We hustle along the side of the bar, and she doesn’t say a damn thing. My mind reels about how she’s reacting and trying to process all of this—to go from the high she was on when I dropped her off, to being shoved around, having someone she trusted betray her, and then watching us fight. Add inthe poisoning, the history, fuck, even witnessing the things her mother and grandmother are capable of...Even for someone without the trauma she’s had to endure would be unraveling.
Fuck, my hand hurts. I look down at my blood-soaked shirt. The adrenaline is quickly dissipating. “Wyn, baby, I need to have my hand looked at.”
She doesn’t slow. She keeps walking—over the footbridge and along the path that leads to her house. Scanning the fingerprint lock on her front door, she shoves the door open, striding toward the bar cart in the corner. If there was ever a good time for a drink, it would be now. She pours out a splash in a rocks glass and tosses it back. Without even turning, she pours herself another as I reach her.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Talk to me.” I wrap my fingers around the bottom of the glass just as it reaches her lips. I slowly pull it back, holding her glare. Moving the glass to my lips, I sip half of what she poured. If she needs a minute, the familiar taste, the burn to take the edge off, I won’t be the one to stop her—I’ll drink with her.
She holds the bottom of the glass with me, drinking what’s left.
“More?” I ask, my heart racing.
She nods slowly and steps back. Taking another, she looks down at the gash in my hand.
“Can that wait?” she asks, chest heaving as if she’s trying to gauge what she can have right now. Taking a step closer, her fingers flex at her sides.
Without hesitation, I say, “It can wait.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Wyn
I’m shaking,nearly vibrating with adrenaline coursing through my body. It’s not from nerves or anxiety, from pain or distress, it’s the intense need for release and for him to use my body. I want to feel good and to make him feel good after what just happened.
He doesn’t have a chance to pour any more. Instead, he puts the glass down, watches as my chest heaves, and bites the end of the material that’s wrapped around his hand to tighten it.
“Tell me what you need, Crowne,” he grits out. “I don’t want to read this wrong right now, so tell me what you need from me and I’ll do it.”
My eyes water, trying to stifle the possibility that something could have happened to him. He put himself in danger to protectme. And he did it without hesitation. I look up at the vaulted ceilings of my home and refuse to submit to fear anymore. If there’s anything or anyone I want to submit to, it’s him. His body. The way he loves me. The way I know I’m so fucking in love with him.
I lick my lips, tasting what’s left of the whiskey we’ve just had. I feel out of breath. I don’t want to think. Iwantto relinquish every bit of control I’ve had to hold on to for so long. I don’t want to be coddled or cuddled, I don’t want to be reminded about what I survived or who I was before. I want to be in this moment, with him, used, fucked, loved, and worshipped.
“Crowne,” he growls, eyes on mine.
I tug the hem of my shirt, lifting it up and off.
“Don’t be gentle,” I tell him as I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra. My breasts spill as I toss it to the side.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, dragging the palm of his good hand across his mouth before his fingers immediately fly to his belt buckle. “Get your pants off right fucking now.”
I do as he says, eyes still locked with his as his belt hits the floor.
He looks around my body as I step out of them. The way he studies me, I know he’s making sure I haven’t been injured anywhere else.
“Tell me you’re okay—that this is what you need right now, and I’ll take over from there,” he says, a pleading edge to his tone.Fuck, I love this man.
I need to get out of my head. I need to stay clear of the tiniest flicker of blame and self-loathing. I watched Julian bloody up another man to protect me and then get hurt in the process—history almost repeating itself. It’s why I didn’t think twice about jabbing that self-defense weapon into Reed’s side. The one that I had hidden behind the fire extinguisher again, since the second day I came back to Rumor.
“I’m okay,” I say on an exhale, and I mean it. “And I need you. Now.”
It’s all he needs. He flips open the button on his jeans one-handed, shoves inside his boxer briefs and pulls out his hardened cock. “Make it wet,” he demands.
Without thinking, I sink to my knees, open my mouth, and take his cock all the way to the back of my throat. I nearly gag, but I go back for more and do it again. I wrap my lips, let my tongue drag on the underside of his fat cock, all the way to his thick tip, and have to touch myself with how needy it makes me.
His cock flexes along my tongue, getting harder with every inch I lick.
“So fucking good,” he grits out, his hips flexing forward, chasing more. I do it again, only this time, I hold it there and swallow. “This turns you on, baby?” He tilts his head down, his fingers gripping my hair to make me look up at him. There’s blood on his lip and streaked down his neck, and it makes me rub along my clit faster as I hum around his length.
When I pull back, I smile up at him, knowing I’ve done exactly as he asked. He wraps his hand behind my head, fingers threading in my hair, and pulls me up toward his waiting mouth.
