I want to stop. To make her beg, but this is beyond that game now. I can feel the heat of her soaking my fingers. I can feel how much she wants this.
I take my time, measured and methodical, making sure she can't escape a single moment of what I'm offering. I circle her clit slowly, carefully. Gently.
My mouth stays on hers, swallowing her gasps, her pleas, her whimpers. Her nails dig into my shoulders, clutching like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.
“Moan for me, Summer,” I growl against her lips. “Let me hear what I do to you. What only I can do to you.”
She’s trembling now, legs twitching, her whole body bowing up as if she can’t contain it. Each ragged sound, each shudder, feeds me. She’s breaking beautifully, not from pain this time, but from the truth of how badly she wants what only I’ll ever give her.
She expects me to deny her. To stop when she gets close. But tonight, I’m emptying every part of her that I’ve forced her to hold in.
Her body twists, writhing under me, pleasure dragging her closer and closer to the edge. At the last second, she tries to turn her head away, eyes squeezing shut, like she can hide it from me—like she can pretend this isn’t happening.
Not a chance.
My hand clamps under her jaw, forcing her face back toward mine.
“No. Look at me.” My voice is low, guttural, vibrating against her skin. “I want your eyes, Summer. I want to see your fucking soul when you break for me.”
Her lashes flutter, defiant even as her whole body betrays her, but then she opens them. Green, wide, glassy, wild—trapped between shame and hunger.
Just as her body begins to tighten, that tremor before theinevitable, I slide my middle finger inside, curling upward until I find the spot that makes her shudder. My touch presses there, steady, rhythmic, until her eyes roll back and her breath breaks apart. I keep my finger anchored, moving in small, relentless pulses that drive her closer, watching her unravel under me.
The sound she lets out is raw, a cry I’ve only ever imagined in my darkest dreams. Her orgasm crashes, violent and unrestrained, and the second I feel it hit, I pull my fingers free—only to drag three across her clit in swift, merciless strokes.
“Eyes,” I order, my voice a growl, and she tries to obey, tries to meet my gaze, but I can see the pleasure dragging her under, dragging her away from me.
Heat floods from her, soaking her joggers, the sheets, her body jerking and twisting in my hold as screams and broken words spill from her lips.
“Jacob—” she cries, and hearing my name rip from her throat like that nearly undoes me.
When it’s over, she’s still in my arms, trembling, her eyes wide and bare. No hiding. No escape. Her breath stutters, her gaze locked on mine like I’ve taken something she’ll never get back.
And I have.
Because now it’s not just her body that belongs to me. It’s every fractured, beautiful piece of her soul.
Chapter 12
More Than Your Fear
Summer
Iwake to warmth. Heavy, suffocating warmth.
Jacob’s arms are tangled around me, one draped across my waist, the other cradling the back of my head. His chest rises against my spine, steady, calm, while my own heart pounds like it doesn’t know which direction it’s supposed to take. For a moment I don’t move. I just stare at the shadows crawling along the ceiling, trying to piece together last night.
The fight. The screaming. The way my walls finally cracked wide open.
The tears.
The kiss.
The way he carried me in here, set me down in his bed. The way I didn’t run. Didn’t panic. I clung to him instead, like I belonged here.
And then—God—his hands. The things he did to me. The things I let him do. The way he made me break apart in his arms, the way he made me look at him while it happened.
I should hate myself for letting it happen. But all I can feel now is the echo of it still humming in my body, leaving me raw, restless, and too aware of every place he touches me, even in his sleep. His breathbrushes the back of my neck, possessive, as if even unconscious he can’t stop claiming me.
