She is slick for me. I slide one finger inside her, then two, stretching her, exploring the tight, pulsing heat that only belongs to me. She bucks against my touch, her legs tangling with mine, her body desperate for more.
"Please," she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Lorcan, please."
I pull my fingers out, shifting my weight to position myself. I am thick, I am heavy, and I need to be inside her. I press the head of my cock against her entrance, dragging it up and down the length of her slit until she is whimpering.
"Say it," I growl. "Tell me you’re mine."
"I'm yours," she sobs. "I'm yours. Just give it to me."
I move into her.
The sound of our skin slapping together is a wet, rhythmic pulse in the quiet room. Every thrust is deep, hard, and purposeful. I move with a steady, driving rhythm, my eyes never leaving hers. I watch the way her expression shifts—the way her eyes roll back, the way her lips part, the way she loses herself to the feeling.
I pull her legs up, hooking them over my shoulders, changing the angle so I can hit her deeper, harder. She gasps, her entire body going rigid as I find the spot she likes best.
"That's it," I whisper, my voice raw. "That's it."
I increase the pace, my movements becoming a blur of friction. She is moaning, her body convulsing, her inner walls clamping down around me like a vice. I am right behind her, my own release clawing at my throat, a heavy, searing heat that I can no longer suppress.
I slam into her one last time, deep and bruising, and the world shatters.
She screams, a long, high-pitched wail that fills the room, her body shaking violently as she peaks. I follow her over the edge, my body locking, a raw, guttural roar leaving my throat as I pump my release deep inside her.
I stay there, buried, my head resting in the crook of her neck, my breath coming in jagged, heavy bursts. She is quiet now, her body limp beneath mine, her hand resting over my heart.
"You lost the bet," I murmur against her skin.
She lets out a soft, tired laugh. "I didn't lose. I negotiated."
I pull back, looking at her, and my heart feels like it is going to burst.
"And the reward?" she whispers, her eyes drowsy, her lips bruised. "What’s the reward for the audit?"
I smile, a slow, predatory grin that I’ve never shown anyone else. I reach down, tucking a curl behind her ear, my thumb grazing her cheek.
"The reward," I say, my voice a low, raspy whisper, "is that you’re staying. You’re not going to New York. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here, in this house, in this room, with me."
She looks at me, her gaze steady and sharp, her eyes shining in the dark.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" she asks.
I don't answer. I just kiss her, slow and deliberate, a deep, lingering press of mouths that feels like a homecoming.
I’m a man who lives in the dark, but looking at her, I feel like I’ve finally found the light. And I hold her close, breathing in the scent of her, the smell of vanilla and ozone and blood.
I’m finally, terrifyingly, exactly where I belong.
23
Atara
"No, no, that's not a sky piece," Maeve says, gently pulling my hand back. She's holding a piece of cardboard over the puzzle like she's about to operate. "That's a cloud piece. See the little white edge? The sky's darker."
I laugh and rock back on my heels. My legs are going numb, but the sunroom is warm and full of that gold morning light that makes the compound feel like an ordinary, boring house. "You're right. You've got a better eye for this than I do, Maeve. I'm starting to think you're the real accountant here."
She grins, showing the gap where a tooth used to be. "I'm good at finding things. Daddy says I have observant eyes."
"Your daddy's right." I pick up a piece of the cactus. "You're very observant."
