Page 12 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

EIGHT

LILIAN

I n a blink, he’s on me. His mouth slams into mine—sudden, bruising, like he’s been dying of thirst and I’m the only drop of water he’ll ever have.

The force of it rips a gasp from me, but he swallows the sound, devouring me like he’ll never let go.

His hands clutch my face, shaking, almost frantic, his fingers digging into my jaw as if he’s terrified I’ll slip away.

His lips are rough, punishing, then desperate, softer one second only to crash back into me harder the next, like he can’t decide if he wants to worship me or consume me whole.

The taste of him—salt, heat, wildness—rushes through me, and I’m clawing at him, dragging him closer, closer, until I’m pressed beneath the full weight of his body.

His chest crushes against mine, his heartbeat a furious drum I feel everywhere, echoing in my ribs, in my throat, in the frantic pounding of my own.

I fist his hair, yanking him down until his groan vibrates against my lips.

He answers by prying me open, his tongue tangling with mine, claiming, conquering, desperate to leave no part of me untouched.

I moan into him, arching against his touch, and he shudders, like the sound alone is enough to break him apart.

His hands are everywhere—spanning my waist, gripping my hips, sliding up my ribs as though he’s mapping me with fevered devotion. Every stroke burns, every touch ignites, until I’m writhing under him, my body begging without words for more, always more.

The kiss turns savage, teeth clashing, mouths colliding like we’re fighting for air inside each other.

My lips sting, my lungs burn, but I can’t stop.

I don’t want to. His breath is ragged against mine, each exhale searing, dragging me deeper under until there’s nothing but him—his weight, his taste, his hands claiming me like I’m his salvation.

When he finally rips his mouth from mine, he’s gasping, chest heaving, his forehead pressed hard against mine.

“We shouldn’t,” he chokes out, though his hand is already beneath my shirt, his palm hot against my skin, dragging higher.

I bite his lip, tugging him back to me, whispering against his mouth between breaths. “Then don’t stop. Not now. I need you. I need to feel anything but fear. I need to feel you. ”

That sends him over the edge. His hazel eyes darken, pupils swallowing the gold until they’re nothing but black fire. “I can make you feel.” His voice is rough silk, a threat and a vow. “I’ll take it all. Until the only thing left in your head is me—my hands, my mouth, my cock.”

“Yes.” The word tears free, trembling, desperate.

His palms glide higher, calloused skin branding every inch as they slide beneath my borrowed T-shirt. I lift my hips instinctively, offering more, heart hammering against my ribs.

Arson’s chuckle rumbles low against my mouth, dark and obscene.

“So fucking eager,” he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction.

His fingers trace over my pussy—light, taunting, cruel.

The tease sends a sharp jolt through me, a needy whimper spilling before I can hold it back.

I’m already soaked, my thighs trembling, every nerve wound too tight.

“Please,” I gasp, raw and unsteady.

His mouth crashes over mine, the kiss all teeth and tongue, his hunger dragging me under. His fingers slip beneath the thin lace, parting me, and the first drag through my folds pulls a groan from deep in his chest, guttural and unrestrained.

“Dripping,” he growls, his lips brushing mine. “My desperate little slut.”

He bites down, sharp enough to sting, then licks the hurt away, making me shudder.

Heat coils low in my belly, unbearable, and before I can think, my nails tear into his shoulders.

The sound he makes—half snarl, half groan—sends heat straight between my legs.

His hips shove into mine, cock grinding hard through his jeans. I falter, my breath catching.

God. I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t like this.

But I do. The ache in my core sharpens, clenching me from the inside out. He feels it. He always does. Pulling back, he catches my eyes. A wicked smile curls his mouth before his teeth nip at my lip, claiming.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasps, voice ragged against my mouth. “I like it. Every scratch. Every sting. Give me all of it.”

His words gut me. Shame evaporates, hunger surging in its place. I drag my nails down his back, harder this time, and his groan is feral, his cock jerking against me.

“That’s it,” he snarls, breath hot, hips grinding. “Bleed me while I make you scream.”

His mouth trails down my stomach, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting, marking me in bruises only he’ll know.

