Again.
Always in perfect sync.
And again, until I’m moving for that sound, living for that sound, fucking her just to hear it when it’s drugging me, dragging me out of my senses.
She’s got me spellbound.
And I don’t even resist as she suddenly flexes, grips me tight in her thighs, and flips me over in an agile twist of her body.
My thrusting hardness moves inside her in ways that have my eyes rolling back in my head from the friction.
Suddenly, she’s on top, straddling me.
Cocky as hell as she looks down at me and undulates her hips in this gyration that makes my balls clench in perfect hot knots of pleasure, a groan rumbling in my chest.
“Now,” she murmurs, flicking that candy on her tongue like she’s strumming it against my pulsing cock, already starting to move. “Now, we do this my way.”
I don’t have it in me to argue.
Not when she’s so gorgeous, arched above me and rolling her entire body with perfect control, throwing herself into using my cock to pleasure herself, leaving me shuddering.
Savage waves of tightness roll over me, squeezing me until I growl like I’ve lost my damn mind.
Yeah.
We do this her way.
And maybe I have.
Maybe I’m never coming back.
Because she’s got me turned inside out and not thinking straight.
Even if it means risking my life against one of the most powerful corporations on Earth.
Just to do the right thing by her.
Just to free Fuchsia from whatever the fuck must’ve haunted her since the day she was born.
* * *
In the cooling sweat of the afterglow, she lights a cigarette, offering me a drag before taking it back.
And she’s still got that candy, sucked down to a tiny ball but persistently clicking against her teeth.
I wonder how it tastes with menthol.
I’d half expected her to go squirming away once she was done with me, disdaining all affection—but instead she’s tucked in the crook of my arm, her head draped against my shoulder while she stares up at the coils of smoke rising toward the ceiling.
I just stare at her, trying not to be too obvious.
What can I say?
It’s comfortable.
More familiar and easy than it has any business being, really.
But as she clacks her candy again, I ask, “Do you never take that shit out of your mouth?”
In response, she glances past me, grey eyes cutting toward the mess of our clothes on the floor.
When I see what she’s looking at, I lose it, breaking the silence with a loud chuckle.
Tumbling out from the pockets of her tactical pants, several more of those pink spheres in clear plastic wrappers spill across the floor.
“That you trying to tell me you’ve got an oral fixation?” I can’t help laughing again.
“Not quite like that.” She smiles in a sort of vague, self-mocking way, pulling her smoke from her lips and blowing out an ashen puff.
It’s almost graceful. Serene. My dick stirs to life again for the fourth time tonight.
She makes an O of her mouth around the remnants of pink in her lips before sucking it back in. “It keeps me calm. That’s all. It’s like…as long as I’ve got that to focus on, nothing will ever startle me or make me afraid.”
“Thought it might be a comfort object.” And I can’t help holding her closer, just for a moment, as if I could protect her. “Did you start that with the Nightjars training?”
“No.” Bitter, but amused, she stares through the wall. “Dr. Ross hates it. But he can’t get me to stop.”
“It’d be a sorry day if you took orders from that quack,” I say.
She snorts. Her eyes unfocus for a moment, her brows knitting. “I can’t remember anyone. It’s like they were all wiped away, and when I look for where they should be, there aren’t even holes that tell me something used to be there. No mother, no father, no sisters or brothers.” Her voice softens. “But I think…maybe I had a grandmother, once. And she gave me candies like these.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
I don’t think she wants me to, as if I’d be looking directly at her weakness to acknowledge something so personal.
So I don’t say anything at all.
I just hold her close, and hope that one day, we’ll settle a few scores.
Secretly, I hope I won’t be a blank space in her mind, too, erased from her memory with only the vaguest idea that something should be there.
* * *
Present
Goddamn, she’s still just as beautiful as yesterday.
It doesn’t matter if she’s a ragged stray cat or the sleek luxury show creature she’s grown into, adopting a taste for the finer things over the years—my fault, wooing her with designer brands and watching her discover the power in feeling beautiful, the pleasure in having lovely things to call hers instead of what the company just provided for her.