Page 183 of Breathe Like Hell

Every hit brought her blood to the surface and knowing that blood came straight from her heart almost knocked the breath from my chest.

It was proof of her life, the soft muscle nestled inside her ribcage, her crimson blood rising up to mark her skin, giving me a place to kiss and lick and bite.

Dakota’s fingers circled her clit in little motions, her breathing getting shallow. Mason had also started jerking off, both of us just watching her. Watching this perfect girl touching herself right in front of us.

Her vulnerable, naked body.

Her legs spread open and her slutty cunt on full display.

I could so easily see the place where she was the wettest, the place where I owned her with my cock, the place she became warm and tight, her flesh gorgeously exposed. Flushed and glistening.

It took some real effort to keep myself seated as I watched the singularly erotic sight of Dakota’s fingers disappearing inside of herself, then coming back out slick with her arousal. I could tell Mason was using the same restraint.

Her palms slid up her chest, and she cupped her bare tits, rolling her nipples between her fingers, black-polished fingernails shiny in the low light.

She was beautiful.

Mason and I were the luckiest angels on Earth and Heaven alike, simply because we got to witness her.

For a second, I wondered what she’d look like if her skin was glowing with ultraneon.

It was something Mason and I had to get used to when we fell to Earth—the lack of skin glow. Seeing him—and everyone around me—look completely dull, was weird. It didn’t take me long to get used to it, but I still remembered exactly how it felt. Dakota had said she’d wanted to see Heaven, to live there as an angel. It wasn’t possible, but I’d thought about it too, since she said that.

With the Christmas tree lights glowing on her so softly, I could almost pretend it was real. Like maybe I’d succeeded in my abandoned efforts to pull the neon from the air and create an environment where I could take a real full breath. In the past, Dakota had asked about my neon research, my dissertation. I’d given her a bullshit answer then, but if she asked me now, I might’ve liked to talk about it.

I tightened my grip on my dick as Dakota started rubbing her clit again, not teasing herself the way I would’ve, but desperately chasing her release like she could think of nothing else now. Like that filthy pleasure consumed all her thoughts, only leaving room in her brain for the desire to make herself orgasm in front of me and Mason both.

Her thighs were spread wide, hand moving between them, her tits heaving with each shuddering breath. The haze of the lights caught on her mouth, illuminating the peek of her slick tongue as she moaned.

For an instant I glanced over at Mason, catching sight of him choking his cock, that vein snaking down his lower abdomen popping out against his skin.

A harsh exhale escaped me as I stroked myself faster.

Dakota was about to come. I could see it in her parted lips, slanted eyebrows. Hear it in the whimpering cadence of her moans and the way she was swearing under her breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, my God. Fuck.”

I stared, transfixed, watching her come apart.

It was perfect in the way glass shattering could be perfect. Sharp and dangerous, but so fucking breathtaking. Clear, cut splinters of fragmented emotion. Diamond rain.

I wanted to believe moments like this could save us, wanted to believe it wasn’t already too late. But with Mason in my peripheral, all I could think about was how fragile this moment really was, and how inevitably twisted it all would be in the end.

There wasn’t a version of this where I didn’t eventually fail her.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MASON

Micah and I found ourselves in the kitchen again, alone, in the middle of the night, moonlight spilling on the floor in silvery ribbons. Both of us had tried to make it look like we were getting glasses of water, but neither of us really had the strength to commit fully to the act. We were there to see each other.

It was easier to blame our thirst, though.

What a coincidence. We both need a glass of water at the same time.

Again.

Micah turned to face me, not speaking as he stepped closer. The Christmas tree wasn’t on anymore, so his expression was mostly obscured by the darkness, but it ached in my chest all the same. Something had changed between us that I didn’t want to put words to. Something that’d started many decades ago, a wound that’d failed to close.