"I’m lucid," she argues, voice gaining surprising strength. She leans forward, closing the microscopic distance. "I know exactly who you are. And I know I want you to kiss me."
I don’t give her a chance to reconsider. I crush my mouth to hers, the gentleness of the 'medic' dying instantly. The kiss is an explosion of heat and raw need. I groan, a guttural sound torn from my chest as I slant my head to devour her. My hand tangles in the hair at the back of her neck, anchoring her head as I force her to take the weight of my kiss.
She makes a desperate, whimpering sound and opens for me, her mouth wet and inviting. I sweep my tongue inside, claiming her, tasting the metallic tang of her fear and the sweet, dripping honey of her desire. I want to consume her, to fill her until she can’t breathe anything but me. She clutches at my shoulders, fingers digging into my hard muscle, pulling me closer. The realization that she wants this as much as I do sends a shockwave of lust straight to my cock, making it a throbbing, iron rod against my fly.
Shifting, careful not to put weight on her leg, I cage her against the pillows. I devour her, plundering her mouth again while I slide my hand under the heavy wool of the hoodie. My palm drags over her ribs until I cover her breast. The pink lace is damp, doing nothing to hide the rock-hard, engorged peak of her nipple as her heavy tit fills my palm. I pinch the dark bud between my calloused fingers and squeeze, kneading her soft flesh with a predator's focus until she lets out a wrecked cry, her hips bucking instinctively against my thigh.
I want to rip that lace to shreds and bury my face in her cleavage. I want to spread her thick thighs and see exactly how drenched her pussy is for me, to watch the slickness drip down her seat. I want to bury my cock so deep inside her that she forgets her own name, marking her from the inside out until she knows I'm the only rescue she’ll ever need.
"Tristan," she gasps, breaking the kiss to suck in air. Her eyes are wild, blown wide. "Tristan, please."
"Please what?" I growl, moving my lips to her jaw, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down to the sensitive cord of her neck. I suck a mark there, branding her skin with a dark purple bruise. "Tell me what you need, Alex. Tell me how you want me to ruin you."
"Touch me," she begs. "Everywhere."
The plea nearly undoes me. I want to strip her naked and watch her pussy soak my fingers while I mark her throat with my teeth. But then her leg bumps against my hip. She flinches. A small, involuntary spasm of pain crosses her face.
Ice water hits my veins.
I pull back, chest heaving, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I’m hovering over her, predatory and huge, and she’s broken in my bed. I can’t do this. Not now. Not when she can’t even walk.
Forcing myself to straighten, I pull my hand away from her breast. The loss of contact is physical pain.
"Tristan?" She looks confused, hurt. She reaches for me.
I catch her hand and press it to the mattress, pinning it there gently. "Stop."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No." My voice is wrecked, rougher than gravel. "You did everything right. That’s the problem. If I don’t stop now, Allie, I won’t stop. And you have a broken leg. I’m not going to hurt you just to get off."
She blinks, chest rising and falling rapidly. "You wouldn't hurt me."
"I’m a big man," I say bluntly. "And I want to do things to you that require you to be whole. I want you wide awake and screaming my name when I finally slide my cock inside you. I’m not taking you while you’re one jolt away from agony."
Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, color spreading down her neck to the mark I just left. She touches the spot with trembling fingers. "You marked me."
"Yeah." I look at the purple bruise forming against her pale skin. Satisfaction curls in my gut, dark and possessive. "I did. And I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than that once you can stand."
I pick up the washcloth. Cold now. I toss it into the basin and stand. I need distance.
"Rest," I command, backing toward the armchair.
"Tristan," she calls out softly.
I stop, hand gripping the back of the leather chair until the wood creaks. I look back. Her lips are swollen, her hair a wild halo against the pillows—a map of exactly what I did to her. She looks like she belongs to me.
"Yeah?"
"You’re not going anywhere, are you?"
"No," I promise her. The storm rattles the windowpanes, emphasizing the isolation. "I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you."
I sit in the chair and pick up my knife. The wood shaving resumes. But now, the silence in the room isn’t empty. It’s thick, heavy with the promise of what’s coming. We crossed a line.
Just a countdown until she heals. And once she does... I’m going to ruin her for anyone else.
5
