Then his mouth is on me, and my mind goes white. I heard tales from other girls at the coffee shop, spoken in giggles and whispers, about how it feels to have a man go down on them. I always thought they were exaggerating to make the rest of us uneasy.
Or maybe Rafe is just that good with his lips and mouth—I wouldn’t know. My experience is limited, but oh good lord, his warm, rough tongue inside me is making me arch my back and moan helplessly. His stubble scrapes on my inner thighs, tiny stings of pain, while his satin-soft lips slide over every sensitive inch of me, hot and…
The sensations change, become more intense, and I look down, trying to see what he’s doing. His hand is between my thighs, too, and he’s pressing deep inside of me. Fingering me, I realize, just as the pressure inside me rises to combustion levels and my hips start moving of their own accord, trying to get more—of his hand, his mouth. More of Rafe.
I should be mortified. I should be at least embarrassed about the incoherent sounds falling from my lips, the writhing of my body, the moisture I feel leaking down my legs. For what I feel coming, something so intense that will tear me apart.
But I don’t care. I can’t care, not when he’s playing my body like an instrument, and I stand no chance to stop the pressure from cresting. My hands twist on the sofa cushions, scrabbling for purchase. As my body tightens deep inside, I feel as if I’m about to fall off a skyscraper.
And then I do. My body detonates, my senses explode. I cry out as pleasure rips through me like a hot blade, and he keeps fucking me with his fingers, sucking on me, pleasuring me, so that my orgasm goes on and on.
When the last tremors finally stop, for a long moment I’m unable to move, my limbs like lead, my body a puddle of satisfaction.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers breathlessly, and I can hear the grin in his voice. He lifts his head, leans over me.
“Thanks,” I mutter and smile. “Jesus. That was…crazy.”
“Crazy?”
“Crazy good.” I reach up with an effort to touch his chest as he accommodates himself between my legs, his erection throbbing through his underwear, pressing into my sensitive folds.
We stay like that for a bit as I try to get my breathing back under control. My hand moves over his ink.
“Love your tats. Zane did them?”
“Some of them.” Rafe bends lower, kisses my breasts and I loop my arms around his neck.
“Those names, they are your family’s?” I’m groggy. I feel as if I’m on drugs. Really good drugs. My body is floating. “And this phrase? Mi ricordo? What does it mean?”
Abruptly he pulls away.
“Rafe?” I mutter. “What is it?”
He’s already climbing off the sofa, turning away. He clasps a hand to the back of his neck and squeezes, and a shudder goes through his body. The muscles in his back and his legs stand out in sharp relief.
“It means I remember,” he whispers. “That it was my fault.”
Confused, I watch him stagger out of the room. After a few moments, I sit up, the haze cleari
ng from my mind.
Locked inside. Inside a thorny maze. He’s lost, and I need to find him, before it’s too late—before the monsters find him and swallow him whole.
Chapter Eight
Rafe
How could I forget? Her taste is on my tongue, sweet like sugar, and my dick is so hard it fucking hurts, and I forgot.
I slam the door behind me and stumble to wall, slam my shoulder into it. My heart’s trying to hammer its way out of my fucking chest. Dammit, I barely managed to get out of the room before I completely lost it.
Well, I’m about to lose it now, and it won’t be pretty. Nausea rises in my throat and I double over. Goddammit, what fucked-up timing. Guess it caught me by surprise—the assault of memories and guilt as I hovered on the edge of pleasure. If she hadn’t spoken, if I hadn’t heard her where she lay, naked and goddamn sexy, I’d have entered her then and there, pounded into her until I came so hard I blacked out.
But she spoke, and I heard her. I remember, and the walls are closing in. I slam my hands into the wall, but it’s not enough. Not enough pain to snap me out. All this pretending that I’m okay, that everything’s okay, it’s wearing me out. Breaking me apart. With the anniversary looming, I’m stepping closer to the edge of the void, day after day, hour after hour.
This isn’t for me. Pleasure is not for me. I reach down¸ tug on the piercings in my hard cock, but that doesn’t help, either. The pain isn’t sharp enough, and it’s too mixed up with pleasure. It’s been way too long. My balls are throbbing. My cock is on fire. The urge to grab on and jack off is driving me crazy.
It hurts, but if it didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t be a punishment, would it? For my sin. For my part in it. For surviving.