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I grab a condom from the bedside table. I tear the wrapping open with my teeth and slide the condom on. I lift her legs back up to my shoulders, looking deep into her eyes as I enter her with a single thrust. We both gasp, lost in the sensation of our bodies joining together. I pull out and thrust into her again. I pull back and thrust a third time, each thrust growing more and more powerful.
She pulls my head to her and kisses me, her lips meeting mine in a powerful, soulful kiss as we continue to make love to each other.
Not just fucking. Making love. My penance for all I've put her through.
She breaks the kiss, pressing her forehead against mine, and we continue to move together in unison. Her breath is hot against my face. My own desire builds, and I start to thrust harder and deeper into her. I begin to feel the familiar tingling sensation in my groin as she continues to moan and whimper, her breath getting more and more ragged. We're both nearing the edge now, and she tightens her legs around my waist as her breath quickens. I thrust into her one last time. We explode in a series of moans and groans, riding the wave together until it breaks. I slowly slide out of her, lying beside her in the bed. We're both trying to catch our breaths.
She turns to me, snuggling up to my heated body. I wrap my arm around her, holding her close to me. Despite the shitshow of the day, this feels right.
Being here, with Hannah. This connection.
Yet, this is the exact thing I need to give up if I care about this girl.
As she rests her head on my chest again, I can feel her body relax and her breathing grow slow and steady. Her eyes close, and I know that she's finally given in to the exhaustion that's threatened to overwhelm her since I found her in the alley.
I lie here, holding her close, and I can't help but think of how ironic it is that the one woman I should keep at arm's length is the one woman I can't bring myself to let go of.
Chapter Four
Hannah
I wake in Armando’s arms. The room is dark, his heavy breathing tells me he's been asleep for awhile.
I should be scared of this man. Terrified of the situation I am in. I don’t even know how to define my relationship with Armando. Am I still his prisoner? His girlfriend?
Is he only here because he needs a place to hide out? Is he still making sure I won’t rat him out?
Or does he want to be here? With me?
The foolish part of me likes to believe I’m doing something for him. A shock absorber in his messy, criminal life.
I know that’s totally fucked up, but there it is. I want to be important to him. I want to know he needs me like I’m starting to need him.
His arms tighten around me. His grip is possessive, as if he's still afraid I’ll run.
It feels like a lifetime since he literally crashed into my shop.
So much fear. Unknown. Pleasure. Lust. Even tenderness.
Yes, tenderness from the killer in my bed.
Now, as I lie here in his arms, I can't help but feel a strange sense of comfort. It's as if I'm finally safe from the world outside. The world that would judge me for being here. The world that doesn't understand the bond that has formed between us.
Do I even understand the bond?
I turn to look at him, and he stirs in his sleep. His eyes open, and he smiles when he sees me looking at him. I feel a warmth spread through my body. It's crazy, I know. But I can't help how I feel. I love him. I know I shouldn't, but I do.
“Can't sleep?” he murmurs, pulling me closer.
I shake my head, unable to find the words to express what I feel. I just stare at him, and he stares back, his eyes searching my face for something. He leans in and brushes his lips against mine, sending shivers down my spine. I respond eagerly, pressing my body against his.
In that moment, I forget everything that surrounds us. The hit out on Armando. The shooting in the alley. The threat of Armando breaking parole and ending back in prison.
I break the kiss, pulling back just enough so my fingers can trace light circles on his chest. “Just thinking,” I whisper back, unwilling to break the spell of the moment.
He nods, his eyes searching mine. “About what?”
“About how close I feel to you. And what’s going to happen.”
He's silent for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “I don't have the answers, Flowers. I don't know.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “Of course you don’t. Nevermind.”
