My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and the heat in my core starts to flicker to life. So much for needing a break after last night. Yet I can’t deny the electric charge filtering through the air, guiding my movements. It’s forbidden, especially with Clay right behind the bookcase, but that’s what makes it so much hotter.
“I mean it, Harper,” Rhys tries again, although his voice is losing its harsh edge. The repeated use of my name is an indicator of how serious he is, but the cracks are showing. I shake my head slowly, deliberately catching Rhys’ attention on my fingers before they find themselves toying with the metal bars through my nipples, rolling and tugging the buds into hardpeaks. Rhys’ foot slips over the threshold before he catches himself and draws it back.
“You don’t get to decide what trauma I revisit,” he snaps, but it lacks bite. His eyes won’t leave the way my hands are teasing my breasts, fingers drawing up to my collarbone, over my stretched neck and into my hair. My heart is racing, not with fear, but with the fierce, stubborn resolve he loves me for. “I…I won’t let you do this for me.”
“I’m not asking you to relive anything, Rhys. I’m asking you to take back control.” Unclipping my receivers, I toss them onto the antique rug, effectively ending our conversation. If he wants to communicate with me, he’s going to have to come over here to do it. Teasing my hair through my hands, I roll my head, exposing the parts of my neck I know he likes to sink his teeth into. The patches of skin he likes to leave a mark on.
For a long, brutal moment, I wonder if I’m only making a fool of myself. If I’m pushing him further than he’s prepared to go. Then a hand grips my jaw, dragging my eyes back to the harsh lines of his face.
“I hate that you’re in there,” he admits soundlessly, his lips almost too tight to read. “I hate that you’ve seen it.”
“I’m not seeing anything except you,” I reply without hesitation. “My Rhys. The man who doesn’t let his demons win.” I run my fingers over his arms, stroking the infernal figures stretched across his skin. His eyes finally lift to mine, glossy and conflicted, and something shifts between us. “I just want to help, if you’ll let me?”
His fingers tremble ever so slightly, the restraint he’s clinging to starting to shatter. For a moment, neither of us moves. His chest is rising too fast, his breath shallow, like he’s bracing for a blow that never comes. I can almost see it happening behind his eyes, the tug-of-war between instinct and want, between running and staying.
Slowly, I lift my hands to his wrists, not to pull him closer, not to push him away, just to anchor him in the storm he’s trying to weather alone.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I say quietly, keeping my voice steady even as my heart gallops. “You don’t have to stay if you really don’t want to. I just wanted you to see that you have the power to cross the threshold. This room doesn’t own you.” Rhys’ eyes flash at this, something breaking through his reservations.
“Nothing owns me,” Rhys states, his jaw loosening, “Except you.”
My chest tightens so sharply it almost hurts, emotion blooming hot and fast behind my ribs. This isn’t possession in the way Rhys used to wield. This is surrender, spoken into the silence, yet I heard it. My mind conjures Rhys’ voice, how his delivery would have been cold and factual, but his eyes say otherwise. Swirling in their blue depths, Rhys appears more alive than he ever has.
I slide my hands fully around his wrists now, thumbs brushing over the pulse points there, feeling how fast his heart is beating. Guiding his hands downwards, brushing past my breasts, I settle them on my waist. His grip is hesitant, his breathing slightly irregular as if he’s still bracing for a consequence. The hold this office has on him is so deeply ingrained, I reckon no amount of time can heal the trauma he’s faced in here, but even just a tiptoe in the right direction is a start. I’m desperate to help, then the world will see the man I’ve known him to be all along.
“Whenever you’re feeling this way, you can choose me. Over the fear. Over him. I’m right here.” I vow, playing with the hem of his T-shirt. Rhys’ forehead drops to mine, his breath warm and uneven against my lips. His eyes slide shut for a second, lashes dark against his skin, and when he opens them again,he’s stripped bare. My heart stutters at the vulnerability seeping through, as if all of his carefully constructed walls have just come crashing down. He’s never been more beautiful than at this moment.
Brushing my mouth against his, I pause, letting him decide how far we go. He’s in control now, and no sooner than he realizes that, his mouth is on mine. His hunger tastes like a forbidden blend of heaven and sin, like a demon who has clawed his way back to angel wings and wears them dripping in blood. If I thought Rhys would allow me to tentatively patch over his old scars, I was wrong. He attacks me with the vigor of a man who wants to blast those old scars to hell, eradicating them from his very soul.
His hands are everywhere, gripping my waist, sliding up my spine, fingers splaying like he needs to memorize the proof that I am real and here and choosing him. I gasp into his mouth when he uses his body weight to push me backwards, the surface of the desk biting cold against my back. Pausing just long enough to drag his T-shirt over his head, he’s back on me, the warmth of his inked skin breathing life into mine.
