Page 94 of Sigma

When he joins me, I feel it. I feel him release, feel him unleash inside me. He cries out, roaring wordlessly, our movements in unison. Again and again. Until I’m weak and panting and he’s pushed in as deep as he can go, as if he never wants to pull out of me.

We collapse to the bed as one, but instead of holding me and catching our breath together, he does something utterly shocking.

He rolls me to my back with a rough shove and covers me with his body, and he braces himself with one hand beside my ear, the other snarling in my tangled hair and jerking my face up to his. His mouth is hot and his tongue demands entrance. My hands seek him on their own, one tangling in his hair as fiercely as his is in my mine, pulling him down to me as roughly as he pulls me up. My other hand smooths down the muscled valley of his back, scratches and claws as he kisses me, smoothing over the claw marks and then clawing again. The harder I dig my fingers into him, the more he groans into the kiss and the harder he kisses me. I pull at his buttocks and he gives me his weight, his arm cradling under my neck and the other cupping my jaw.

It’s an endless kiss—searing and soaring, a crashing and a coalescing of skin and soul.

Finally, we part, each of us gasping and breathless.

He rolls off me, pulls me into his arms. We breathe together, neither speaking.

I’m shaken to the core by what just happened.

He is too, I can tell.

I don’t know how long we lie there entwined in silence, breathing. My thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind of confused emotion and frenetic arousal. You’d think after having had him twice in less than an hour I’d be sated, but I’m not. Not even close.

The opposite, if anything.

I want him. I need him.

I’m scared of him—of his life. Of the monster mask he wears—and it is a mask, I believe. I don’t think it’s truly him. A monster wouldn’t hold me like this. Wouldn’t have kissed me so ravenously—notafterfucking me into oblivion. A monster wouldn’t care about my pleasure before his own, and he clearly does.

But despite being merely a mask and not the true man, he still chooses to wear it, to do dark and violent things. To those who deserve it, perhaps. But still.

Yet here in this tower, in this bed, I see beneath the mask, to the man he could be.

I want to see more of that man.

Layered over these thoughts is a thick, scorching blanket of erotic need. How can I want him, so? It’s fierce and furious and untenable. It can’t last. But it’s insatiable and undeniable.

Merely lying here in his arms, I’m trembling with arousal. Soaked with it.

“Why are you shaking, Corinna?” His voice is a husky murmur.

My lips curl into a smile against his chest. “You’ve got a tiger by the tail.” I reach down and tenderly scratch at his balls, tickling them. “And she’sveryhungry.”

He groans, a low growl. “Permit me a moment to clean up, in that case.”

“A moment is too long,” I whisper. “Need younow.”

He rolls out from under me and out of bed—he’s beginning to unfurl while still wearing the condom from last time. “Very hungry tiger indeed.”

I watch his tight ass move as he walks into the bathroom—I hear the sink running. My soaked core demands attention. He’s taking too long.

God, who am I?

I’ve always revved high, sexually. I discovered masturbation rather young, coinciding with the advent of my period—and also my tendency to steal my mom’s steamy novels. I started messing around with boys during trips to the nearby USVI and British islands not much after that, and I’ve taken every opportunity I can get to satiate my constant need for sexual attention. Or, rather, stimulation.

But this? Apollo does something else to me. Takes my already high-octane sex drive and puts it into overdrive—lights the afterburners and sends my arousal into the stratosphere.

I’m nearly writhing in the bed with the need to feel his mouth between my thighs, to taste his cock, to ride him—anything. Everything.

I slip out of bed and into the bathroom, find him cleaning himself with a washcloth. I move behind him, take it from him. “Allow me.”

He chuckles as he surrenders the washcloth and stands facing the mirror watching me take over. “I’ve been gone all of thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds too long.”