Page 175 of Glutton for Punishment

“Atticus,” she gasps, voice already gone with want. I groan and dip my head, kissing her again, trailing my mouth down her neck as my fingers find the hem of her shirt. The fabric gets tossed to the floor, and I splay my hand over her bare skin, feeling every shiver. Her hands find my belt buckle and she fumbles with it until it falls open.

I slide my hands beneath her skirt—her favorite complaint, but I'm sure right now she’s grateful for the easy access, and so am I. I trail up her thighs, feeling heat and silk and the shaking tension of her muscles. She’s already wet when I slide my hand between her legs. My fingers slip into her panties, teasing as she arches against my palm. All I want is to watch her fall apart under me.

She grabs my wrist, pulls my hand free, and sucks my fingers into her mouth as she slides her panties down. The look she gives me is one I’ll never forget. Like she wants to devour me.

Then, with a sudden motion, she leans sideways and grabs something off the cluttered desk. I realize a second later it’s a box cutter; the realization hits a split second before she flips out the blade. She looks up, eyes burning, and presses the cool metal to her palm. She hesitates, searching my face for permission.

I nod, understanding what she’s asking. I brace her trembling hand with mine and guide her as she draws the blade along the thick of my palm, just deep enough to make the blood well up in angry crimson beads.

With my free hand, I pull my academy pants down and notch myself at her entrance, biting my lip as her wetness slides over my tip.

We lock eyes and press our palms together, fingers knitting tight, slick with blood. The contact is electric—some old, primal part of me recognizes the bonds colliding. The urge to claim her, to make her mine in every possible way, roars through me.

As the bond braids together and intensifies, I push into her slowly, feeling her open up for me. Her eyes close as her head falls back on a sigh.

“Look at me,” I whisper in demand.

Her eyes snap open to mine, and I want to memorize every part of her: the fierce blue gaze, the fiery red hair mussed from my hands, the lips swollen from kissing. There’s a wild, starved look in her eyes, and it detonates something deep inside me as I settle fully inside her.

I want to be slow but can’t. Not this time. Not after so many months of distance.

I pull out almost fully before slamming back into her, captivated by her face the entire time. I do it again and again, my rhythm moving faster until it peaks, feeling our blood and heat and sweat mix until I’m not sure where I end and she begins.

She keeps her gaze locked on mine through all of it, like I asked—never once looking away.

We move together, building pressure; every thrust pulls a new sound from her throat. Her body clenches around me, and I lose the rhythm, driven by the need to lose myself in her completely. Her nails dig into my hand, her legs clench around my hips. I want her to remember this every time she looks at the scar that just joined us, feel the echo of me moving in her after I’m gone.

She lets go first, silent except for the sharp gasp of my name, and then I follow and bury my face in her neck, groaning into her skin as she arches and shudders in her aftershocks.

We stay pressed together, sweating and desperate and trembling hard enough to shake the desk beneath us. She shifts, pulling back just enough to look at our joined hands. The blood is already drying, dark and smeared. She runs her thumb over the cut in my palm, as if she’s checking that it’s real.

I stroke her hair and rest my forehead against hers, and for a long time, neither of us moves or speaks. We just breathe together and let the reality of what we’ve done settle in like a promise.

Chapter 54

Arwen

For a long moment, neither of us move as I just bask in everything that had just happened.

Universe… you’re forgiven for every crummy thing that you’ve thrown at me. Well… for now.

But Fuck that was life altering.

The training room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of our breathing. His heart beats against my ear as I rest on his bare chest. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, painting pale gold across the floor, and I stare up at the ceiling with a ridiculous feeling that the entire world has somehow shifted.

I feel different.

Not because of what happened between us. Because of the bond. The connection between us no longer feels like a thread stretched across a distance.

It feels alive and bright. A warm current humming beneath my skin.

Before, I had always been aware of Atticus somewhere in the back of my mind. A faint pull. A presence. Something that surfaced during moments of heightened emotion. Now it feels like standing right next to a fire after spending months trying to warm myself from across the room.

I can feel him, the shape of him. His steadiness. His devotion.

The quiet certainty that has always existed beneath his controlled exterior. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way. My chest feels so full I’m not sure what to do with it. Atticus shifts and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

“As much as I would love to stay like this for the next twenty-four hours,” he murmurs, “we should get dressed before a class walks in and discovers we’ve completely abandoned the lesson plan.”