“You have to,” I said. “Because if you don’t, she’ll always have this over you. Just let me try.” I reached for him.
He clenched his teeth together.
I backed off. “Not like that, baby. Relax.”
“I can’t.” He glared at me. “You don’t know what it’s like. You touch me, and all I can think about—”
I put my hand back, loosely holding him. “Shh. You aren’t there. You’re here with me. Don’t let them stop this. Don’t let French stop this.”
He swallowed.
I stroked him slowly. Gently, gazing into his eyes. He looked back at me, tense, half-soft in my grasp. I didn’t let go. I didn’t stop.
His breath began to grow more and more shallow. I could see that he was relaxing at the same time as he was growing stiffer. Finally, he flung his head back, closing his eyes. “Shit.”
He wasn’t losing his erection. He was growing more and more rigid under my fingers. I lowered my head to him, ran my tongue over the head of him.
He made a gravely noise in the back of his throat.
I slipped him between my lips, sheathing him with my mouth.
He grasped my shoulders, his fingers digging tightly into my skin. I looked up at him, and his gray eyes met mine. I could see it all there, warring—desire and terror, fear and longing. But he was still immense and firm, filling up my mouth. He seemed to be getting even bigger. So I moved against his grip, dipping down to take him deeply, dragging back up. Tasting him thoroughly.
And his hands loosened. Moved, searchingly, for my breasts.
He gasped in surrender, in pleasure, and I took him in and out of me, pushing and pulling, over and over. And over.
I drifted into the rhythm of it, of his groans and sighs, of the power I could feel mounting in him. My body echoed it, building as well. We were one, connected, united, and I wanted his climax to explode within me, taking me with him—
He stopped me. “Wait.” He was out of breath.
“I want you to come in my mouth,” I said.
“No,” he said. “If we live, again and again, but if we’re going to die... I want to be inside you one last time.” He pulled me over him. He clawed at my clothing. I was naked over him. He ran his hands over me, over everywhere, before he pulled me close, arranging me where he wanted.
I was wet, ready for him. And then he was pushing into me, forcing me open.
I cried out, pressing back against him, trying to take all of him.
He grabbed me by the hips, holding me in place.
It was quick for both of us. He speared me somewhere, deep and dark and thrilling. I moaned. And then there were only a few more strokes before I was convulsing around him, going into spasms, rippling out as he burst into me.
I collapsed against his chest, breathless.
He exhaled, tension leaving his body.
I closed my eyes.
“Well,” he gasped. “I guess that was a good way to die.”
* * *
It must have been hours that passed after that. There wasn’t any way to be sure, but nothing happened for a really long time. We didn’t die. We kept waiting for gas to come furling out of the ceiling, but nothing happened.
“So, this is what it’s going to be like,” I said. “I’m going to be so bored out of my skull that I’ll want to die just to break up the monotony.”
“Don’t say stuff like that, doll,” he said. “We don’t know how much longer we have left.”
“What do you think is happening out there? You think that French and my dad are arguing or something?”
“Maybe,” he said. He paced the length of the room, rubbing the top of his head.
I wished I knew more about this place. All I knew about it was what Griffin had told me, and he’d only given me surface details. I remembered the things he told me near the waterfall, about the memory wipes and the gas room.
Wait. “Griffin, didn’t you say my dad told you something about this room? That he knew the password to get out of it?”
Griffin stopped pacing. “He did tell me that.”
We both turned to look at the door. There was a keypad next to it.