Page 41 of Not Her Day to Die (Star-Crossed #2)

“ Y ou’re still too tight, Wildflower.” Darius’s cock is hard as steel; it has been for longer than is comfortable.

But he isn't going to fuck her until she is ready. Until he can only hear her pleasure.

Darius wants more than anything to bring her to the edge over and over again. To memorize every spot that makes Sunday twitch. But right now, he is desperate to make her feel good on their terms. To make her come, just for him. Without a crowd watching their every move.

Hooking his fingers further into her, his teeth scrape against her clit.

She offers a soft groan, her legs buckling.

He files away the information, applying more pressure with his mouth, angling his fingers differently.

This time her knees nearly give out, and he reaches behind her, gripping her ass, keeping her up and pressed into him. Her nails dig deeper into his skin in an intoxicating manner as he rhythmically plunges in and out of her.

She begins to tense and tighten around him, and he knows it isn't much longer.

I should just leave her here, dangling on the edge.

But Darius doesn't have it in him, he would much rather watch her come over and over again than withhold it from her .

He lashes out his tongue ring against her clit and growls against it, a mimicry of what he did before.

“Darius!” she lets out a hushed scream as she convulses around his fingers. Tightening and squeezing them in a vice grip.

He imagines his cock in their place. Remembers how he felt buried inside of her. How it was more than he could have dreamed or hoped for.

Fuck.

Sunday’s mewls, the feel of her soft skin, the sight of her supple curves, the memory of being inside of her, it’s nearly enough to push him to his own release.

He's getting off on her pleasure.

He shuts his eyes, focusing on how she continues convulsing as he doesn’t let up on her clit. How her body trusts his implicitly.

Even if it shouldn't.

The thought is jarring. His guilt is a coiled snake deep in his gut. He does not regret his encounter with Sunday, he just wishes…

“Darius.” Soft fingers bury into his wet hair, desperately trying to pull him away.

He whips his attention back to the present. His guilt offers nothing for the beautiful woman before him.

The one who is practically begging. The one who is barely standing. The one who is drenching his fingers.

He unwillingly withdraws from her. He catches her attention as he puts his drenched fingers in his mouth. Cleaning off her essence with his tongue.

Sunday’s eyes widen, her pupils dilating.

Darius's lips curve upwards mischievously. “Free. Use?” He places his hands on her bare waist. His rough fingers at odds with her smooth skin. He strokes her with the pads of his thumbs .

Her breathing turns more erratic as she waits for him.

He leans forward as if to kiss her, but then he lifts her and turns, placing her on the empty counter next to the sink.

“Stay right here,” he commands her.

She puffs her cheeks in an adorable pout, her chest heaving as she comes down from her pleasure. Darius’s attention falls to her full breasts, but he whips his eyes away, he opens the drawer beside her and pulls out a condom.

“Why are those everywhere?” Sunday asks.

Darius laughs. He's not sure how to explain Axel’s insistence that they needed condoms in every room. That Darius thought it a ridiculous notion until this very instant.

But it turns out, he doesn't need to.

“Axel.” Sunday's lips twitch. “He might be the most annoying, but I have a feeling you and Grayson needed it.”

Darius quirks his lips as he slides the condom into place.

But then his memory catches on their first time.

“What if I got you preg–”

Sunday cuts him off, “Carrie gave me a plan B.”

Darius isn't sure exactly how to answer. On one hand he wants more than anything to fill Sunday with his cum, for her to be pregnant with his child. But they're so fucking young.

The loops were literal years, but it wasn't as if they were living. It was time for them all to slow down. To enjoy each other.

And then maybe down the road they could have the conversation, but the brothers already discussed they would leave it up to Sunday.

“The date.” Sunday is staring at his tattoos. Her hand outstretched towards it.

The wildflower and the date .

August 14th.

“It's not for Axel and Tripp’s birthday, is it?”

Darius steps forward until she's brushing his skin. “No. It's a reminder of what we were fighting for. Who. ”

She traces the lines of the fourteen before skipping to the wildflower, beginning at the top and working her way down the stem.

His hand whips out, covering hers. “Sunday. I think you're ready, but if you need me to stop?”

“Stop,” she confirms haughtily.

Her attitude hits Darius in the gut. He takes it as a challenge.

His plan twists.

He yanks her unceremoniously off the counter and flips her around.

Now she's bent over the counter, facing the mirror. His eyes take in her breasts as they bounce from his jostling. He lines up behind her, bending his knees until he is the perfect height.

With the condom on, with how he readied her, with how drenched she is, it isn’t as hard this time to work his way inside her. But with this angle?

She is suffocating his dick. It is the most earth-shattering feeling and it takes everything for him to not cum as soon as he is fully sheathed inside her.

She tries to escape him, but there's nowhere to go. She's trapped between him and the counter.

And the mirror.

Fuck , watching her from this angle is hypnotic.

The heat in her cheeks, her mouth opened on a silent scream, her pink nipples hardened to points.

“Rub your clit,” he commands her.

He allows her the space to do so, and then he finds his handles .

He digs into her hip with a hand and his other cups one of her heavy breasts.

He watches through the mirror as she does as he commands, feeling the evidence as she tightens around him.

He is still barely inside of her, seated, but not moving. He wants to give her time to acclimate, for her body to accept that he is going to do his best to ruin her.

“Are you ready?” he growls into her ear.

“ No .” The word is broken by him withdrawing and slamming back into her.

The garbled scream doesn't sound like the word stop.

And so he continues.

He thrusts into her, up and angled into the spot his fingers found before. He begins with small short bursts and then swaps to long hard snaps. He doesn't exactly know what he's doing, but he uses her body as a guide. The way she strangles his dick, her wanton moans, her unfocused eyes.

A delayed detonation.

His own pleasure finds him hard and fast. His desire hitting past the point of no return before he can catch it.

He stares into her eyes poised to plunge again. “Sunday, I love you.”

“I love you t–”

And then he is pounding into her, handling her as he wants, stamping into her. Exceeding their last encounter, dissolving any residual pain, he wants this to be more memorable.

She is attempting to mute her sounds, but eventually he has to release her hip and cover her mouth instead.

But still he doesn't let up. There isn't time. And just as he is afraid he won't get her there, her body tenses and spasms around his. Her eyes watering as she cries out in pure bliss. Her hot breath fanning his palm as he finds his own release.

For a few minutes, they stay just like that, with him buried inside of her as they pant into the air. Both sticky and naked.

He feathers kisses on her neck as he gently pulls out of her.

“One more quick shower to clean up?” He offers her his hand.

She takes it, squeezing him reassuringly, and then she dives at him.

Darius catches her. She peppers kisses across his skin. Offering him comfort and love and warmth.

More than he deserves. More than he is accustomed to.

She wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his chest.

“Yes, please.” She sighs softly.

Darius can physically feel as she heals a deep dark part of himself.

He doesn't truly forgive himself, not yet.

But he knows one day he will.