Then he’s between my thighs, his breath hot and damp where I ache most. His eyes flick up, dark through the fall of his lashes—and then his tongue licks a slow stripe through me.

The sound that tears from me is wrecked and shameless.

He groans into my clit, the vibration thrumming through me, his tongue relentless—flicking, circling, and plunging deep. My thighs clamp around his head, hips bucking against his mouth, and he holds me down, devouring like he’s starving.

I claw at his hair until strands tear loose, and he moans into me like he feeds on the pain.

My release hits hard. Blinding-hot pleasure rips through me, and I shatter.

My cries muffle in the sheets as my body convulses, wetness flooding his tongue.

He licks me through it, smearing my slick across his mouth, eyes glazed, lips shining.

By the time he crawls back up, I’m wrecked—swollen lips, trembling thighs, and chest heaving.

But instead of flipping me, his hands grip my hips and roll us until I’m straddling him.

The shock knocks the air from me. Arson—who cages me, who takes until I’m ruined—is flat on his back, his cock heavy and hard against my pussy, eyes dark and unmasked, looking at me like I’m the only thing left.

“Fuck,” he groans, fingers bruising my thighs. “On top of me…you’re a vision.”

Heat surges through me. I grip him, guiding his cock to my entrance. The blunt head pushes against me, and then I’m sinking down, inch by thick inch, stretched until he’s buried to the hilt. A strangled cry rips out of me.

“Christ, Lilian.” His head falls back, throat bared, muscles locked tight, sweat slicking his chest. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

I start to move, slow at first—grinding, rolling my hips, dragging him against the spot that makes me gasp.

His hands fist the sheets, knuckles white, his restraint trembling in every taut line of muscle.

The sight of him—undone beneath me, teeth gritted, eyes locked on me like I’m both a weapon and salvation—fuels me.

I slam down harder, nails raking across his chest, leaving raised welts.

He jerks, a savage groan torn from his throat.

“Fuck, yes,” he snarls. “Claw me. Bite me. I want you carved into me.”

The rhythm builds, slick and punishing, the slap of my body against his echoing in the room. His gaze pins me, wild, reverent, unblinking.

“Don’t stop,” he pants, chest heaving. “Watching you ride me like this—it’s the filthiest, most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”

I grind harder, teeth sinking into his neck, my nails dragging down his sides. His hips snap up, his cock spearing deep, and I cry out, the coil inside me burning hot and sharp.

“I’m close,” I choke, hips trembling.

His hand fists in my hair, dragging my mouth to his. His breath collides with mine, raw and uneven, his words scraped out between clenched teeth. “I won’t let anyone take you from me. Not them. Not fate. Not even my brother.” His eyes blaze, voice fractured. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

The vow detonates inside me, ripping the orgasm out of me. My body convulses around him, my scream swallowed by his mouth. He bucks up hard, his thrusts ragged and undone.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “You’re wringing me dry. Don’t stop, baby. Don’t ever fucking stop.”

His cock pulses inside me, spilling hot, his arms crushing me down against his chest. His teeth bite into my shoulder as he moans my name like it’s the only word he knows. I collapse against him, trembling, sweat-slick, my nails still buried in his skin.

He doesn’t ease his grip, doesn’t pull out. His chest heaves under mine, his breath rough against my ear as he whispers, broken but sure, “Every mark. Every bruise. Every fucked-up piece of me—you own it. No one else. Only you.”

I know he means the words because I can feel them. In every pulse of his cock that’s still inside me, in the sting of his bite on my shoulder, in the way he clings to me like he’d burn the world before he let me slip away.

Gradually, reality seeps back in—the beeping of the heart monitor on the floor now, the dull throb of my bruises, the uncertainty of our situation.

Arson doesn’t move off me. Instead, he holds me anchored against his chest, his arms locked around my waist like a band of iron.

I wince as the shift jostles my battered body, the aches and pains making themselves known now that the endorphins have started to fade.

“Dammit. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my cheek. “I shouldn’t have been so rough.”

“I’m not complaining,” I whisper, tilting my head to catch his mouth in a languid kiss. “I needed that. Needed you.”

A hum vibrates through his chest as his hand strokes soothingly up and down my spine. “I needed you, too. More than you know.”