Though he doesn’t seem in a gentle mood right now. He grabs my face and kisses me hard, pushing me down until I’m on my back. He presses between my legs, thick and heavy, and plants his hands on either side of my head.
His face is bent over mine. His hair catches the light from the open bathroom door behind him, turning into a golden cloud—and then he enters me in one deep, long thrust that knocks the air from my lungs.
“God, you’re so tight,” he breathes, throbbing inside me. “So goddamn tight and hot. Holy shit, you feel so good.”
I arch up, raise myself on my elbows to kiss him, and the angle shifts, so we both gasp. Lightning pleasure runs up my spine.
“God, Rafe,” I murmur and grip his hip. His thick cock slips deeper, the piercings massaging my inner walls, and I choke on a cry.
He grunts, his teeth gritting. “Fuck, so close. Shit.” He pulls out a bit, thrusts back in and groans out loud. “Hot damn.”
He does it again, his hips rocking faster, mine rising to meet him as the pressure starts rising again. Our bodies slide against each other, slick with water and sweat. His hard muscles rub on my breasts, on my sensitive nipples, and I whisper his name.
Small pinpricks of pleasure start inside me, and I tighten around his girth. “Oh God.” I can barely catch my breath, it feels so good. “Harder.”
He pushes my shoulders down and slams into me, hips pistoning, in and out, harder, faster. I hitch one leg over his hip, drawing him as deep as I can, and I scream as the pressure crests and pulls me under in a giant wave.
I’m shuddering, shaking, rolling with the pleasure, when he loses control. He snaps his hips, driving home one last time, and lets out a hoarse shout. I feel his cock swell inside me, impossibly big, feel it twitch, then jerk in great pulses that trigger spasms of fiery pleas
ure so deep inside me I black out for a second.
Wow. Shit.
He slumps on top of me, still nestled inside me, eyes closed, face lax. I wonder if he’s passed out, like the first time I jerked him off, so many nights ago, but when I nudge him after a while, he rolls off. He reaches down and pulls off the condom, ties it up, and I take it from his hand.
“Just rest.”
He rolls on his side and throws an arm over his eyes. When I return from disposing the condom in the bathroom, I turn down the lights, leaving only the small lamp on my bedside table on. The dim light gilds the strong lines of his body, the muscled, inked expanse of his back. The scar there is much bigger and messier than the one in the front, its ridges and knots visible under the tattoos.
I climb onto my narrow bed, not sure how we’ll fit there, but he reaches for me, snags my hip and pulls me in tight. His arm slips around my back and I’m held to his chest, my head tucked under his chin.
“You’ll take this day off,” I murmur against his warm skin. “No worrying and beating yourself up and trying to do this all on your own. Tomorrow we’ll figure this out. Together.”
He breathes out, ruffling my hair, and throws a leg over mine, pressing as much of himself on me as possible.
“Meg…” he rasps.
I glance up at his hooded eyes. “Yeah?”
“I took care of the stalker.” He sighs. “He wasn’t after you. He wanted Raylin. Told him to fuck off.”
My throat closes. My chest clenches. He did that for me. Put himself in danger to make sure I was safe. “Thank you.”
“Love you, Meg,” he whispers, and his breathing evens out as he falls into sleep.
Leaving me wide awake, stunned. Wondering if he even realized he spoke those words, if he means them, and if he’ll remember any of this tomorrow.
Chapter Fourteen
Rafe
Blood. Darkness. Screams. Wandering through dim corridors with flickering lights. Skulls grinning in niches and corners. My feet splashing in crimson, the carpets drenched with it.
I fall. Get up. Then fall again. Drag myself through the blood. A howl is building in my throat, but it won’t come out. It’s choking me. Can’t breathe. I’m shaking. The floor is shaking. The world is breaking at the seams.
“Rafe? Wake up. You’re okay.” Hands touching my face. A woman’s voice. Meg, my mind provides the name, the face. Meg. “Just a dream.”
“A memory,” I whisper and curl around her, inhale her sweet scent.