhouette as he stands next to me, his arms still supporting mine.

His clothes are completely soaked through, his white shirt clinging to every plane of muscle like a second skin.

This might be the closest I ever get to swimming under the moonlight.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he cuts in, his voice rough and reverent.

“I think I can risk a little pneumonia.” I slide down slightly on the graded rooftop, peering below.

His jaw clenches, lightning catching in his eyes. “Don’t do that,” he snaps.

“Do what?” I ask, raising my face toward him.

“Come back up here. I don’t want you to fall off the edge.”

“Why not?” I half joke.

The thunder rolls long and deep behind us, and the rain falls harder. He bunches his hand around the back of my dress and pulls me back forcibly. When we are side by side again, he takes that same hand and brushes a strand of wet hair off my cheek. His warm palm lingers, steadily cupping my jaw.

“Believe me,” he says so quietly that it could be mistaken for wind, “it’s very dangerous to fall.”

“Good thing you stopped me before it’s too la—”

He cuts me off with a brutal kiss. His mouth crashes to mine like a storm all its own.

There’s no hesitation this time—no lingering touches or half-breathed apologies.

Kane devours me. Rain slips between our lips as his hands find my hips, lifting me to his waist like I weigh nothing.

I wrap my legs around him. He pulls away long enough to move us to a flat plane in the center of the rooftop.

He lays me down on the wet slate, his body hovering above mine, drenched and desperate. His mouth is everywhere—on my neck, my collarbone, down my breasts, and over my scar. Fingers trail up my thighs beneath the thin fabric, reverent and aching, until I gasp his name.

“Oh, Grim.”

At the sound of my voice, he pulls back, a new look behind his eyes.

Tension crawls up his spine as he goes stiff.

“We can’t do this,” he rasps, thunder cracking behind the words.

“ Putain , Rue. This isn’t just wrong; it’s impossible.

” His voice is frayed, unraveling at the edges.

Not a demand, not even a plea—something more desperate than either.

Like this moment could break him in a way nothing else ever has.

I fist the front of his soaked shirt, dragging him down until our lips nearly touch. “I want you,” I breathe. “I want this. You. Now. Before time runs out.”

“There will never be enough time,” he rushes out. “Your touch, your skin, your fire,” he intones, kissing and breathing me in between each phrase. “This is too good to be real. You are too good to be real.”

I dig my nails deeper into the flesh beneath his shirt as I grit out, “Feels pretty real to me.” My eyes lock with his, a silent entreaty shared between us.

“This isn’t a part of your story, Rue. It can’t be.”

“Then I guess it’s time to write a new one.” The conviction and power in my voice would surprise the old me, but the Rue in this moment has never been more certain of anything.

The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a growl, pure devastation and hunger bleeding into one.

“Fuck Fate,” he utters so low in his chest that it’s more of a vibration than words.

Fireworks of lightning dot the night sky, and thunder booms.

And then his mouth crashes against mine with finality.

His kiss is punishing and deliberate, brutal and breathtaking.

His hands move like he’s memorizing every inch of my flesh before I disappear—leaving trails of fire over my rain-slicked skin.

He cups my face, grips my waist, and slides his hands over the curve of my ass, like he was born knowing my body.

There’s nothing delicate in the way he cages me under his form—nothing soft or gentle in the way our hips align like puzzle pieces that have waited lifetimes to click into place.

The rain is cold, but I’m burning alive. His teeth graze the skin above my breast like he’s considering whether or not to devour me whole. My back arches against the hard stone shingles beneath us, but I don’t care. I want him to mark me. I want to remember this night in the storm.

Actually, fuck that , I want the storm to remember us.

His breath is ragged as his body grinds against mine in a most maddening rhythm. His thigh wedges between mine, and I moan shamelessly, the pressure just enough to make me shudder.

“I’m not”—he breaks off, voice rough—“going to be gentle.”

“Good.” I pant, curling my arms around his shoulders as lightning explodes overhead. “Make me feel, Grim.”

He presses his forehead to mine, and we get lost in a moment between a heartbeat and a breath.

“That name is growing on me.”

I slide my hands down, unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers.

The metal clinks under the storm’s roar as I unzip his pants, my hand slipping inside, finding him.

He’s hard and heavy. And when I wrap my fingers around him, he lets out a broken, tortured sound that rockets straight to the center of me.

“Looks like you’re growing on me too.”

“Rue,” he groans, voice cracking on my name like it physically hurts him to say it, “watch your fucking mouth.”

I stroke him once, slow, then again, tighter, and his hips jerk into my palm as he claws the tiles on either side of my head.

“Fill me.” I whisper the command into his mouth, and like a skeleton key, it unlocks every door.

His whole being moves with measured desperation now, dragging my underwear down my legs, then casting them aside. His fingers slide between my thighs, finding me wet and wanting, and he curses under his breath.

“Fuck, Rue,” he growls. “You’re soaked.”

“It’s raining, Grim,” I bite out, breathless.

“Not the rain,” he says, and the heat in his voice nearly undoes me .

