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“Can I?” she counters quietly.
“Yes.” It’s an easy answer. I will make her a conqueror. “No more losses, Beau. Not for either of us. Tell me you understand. Tell me you agree.” I take her cheeks harshly. “Do it.”
Her eyes dart across my face, her swallows hard and constant. Then she slowly reaches for my boxers, encouraging me to lift, and she draws them down my thighs. My cock twitches, coming to life, and she circles it gently at the base and watches herself draw a long stroke down the shaft. I close my eyes, reaching for her shoulders for an anchor. I’m weeping. On the inside and out. “Beau,” I whisper.
“I understand.” She calmly pushes me to my back and rids my legs of the material before straddling me, one hand sunk into my chest, the other resting lightly on her stomach. I look at her with all the respect I feel. Respect that’s undoubtedly misplaced until she knows every dirty detail. Until she knows how guilty I really am.
I calmly slip a thumb into each side of her knickers and yank, ripping them down each seam. She lifts and I pull them out of my way before taking hold of myself, my eyes glued there, watching as she lazily lowers onto me. Every inch I sink into her, I lose a little more breath until my lungs are ballooned and I’m submerged balls deep, every throbbing piece of me surrounded by the hot, pulsing walls of her pussy.
“Breathe, James,” she whispers, rolling her hips. My fingers claw into her flesh, my growl carnal, and she inhales sharply, her jaw tight. She brings her legs out from under her, placing a foot by each side of my head, and my palms wrap around her ankles, my knees coming up so she can rest back on them. The vision of her sitting on me, riding me, of her rolling in circles, grinding down. It will never leave me. Of her breasts bobbing lightly, her lip being bitten harshly, her eyes alive with fortitude. She doesn’t think she’s strong. But there is nothing but strength staring back at me. Strength and mercy. I can’t take my eyes off her. I just hope she holds on to both. I need her strength. But more, I need her mercy.
Her hoarse whimpers become throaty moans, her rolls turning into grinds. Her hand pushes more into my chest, her mouth lax, her eyes glazing. “Feel me, Beau,” I choke, biting down on my back teeth, my dick pounding within her, blood rushing in my veins.
“I feel you,” she murmurs, her head dropping back, lengthening her throat. “Fuck, I feel you.”
I ram upwards, and she cries out as I bark my pleasure. “More?” I ask.
“More,” she whispers, and I flex upward harshly again, the slap of her arse on my flesh deafening. I drop my legs, sending me deeper. And Beau louder. “More!” she screams.
The sound of her hunger sends me into orbit, and my hips begin to piston out of control as I pound into her repeatedly. She bounces on my lap, her hand in her hair, grabbing, pulling, her face a picture of pained ecstasy, mine cut with ruthless pleasure. Her chest expands, and she drops her eyes to mine. Clear eyes. Eyes so crystal, I can see every word she’s saying to me. Amid the chaotic, loud crashing of our bodies together, there is silence. Her eyes. My eyes. Her thoughts. My thoughts. Her heart. My heart.
Her darkness. My darkness.
Her demons diluted by mine.
And mine by hers.
Our releases arrive together, and they arrive calmly, slithering through us steadily as our motions slow and our bodies tremble.
Our eye contact never falters.
But my heart misses endless beats.
Beats that are filled by Beau’s.
Making us one.
She lowers her front to my chest, her nose touching mine, her uninjured arm framing my head. “You found me.”
“Always will, Beau.” I couldn’t have waited until she returned this time. Always. Until death.
“You’re The Enigma,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
I circle my arms around her back, carefully holding her to me. Not because I’m afraid she’ll pull away, but because I’m afraid she won’t. I take a breath. “And you’re now the darkness within me.”
“And you in me.” She puts her face deep into my neck, as if she could crawl inside of me. “I love you,” she whispers, as if it’s forbidden.
It is.
55
BEAU
I’m more morbid than I ever imagined. But broken? No. Nothing broken could withstand this truth. I know little about The Enigma. I know my mother tracked him for three years. I know he’s killed many people. I know he disappeared off the face of the earth for a time. But now I know he’s back.
And I know I’m in love with him.
Is it the connection to my mother? Is it the warped sense of freedom he makes me feel? Or is it simply that he made it impossible not to love him?