The room shrinks around us, the dark wood and leather fading until there is only the heat of his body and the way his kiss devours without hurting, claiming without taking. He kisses me like he is starving and terrified all at once, like if he stops, he might remember where he is and why this room once broke him. So I kiss him back just as fiercely, threading my fingers into his hair, anchoring him to now.
Rhys pulls back only far enough to breathe, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as his lips trace a frenzied path along my jaw and down my neck. I arch into him, unable to stop the vibration of sound escaping my throat. Dipping lower, Rhys drags his mouth over my collar bones and breasts, placing kisses and small bites before licking a path lower. His hands are stilltrembling as they hold my ribs, his desperate need to replace pain with sensation, fear with want, driving his actions.
“Please, Rhys,” I sigh, not sure what I’m pleading for specifically but needing him everywhere. Flicking the button of my jeans, he drags the denim down my legs, tossing them aside before doing the same to my panties. I stare at the ceiling, my teeth cemented in my bottom lip as his hands widen my thighs, his heated breath against my clit preceding a long stroke of his tongue.
If there was any doubt that my body wouldn’t be ready for him, we’ve both just been proven wrong. Without wasting time, Rhys strips and lines up his pierced cock, pushing into me with a delicious stretch. I mewl, my hands looking for purchase on the desk, but then he’s back on top of me.
Leaning on forearms either side of my head, Rhys boxes me in without trapping, his eyes drinking in my every reaction to the slow drag of his shaft.
“Rhys,” I moan again, shifting against the way he fills me completely, the scrape of his piercings rubbing me into another realm of pleasure. His head tilts slightly, the hint of a smirk finally returning to his mouth.
“What do you want, Babygirl?” he asks once he has my full attention. My hands slide over his shoulders, down his arms, my nails digging into his.
“Show me who really holds the power here.” The words barely leave my mouth before Rhys shifts, and not just in the way his hips roll back and then slam forward. His presence settles on top of me, a ripple rolling down his spine. I drag him closer, crashing my lips against his, coaxing his tongue into my mouth. I need him more than my next breath, this freshly exposed love between us taking our desire to new heights.
The desk jolts beneath me as he presses deeper, every inch of him a reminder that his dominance isn’t born from rage orfear, but from the control he is reclaiming. Heat coils low in my core, spreading outward until my limbs feel loose and boneless. Somewhere beneath the pleasure, a fragile sense of triumph blooms. This room is no longer winning, Rhys is.
His mouth is torn away by the erratic snapping of his hips, his cock rapidly driving me towards an orgasm that has my toes curling. My hips lift to meet his, sounds leaking from me that I’m oblivious to. My mouth finds the curve of his shoulder, and I bite down just as my climax hits, my blunt teeth sinking into Rhys’ flesh as he fucks me like a man possessed. Words are muttered beside my temple, and my mind fills in the blanks. It’s a mashup of my name being growled and curses being hissed as I squeeze my thighs around him.
The crashing of my walls dragging against his shaft lasts and lasts, one wave of pleasure rolling into the next. Rhys’ hand slips around my throat, his fingers clamping down hard as I feel him start to swell. Suddenly, my world is tipped upside down as his grip around my throat drags me forward.
Whipping his cock free, Rhys drops me to the floor, my knees hitting hard, but it doesn’t matter when his dick is pushed into my mouth. Salt and lust explode across my tongue, his hips not stopping their pumping for even a second. Thrusting into my throat, his grip on my hair is blindingly hot. Rhys detonates with a roar I can only hear inside my head. I have no choice but to drink him down, the pierced head of his cock prying my throat open to spill deep.
By the time my world steadies again, we’re a tangled heap on the floor beside the desk, limbs heavy and useless, the echo of pleasure still humming through my bones. My back presses against the side of the desk, the contrast delicious after the way everything inside me felt like it was on fire. Rhys collapses beside me, his head leaning against mine as we pant in timewith one another. My fingers curl weakly around this thigh, nails grazing in slow, absent-minded strokes.
Rhys exhales, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. I remain still, aside from the lazy trail of my fingers, giving him comfort as well as space and time to process. When his head angles down to face me, his blue eyes are clear in a way I haven’t seen before, and it brings a smile to my face. In return, Rhys’ lips quirk, ever so slightly, and a knot in my chest loosens. I didn’t break in here with the intention of chasing Rhys’ ghosts, but I’m glad it worked out that way. It’s another step towards leaving our past behind.
