Page 86 of Grim

“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 penetratemy 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.