The air stirs around us.
I’m keenly aware I haven’t touched her in almost three days. The apartment is finally empty. When Isolde eventually gets out of bed, everything will have changed. We’ll both be dealing with a brand new world.
My fingers slip under the sheets, trailing under her large T-shirt. She’s got on basic white underwear.
She lets out a little whimper when my fingers skim across her inner thighs. Her hips buck, and she bites down on her lower lip.
I tug her underwear to the side, running my fingers over her slit. Two fingers sink into her tight cunt. I press a soft kiss to her lips again, pumping in and out. My body hovers over her, aware that her left side is still injured.
“Let me hear you,” I tell her, grinding the palm of my hand against her clit. I receive a strangled moan, her hips bucking. “Come on, baby.”
Tears drip down her cheeks as I rub her clit, my fingers pumping. I’m desperate for relief, but I’m careful. So fucking careful.
But it’s hard. I’m hard.
“P-please.” The word twists, and Isolde’s back arches.
She clenches around my fingers, drawing a groan from me. My fingers slice through her arousal, spreading it around, marking her.
I start to fall back, but she stops me, her eyes honing in on my hard cock.
“Now you,” she mumbles. The hungry expression she wears makes me harder.
I pull the covers completely off her and settle between her legs. I fist myself, my strokes furious. Her chest heaves as she licks her lips. There’s a spark of pain, my fingers wrap so hard around my cock, jerking faster. The ropes of semen go on forever, covering Isolde.
Isolde is crying again, her shoulders shaking when I sit back on my heels.
“Come on.” I help her out of bed, her body thinner and paler than just a few days ago.
“Where are we?”
I flip the bathroom light on and turn on the shower. “Queens. We brought some of your stuff, though.”
Luis brought the framed photo of Isolde and Sammie normally kept on her nightstand.
“I want to go home.”
I peel her shirt over her head, making sure my semen doesn’t accidentally touch her skin.
“How is your side?” I ask.
Like she’s just remembered, Isolde’s hand goes to the wound. A quiver runs through her.
“Hey, you’re here with me,” I tell her.
I guide her into the shower, but I know it’s too late. She’s already thinking about it. About what happened on the tarmac. Her body falls into me, and I keep her upright as Iwash her skin. She shivers while I shampoo her hair despite the hot water.
“Did Hadrian tell you about the Spider?”
“Dimitri did.”
“Oh.”
“You have anything you want to add?” I slide under the stream of water, washing quickly.
Isolde studies her toes against the white shower. Her tears flow freely.
“Baby?” I ask, holding her again.
