“Same,” I moan as he pushes against me
“So why don’t I just fuck you now instead.”
“I think that’s a very good idea- fuck.”
He buries himself in one stroke, making me scream in sweet pleasure, my hands flying to his wrists and clinging tight.
“I think we should stop talking,” he groans.
“I think I agree,” I gasp back.
He drives in deep, filling me and making me scream. He grabs my hands and pins them above my head at the top of the easy chair, and he rocks his hips in and out, pumping me full of his cock with every thrust. His hands tighten on my wrists, and his hips rub against mine as he grinds in deep, making me moan.
“Yeah, I definitely, think we should stop talk-”
I whimper as he slides a thumb into my mouth, quieting me. I groan, sucking on his digit as he thrusts in and out, fucking me in deep, powerful thrusts. We keep rocking like that, bodies slamming together in this heated, frenzied rush towards the finish line. His hand drops to my knee and lifts it, bringing one leg up over his shoulder and letting him somehow go even deeper. I scream around his finger, my eyes rolling back in my head as I feel him rubbing against places I’ve never felt before.
My hands are still clawing at the back of the chair, and I drop them to his chest, his arms, his hips - urging him faster and harder as the ecstasy roars through me.
I’m lost in this, and not even remotely caring about what happens next, or whatever this is.
Because this is just us right now. This is raw fucking. Pure lust. This is sweet, blissful escape and release.
And it’s exactly what I want.
He comes with me, his cock swelling thick and deep inside of me as I go screaming over that edge. Connor groans, holding himself deep inside as we both gasp for air, before eventually collapsing. He slides to the floor, chest heaving and his hands stroking my legs as I sink into the chair.
Sweet, blissful escape and release.
And that’s all this has to be.
Right?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sierra
I watch his chest rise and fall with his breath. My eyes trace over the ink and the scars like I’m reading his story over the pages of his skin rather than a book. I drag my eyes higher to his mouth, watching those perfect lips of his part slightly in his sleep. His jaw is all sharp lines and shadows in the darkness of the upstairs bedroom where we’ve finally collapsed, and my eyes linger on the way his eyelids flicker in sleep.
Sleep, which isn’t happening for me. Not yet at least. I’m physically exhausted after the day I’ve had, but my mind just won’t shut the hell up.
This is frequently a problem for me - not being able to shut my own thoughts down when I need them to be quiet. Like, say, when I need to sleep.
And so I’m lying here, wishing I could close my eyes and join him, but unable to stop the whirring and turning of the cogs in my head. It’s all random stuff, too. My thoughts linger on my family, and how I’ve kept them in the dark for so long about what’s been going on with me. My brain flutters off, landing now on the dagger hanging over my head that could bring whatever’s left of my world down - the arson charge Agent Marlow dangled in front of me the other day.
But I refuse to let my thoughts linger on Marlow or his offer. I haven’t touched the phone in the bottom of my bag, and I don’t intend to. Because contrary to the mind games he tried to throw in front of me the other day, I do know the man I’m running with. I know he’s broken, and that he’s lived and lives a life far harder than any I’ve ever known.
I know he’s capable of violence. I know he’s able to turn off a part of himself - to shut the door on the place inside of him that might be vulnerable.
I know the way he looks at me makes me feel both a princess and a dirty, dirty girl, all at the same confusing time. I know the way he puts his hands on me, and the way he touches me is like nothing I’ve ever known. I know that if this blew apart right now, I would spend the rest of my life comparing every man and every sexual experience to him, knowing they’d fail to live up to the bar he’s set anyways.
But I also know that past his fierceness, past the armor, and past the raw, animalistic ability to cause hurt and inflict pain, lays a man aching from a life harder than I can imagine.
I know that I’ve seen that part of him, and I know he’s seen that part of me, and I know I like that those two guarded versions of ourselves have met.
My eyes dip back to his chest, and I watch it rise and fall again as I drop my cheek to his shoulder. He stirs slightly in his sleep, his hand tightens reflexively on my back, and his breathing stutters for a minute before he drifts back to normal.