I pull his stunned face to mine as needy whimpers escape me, my thighs trembling around his hips as he pumps his fingers into me. Each thrust is a pulse of need, a spark across raw nerves. I shudder beneath him, voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

“Please,” I whisper, dragging my nails down his rain-slick shoulders, “let me feel you.”

“All of me,” he breathes, like a promise and a threat.

His mouth fuses to mine, our tongues tangling. He hikes my dress up with shaking hands, groaning as the head of his cock brushes against my aching center.

“Kane,” I whimper, rolling my hips toward him.

I can feel how hard he is, feel the tension rippling through him as he hesitates.

His eyes lock with mine, stormy and deadly. “Rue—”

“Don’t,” I cut in, breathless. “Stop.” I drag my tongue along his bottom lip, tasting him, claiming him. “Not now.”

“I couldn’t even if I tried,” he grits out, one hand braced next to my head, the other sliding around my throat.

I gasp at the expected pressure. I am struggling to breathe anyway, and the animal inside Kane seems ready to consume me. His eyes have literally changed color, and his beautiful smile holds a predatory gleam.

If this is how I go out, I am ready to embrace it.

But the pressure never comes. Kane grinds his thick length up and down my throbbing center as his index and middle finger slide under my jawbone. I am powerless in this position. He has me physically and emotionally overwhelmed, but he’s—

“You’re checking my pulse,” I say softly as I realize what he’s doing.

He holds himself in place. “I want to destroy your cunt, Rue. Not your heart.”

“Then may I offer some friendly advice?” I ask dryly. “Stop focusing on my heart and start focusing on my pussy.”

His laugh twists the tension like a vise. It’s dark, primal, and full of the kind of ache that says he’d do anything to keep me.

“Then you’d better spread those legs a little wider,” he mutters, the words gritted as he shifts, lining himself up.

I splay my knees and feel his girth begin to penetrate my tight heat. The first stretch is slow, torturous. My breath leaves me in a gasp as he pushes in, inch by inch, the thick swell of him opening me like I was made to take him.

“Kane—” My voice breaks on his name as my nails dig into his rain-drenched back.

“That’s it,” he groans, forehead resting against mine. “Relax, baby. You take me so well. You feel that?”

Pleasure courses through me at the surprise in his voice.

And I do feel that. The way his cock fills and penetrates every place that was empty inside me.

It’s not just pleasure. It’s a detonation.

His body moves like he’s searching for salvation inside me.

Like if he gets deep enough, he’ll find it.

He pulls back and thrusts—hard—and we both cry out.

It’s instinct now. A rhythm set by the unbound thrumming of raw need.

And it is a dance we fall into seamlessly, like our bodies have been waiting for us to find this moment forever.

The rain pelts down, soaking our skin, drenching the rooftop.

I arch into him, legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He drives in again and again, faster now, rougher.

The kind of punishing pace that might leave bruises on my pelvis and his branding on my soul.

“Mayday,” he pants against my neck, every thrust a broken whisper of my name. “Mayday. May—”

“I’m here,” I cut him off. “Right here, Kane. Please …”

His hand pounds the wet slate next to my head as his hips snap harder. “Please what?” he grits. “Use your words to voice what my soul already knows.” He punctuates his words with a quick thrust. Hard.

“Fuck, right there, yes—Kane,” I cry out as he hits something deep that makes the world flicker behind my eyes. “You’re so deep—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“That’s better, Rue. I love to hear you beg,” he growls, voice wrecked.

I look up at this ghost of a man who has morphed into an apex predator right before my eyes. His voice is barely recognizable, but our connection has never felt more complete. I moan—that’s all I have left now. Just sounds .

“So tight, so fucking warm—shit, Rue,” he praises as he pounds into me.

We’re soaked and shaking, lightning splitting the sky above us as he buries himself deeper, until we’re nothing but heat and breath and the animalistic sound of skin on skin.

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, hand finding my face like he needs to anchor himself. “Rue … look at me. Look at me.”

My eyes snap open and meet his, just as the tension coiled in my belly explodes.

“Kane!” I cry, finding the only word in the universe that matters in this moment. Body locking, legs trembling, I shatter around him.

“Fuck—Rue—” he growls, kissing me as he follows me into oblivion, thrusting deep one last time before he comes deep inside me.

His hips jerk, his mouth crashes to mine, and we fall together—shaking and so potently alive.

He holds me through it, chest pressing to mine, my heart racing fast and hard enough for the both of us. We lie there beneath the storm, bodies tangled, my breathing ragged, and my heart still trying to catch up.

He uses his free hand to wipe the rain from my face—from my forehead to my chin. His touch has a primal edge to it, a roughness that disappears when his hand continues its descent from my chin to my throat, where he delicately checks my pulse again.

“That …” I whisper breathlessly. “That was worth every second I have left.”

He flinches like the words cut bone deep. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he kisses me again.

His voice is thick when he murmurs, “ Absolument. Absolutely.”

In this moment, I don’t feel like I’m dying. I feel somehow more than alive. Like time itself does not exist, but I do. We do. And together, we are infinite.