It’s relief.
She reaches up, finds the collar of my shirt, and yanks me back down. This time, it’s a contest. Her tongue is a weapon, her teeth a warning. I smile against her mouth and bite her lower lip, just enough to feel her flinch.
She bites back.
Her hands move to my chest, digging into the skin through the thin cotton. She’s shaking. She tries to hide it, but I can feel it in every muscle.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then the bruise on her cheek, then the cut on her throat. I want to map every hurt, every mark. I want to be the only thing she remembers.
I taste her blood and feel my pulse jump.
Her hands go to my hair, yanking hard, dragging my mouth back to hers. We kiss until it hurts, until there’s nothing left but the press of bone and teeth and breath.
She breaks first, panting. “Do it,” she says. “Finish it.”
I run my hands down her arms, to the small of her back. She’s so fucking tiny, but she takes up all the space in my world.
Dragging her closer, lifting her until her toes leave the floor. She wraps her legs around my waist, nails finding my shoulders and raking down my spine.
Walking her to the support beam in the center of the mill, I pin her there, let her feel the strength in my body, the impossibility of resistance.
She moans, low, in the back of her throat.
I pull her dress up, bunching it around her hips. She’s not wearing anything underneath. I didn’t expect that, and seeing it is something else. The skin at her thigh is bruised, but the rest of her is perfect.
I trace the inside of her knee with one finger. She jolts, then bites down on my neck hard enough to leave a mark. I hiss, then laugh.
“God, I hate you,” she says, but the way she arches into my hand says otherwise.
I stroke her, slow, finding her already slick. Her head falls back against the beam, eyes closing, mouth open on a silent curse.
The need rises and I want to take her here, now, but I want her begging more. I want her to remember this forever.
I press my thumb to her clit and circle, slow and deliberate. She jerks, legs tightening around my waist. She’s so fucking close, already, even after everything.
She shakes her head, as if trying to deny it. “Don’t—” she says, but the word dies.
I push two fingers inside her and she cries out, the sound sharp and real. She rides my hand, breath coming in hard, uneven gasps.
“Colton,” she says, my name wrecked in her mouth.
I work her until she’s trembling, until her whole body is shaking. I keep my mouth at her throat, tasting her, marking her.
She comes with a shudder, legs spasming, hands clutching at my hair. I hold her up, let her ride it out, let her feel how I will never, ever let her fall.
When she collapses, I pull my hand away and taste her on my fingers. She watches, eyes glazed, mouth open. She doesn’t look away.
I set her down, but keep her pinned to the beam. She’s breathing hard, but there’s no fear left.
Just need.
She reaches for my belt, hands shaking, but I push her hands away. “Not yet,” I say.
She snarls, actually snarls. I laugh, and kiss the top of her head.
“Patience,” I say. “It’ll be worth it.”
She doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t fight.
