Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Yet…it was over.
It no longer existed.
But he existed.
I existed.
And we would never have this moment again.
I trembled as I reached out and plucked the book from his frozen fingers.
I didn’t bother looking at the title.
I merely closed it reverently, turned off the booklight, and placed both on my abandoned pillow.
“W-What are you doing?” He croaked in the darkness.
I could barely make out his face. The glow of his uncertain eyes.
The flashing red dots of cameras watched us.
Could they record in pitch blackness?
I hoped not.
Because what I was about to do probably hadn’t been done by any other jewel in the two decades this place had existed.
“Seeing you reading?” My voice came out sultry, husky. Coals simmered in my heart. Embers kindled in my blood. Flames grew hotter, greedier.
Pulling the blanket off his thighs, the faint gleam of his skin appeared. His stomach flexed as I uncovered him. The dark patch of trimmed hair between his legs. And the rapidly swelling erection crawling up his belly. “It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”
He coughed and reached for the blankets.
I ripped them to his knees, leaving him as bare as me.
A growl rumbled in his chest. “Nightmare, stop it.”
I shuddered at his nickname for me.
I smirked as I remembered mine for him.
“I need you, Hen.”
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t call me that.”
With a pounding heart and racing desire, I crawled over him and sat on his lap.
He jerked and looked at the ceiling. “For the love of God, get off me.”
“Nope.” Nuzzling his throat, I sucked in his scent.
He smelled off.
Antiseptic with the faintest whiff of stone.
The white slash of a bandage on his arm hinted he’d returned to the doctor. Had he also patrolled the stronghold on his own? I sniffed again, dragging in the softer smells of soap and the wilder notes of sea and stars.
“Nightmare—”
“It’s Ily.” I giggled, the soft, giddy feeling of before tangled with the debilitating arousal pumping through my blood. “You know that. You know what it means. I love you—”
“Don’t,” he hissed.
“Don’t what? Say I love you?”
He groaned.
I grew drunk on his torment.
I revelled in my power.
“You’ve told me ‘I love you’, oh, I don’t know…two hundred times since you met me. Each of those three little letters. I.L—”
“Enough.” He tried to toss me off, but his touch was too careful, too kind.
My body warned that just because I couldn’t feel my bruises, they were still there…hurting.
I don’t care.
I gripped him with my thighs and pressed us tighter together.
Cock to core.
Heart to heart.
His answering growl made my hunger become starvation.
I needed him.
I needed to rock and thrust and come and detonate.
Whatever this drug was, I liked it.
I’d been afraid before.
Fearful of yearning and wanting and need.
But now…I gave myself over to it.
I quivered and craved and rocked my hips, pressing myself deeper onto Henri’s hardness.
“Fuck.” His hands clamped on the top of my thighs, stilling me. “Stop it.”
“No.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I don’t feel it.”
“I’m not doing this. Not while you’re injured—”
“You’re injured too.” I nipped at his sharp cheekbone.
He drew his head back.
He fell into silent darkness—tumbling into a place I couldn’t follow.
No…
Come back.
“Kiss me.” Pressing my hands against his slightly clammy cheeks, I pulled him close.
I wanted a repeat of that kiss back in our room.
I wanted to see him shatter as badly as he had the moment our tongues touched.
“No—”
“Yes.” I pressed my lips to his.
He froze.
His hands spasmed on my thighs as if I’d deleted all his keen intelligence and replaced it with staticky-white noise.
“Kiss me, Hen,” I breathed against his mouth, licking his plump, slightly too-hot lower lip.
I wanted him to snap.
I needed him to take control.
But a guttural groan rose from the depths of him, and with an almost pitiful whimper, he pushed me away.
He didn’t speak, but I felt him.
Felt his need.
Felt so drawn to him, bound to him, stitched to him.
After living in fear for so long, this stolen moment felt infinitely precious and wonderful.
Falling on him again, I kissed my way along his jaw. I gave him truth and vulnerability because in that moment, both were needed. Both were lifelines to keep him present. “I need you inside me. I need you.”
“Jesus Christ.” He let loose a string of filthy French. “The doctor will castrate me if she finds out I touched you while you’re like this.”
“I told you, I’m not in any pain.”
He groaned, but it came out more like a sob. “Fuck, I am.”
“Where? This pain?” I smeared my wetness over his cock, making both of us shudder and shiver.
He lost his ability to speak.
My blood turned to light as every molecule hummed for more.
The tease of a release poured yet more fuel on my fire.
I stopped fighting it.
Stopped fighting feelings and needs and knowings.
My hand dropped below and found him in the darkness.
“Ah fuck.” He grunted as I fisted him hard. “Stop—”