Page 81 of Relapse

"That's it," I growl against her mouth. "Squeeze my cock like that, baby—fuck, you feel so good. This pussy was made for me, you know that? Every time I slide inside you, it's like coming home."

She gasps, her nails raking down my back. "Noir—I'm so close—"

"I know, baby. I feel you. You're gonna come all over my cock, and I'm gonna watch you fall apart. Want to see that pretty face when you do."

I drive deeper, grinding against her clit with every thrust, and her eyes roll back. The city light catches the sheen of sweat on her throat, the way her lips part around a silent cry.

"Look at me," I repeat, softer this time. "Eyes on me, baby. I want to see you break."

"I can't—I can't hold it—"

"Don't hold it. Fucking let go. Come for me, beautiful. I've got you."

Her body arches, a sharp moan tearing from her throat as she clenches around me, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. Her legs lock around my hips, and I feel her lose control completely—the way her fingers dig into my shoulders, the way her breath hitches on my name.

That's it. That's my girl.

The sight of her undone, the feel of her pussy milking my cock—it shoves me over the edge. I bury my face in her neck, groaning, hips stuttering as I pump into her, spilling deep and hot. "Fuck, Blair—take it all, baby—every drop—”

Her inner walls clamp down around me, drawing out my release, and we stay locked together, bodies trembling, breath sawing in and out.

The rain keeps tapping against the glass. The bass fades into a distant hum. The smoke from the forgotten cigarette curls toward the ceiling, ghostly and thin.

I don't pull out. I can't. Not yet.

My forehead presses against hers, my eyes still closed. I feel her hands slide up my back, fingers threading through my damp hair. She's shaking. So am I.

"Never letting you go," I whisper against her lips. "You're mine. And I'm yours. Whatever that means, whatever it costs—I don't give a fuck."

She lets out a breathy laugh, wet and raw. "That's a lot of words for a guy who usually grunts and bites."

"Shut up." I kiss her, slow this time, tasting the salt on her lips. "You love it."

"Yeah," she whispers softly. "You too."

The apartment falls quiet except for rain tapping softly against the balcony glass and both of us trying to catch our breath.

Blair stays curled against my chest beneath tangled blankets, my shirt hanging loose off one shoulder while neon reflections drift across the walls around us.

My hand keeps sliding slowly through her hair.

Again. And again.

Like some part of me still needs the reassurance she’s actually here.

We tried convincing ourselves sending her away was mercy. Keeping her safe from Dante. From Severance Point. From us.

Maybe part of that was true.

This world ruins people.

I ruin people.

Dagger does too.

But somewhere along the way, wanting her alive started mattering more than wanting her only for myself.

That realization should probably concern me more than it does.