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When I made my choking, sobbing sound, Devin touched my elbow, perhaps to comfort me. I pulled away. Fort and Juliet got off the elevator and we continued to my floor. He’d asked me at least a dozen times if I was okay, but I hadn’t answered, because, obviously, I wasn’t okay. Physically, I was okay. We’d all survived the hard landing with minor bumps and bruises, a fact attributed to Devin’s flight experience and skill.
But mentally, I wasn’t doing very well. My fears of an airplane disaster had nearly come to fruition. I’d pressed an oxygen mask to my face and listened to an old man in the throes of a heart attack pray to a God I didn’t believe in, asking that God to look after a list of loved ones that was so long and heartfelt, his voice had cracked and faded to a whisper at the end.
The ambulance had come to the runway and taken Captain Ross away first. Devin assured me he would be okay, that the EMTs had stabilized him, and that he’d receive excellent medical care here on São Miguel, the largest of the Azores islands. He promised we could visit him later, maybe tomorrow before we left.
Before we left? I didn’t understand what he was talking about. I couldn’t leave. I’d never be able to get off this island, because I’d never be able to get on another plane. I couldn’t take a boat, either, since it might sink on the way across the endless, dark water. I understood now just how vast and unforgiving an ocean could be when things went wrong and you were stuck over top of it.
But Devin had saved us. I wasn’t dead. I was alive. Somehow, despite an eerie, twisting flight over the black ocean, I was alive.
I must have been muttering out loud, because Devin gave me a harried look, like he didn’t know what to do with me, but he was the one who’d broken our trust. He led me into my room, shutting the door behind us.
“Will you say something, please?” His voice sounded taut.
“What do you want me to say?”
He was already close to me, but he stepped closer. One of his arms came around my waist. “I told you everything would be okay.” There was anger in his voice, a rasping like dry paper about to ignite. “I landed the plane. The danger’s over, so stop looking at me like that.”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. He was beautiful and furious, andalive. Not just alive, but seething with life. His arm tightened around my waist, and he caught my chin between his fingers. I met his eyes, trapped against him. Our bodies knew each other from before, and now our emotions were melting into a tangled mess. I grasped his shoulders, afraid to let him go.
“I don’t trust you,” I cried, not even knowing why I said it. “I don’t trust anything anymore.”
He held my chin harder, staring at me, telling me without words that trust didn’t matter in this moment. When he pressed his lips to mine with savage hunger, I didn’t resist.
His fingers snaked into my hair as our kiss deepened. He pulled it hard enough that I cried out, and then I was arching against him, trying to wrap a leg around his. He scrabbled at my clothes with his free hand, kissing me, devouring me, shoving up my sweater, touching my bare skin with a heat like fire.
In my past life, before I almost died, I might have slowed things down at this point by pulling away with a comment, or a quelling look. I might have considered whether I was enjoying the kiss, and whether I wanted things to go further.
Now, I made animalistic begging sounds, needing more passion, more force. He let go of my hair and clamped his fingers between my legs as if to assert ownership of my body. I answered his rough assault with an encouraging gasp.
He paused then, and took off my glasses, setting them on a table by the window. After that, it seemed he stroked and squeezed me everywhere. He spanked my ass, his large palms stinging me through the thin material of my leggings. His fingernails grazed over my skin, then dug into my spine, pulling me closer. His force thrilled me. I’d ached to feel more of it ever since Via Sofferenza.
As the passions between us ignited, our trembling bodies communicated without words: his rough handling, my hunger, my melting acquiescence. With a growl, he shoved me against the wall and ground his pelvis against mine. His cock’s hard outline seemed impossibly huge, pressing against me with shocking force. He wanted me.
And I wanted to forget.
I didn’t think, I just acted. I reached for the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the closure. I wanted him inside me. I wanted him to hurt me, because that was what I always ached for at the most intense and frightening moments of my life. I couldn’t explain that to him, but he must have understood, because he didn’t hesitate.
He pushed my hands away and released his cock, the hard length of it springing between us while I fussed at his sweater. I couldn’t get it off, which frustrated me, because I needed to feel his bare skin and muscles. He removed it instead, tossing it to the floor while I breathed in the scent of him: musk, cologne, male heat. I ran my fingers over his chest hair while he pushed my leggings and panties down and pulled off my sweater.
Our gazes met when we resumed our embrace, our warm bodies pressing together with only my cami between us. He pulled the neckline down and squeezed my breasts, never breaking eye contact, pinching my nipples as they hardened under his touch. He had the coolest, most pale-blue eyes I’d ever seen, yet they were searingly hot. His stare dropped to my lips and we were kissing again, even more violently. I squirmed against him, whining into his mouth as his tongue lashed mine. He pulled back and bit my lower lip, giving me a delicious burst of pain.
His lips were gorgeously shaped, made to torture me with hard kisses. I breathed the wordpleaseagainst his teeth. Pain was an aphrodisiac for me, which he knew from our as-yet-undiscussed encounter in Via Sofferenza. My pussy was ready for his possession, wet and aching. I shoved my clit against his bulging cock, trying to assuage the need he’d aroused with his grasping kiss.
With a grunt of capitulation—or lost control—he caught me up in his arms, trapping me against the wall. My legs wrapped around his waist and cinched tight as he kicked his jeans away. There was no time to get to the bed, or even sink to the carpet as I angled my hips to receive his thrust.
He pushed inside me without pause or hesitation, his cock a thick, blunt force shoving through my slickness. I clutched his shoulders, squeezing them, digging my fingernails into his skin and crying out as he drove deeper, deeper, deeper. How deep and hard could he go?
Once he was seated to the balls, he started pounding into me, bringing both pleasure and fear. Would he hurt me? Really hurt me? Did I care?
He yanked at my cami again, not stopping until the cotton gave way. He ripped it halfway down the front, baring my breasts, and fucked me like he wanted to hurt me, jerking, thrusting, impaling me on his cock. He used the wall for leverage and collected my arms from around his shoulders, bringing my wrists against the wall and pinning them as he worked my pussy with his oversized shaft. I fought against his grip so he would hold me harder, and he did, his fingers cinching my wrists so firmly that I could feel my pulse against his skin.
Our eyes met again. Because I was hiked up, legs clinging to his hips, we were on the same level. There was almost too much within our eye contact, considering our near-death experience, and the arousal and pain. His lips attacked mine, kissing, biting, imparting dominance, teasing me to greater heights of pleasure. He wasso muchin that moment, so unbearably overwhelming. Tender, cruel, huge, forceful, all of his body possessing mine.
With other partners, I usually let my mind wander at this point, reaching for climax on my own secret-fantasy terms. I would imagine being grabbed, forced to the floor, whipped with a cane or belt, so I could get in the right headspace to come.
But in this case, my mind went nowhere but to the man banging me against the wall. Every time my eyes opened, they fixed on his, and I saw those fantasies in his commanding gaze. My climax built without the need to imagine other scenarios.
No, he gave me all I needed, hurting me, biting my nipples again, spanking my ass every so often as I rode his cock. They weren’t playful spanks, they were hard spanks. My ass felt like it was glowing. I was alive, awash in pain, and his cock was hitting my g-spot over…and over…and over…
