Her nails rake down my forearm as she releases a breathless moan. Bruises will no doubt mottle her stomach tomorrow, but she doesn’t act like the thought fazes her in the slightest. My shallow thrusts come harder, faster. Stretching out over her back, I tighten my grip on the ledge until my nails threaten to bleed.
But that’s what has always worked best between us; we’re far too suicidal for our own good.
A thrill runs down my spine as my hand slips an inch and my cock jerks, eliciting a groan from both of us. My heart thrums against her spine as my hand drops from her neck to her waist, plastering her tightly against me. And still, she doesn’t grip the ledge, instead slipping one hand between her legs to start circling her clit and the other reaching back to tangle in my hair. Another snap of my hips and she tightens around my cock, a silent plea for more.
My free hand runs over her stomach, her breasts, up to cup her jaw. Hold firm, I lightly run two of my nails over her neck, abruptly jerking her upright. She rests her head against my shoulder, eyes closed and breathing heavily as she swivels her hips.
“You can’t leave me again,” I murmur against the shell of her ear, flicking my tongue over the sensitive flesh.
“I thought you wanted to be alone.” She gasps as I slam into her hard enough that her feet leave the ground, completely at my mercy.
My cock jerks again. Close, so close. “So did I.” Another thrust. “But I was wrong. I think I just wanted you to ask me to stay.”
A series of curses tear from her throat as she starts coming, tightly clamping around me and fisting my hair. My movements become erratic, chasing after her over that invisible ledge until I’m tumbling right beside her. Slowly, I buck my hips, grinding against her ass as I spill inside of her, flooding her with heat.
She shudders around me, making no move to pull away. “Stay.” The word is a nearly inaudible prayer on her lips. Her body trembles against me, riding through the aftershocks as I languidly thrust inside of her as I soften.
Tilting her face just slightly, I kiss her temple. “Always.”
Chapter 8
Cambria
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“But you hate snakes.” Lucien takes another bite of his food, never looking far from Azazel who’s currently wrapped around Dorian’s arm.
“Well Cambria loves them, so I thought I’d give them another shot,” he defends, wincing as fangs sink into his wrist. Luce’s face tightens with displeasure, but he says nothing about it.
“Wearetalking about real snakes here, right?” Atlas asks, smirking and finishing off his plate.
Dorian’s eyes light up with mirth and he just shrugs. “That’s neither here nor there.”
Azazel flicks a tongue to seal the wound and slithers back up to act as Dorian’s obsidian scarf, settling in to sleep off his breakfast. A knock at the door has all of us either startling or stiffening. It’s become a soundtrack heralding bad news, and I know I’m not the only one debating pretending to be asleep rather than answer it.
Ultimately, Lucien scoots his chair back and crosses into the next room. It takes me all of two seconds before I follow after him, uneasy. Things are too fresh in all of our memories, and as much as I complained about them not giving me any space, I blame myself for not phrasing my silent wishes better. It’s only been about a day and I’m still jittery when one of them is gone for too long.
