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My hands travel up her back, my fingers curling over her shoulders, and with the grip I use her entire body as leverage to pump myself into her. The steady pace makes my piercing grind against her clit, her pussy clamping around me, and I can tell she’s already close. My forehead falls against hers as our heated breaths mingle, both mindless with need. We don’t utter a word, our bodies speaking a silent language that’s much more vital.
And when I feel her legs squeeze around my hips, fingers gripping the hair at my nape, her lips finding my own with heated persistence, followed by a moan so fucking beautiful I barely even feel worthy of hearing it—I know I’ll never be able to let her go again. Not when the feel of her coming around my cock is the very definition of transcendence.
“Let me be yours,” I whisper heatedly near her ear, my lips trailing down her neck. “Tell me I can be yours.” My tone is laced with far too many emotions for my liking but I’m not sure I care anymore. Not when my hips are still pumping hard into her, my cock throbbing, and aching for a release.
But not before she says it. I need to hear her say it.
“You were always meant to be mine, Bastian,” she says with a choked sob. “Let me be yours too.”
I come so hard, I nearly black out. My palm slams onto the counter for balance while I continue to pump my cum into her pussy. My thrusts slow as we both try to catch our breaths. My gaze finds hers, my heart beating wildly in my chest, silence floating like plumes of smoke around us.
Tentatively, Lucy’s hand reaches up and touches my left cheek, and I jerk my head away, suddenly remembering what I must look like. I unceremoniously slide myself out of her, tugging my jeans back over my hips but don’t zip them up. Before I even try to distance myself, her fingers dig deep into my forearm.
“Don’t,” she says, her eyes hard, but also brimming with sadness. “Do not ruin this.”
I match her gaze, licking my lips and swallowing hard. “This doesn’t fix anything,” I finally say.
She gently takes my hand in hers and places it on her chest. I can feel her heartbeat underneath the skin and I’m not sure why it rattles me so much.
“I know,” she says softly, leaning over to kiss me and I don’t move, letting her warm lips press against mine. I breathe in her sweet scent, letting it ground me into the present moment. “Let’s just start by spending the night together,” she adds.
I can’t ignore the subtle hope in her tone. Unwilling to deny her something so simple, I nod. Her face lights up with a smile, and my heart squeezes at the sight.
And for a few hours, everything is… fine. Even when I start feeling the effect of withdrawals. I try to ignore it as best I can—for now. Lucy convinces me to watch an old spaghetti western and I pretend to hate it. I’d spend an eternity watching bad cowboy movies if it meant having Lucy by my side.
44
My eyelids flit open. I’m disoriented until I hear the pained muttering beside me and realize I’m in Bastian’s loft, and by the sounds of it he’s trapped in a nightmare. I press my hand to his chest, his heart pounding against my palm, his skin clammy to the touch.
“Bastian,” I whisper worriedly.
The sounds emanating from his person are starting to scare me, incapable of even imagining what kind of horror he’s managed to trap himself in.
“Bastian,” I say a little more urgently, shaking his shoulder, and then shaking him again. “Wake up.”
My mind is still sleep-heavy, and I’m not sure what to do so I do the only thing that springs to mind. I fling the covers off his overheated body and crawl over, straddling him. Gently, I cradle his face with my hands and kiss him, trying to murmur some soothing words in case he wakes up while I’m saying them.
“You’re safe. I’m here.”
You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe.
I press my lips against his, between each spoken word, while my anxiety simmers, worried he won’t wake up and he will be trapped in his mind forever.
“Wake up, Bastian.” My voice is low and soft, kissing down his jaw and then back up to his lips. “Come back to me. You’re safe.”
Suddenly, Bastian takes a long, fraught inhale, sounding like a man waking up from the dead and I don’t have time to react before his hand is clamped around my neck, cutting off my airway. Shocked, I choke out his name, but his grip never lessens, my fingers now clawing against the back of his hand, already feeling light-headed.
The moon illuminates his stony face, his one good eye is open but terrifyingly vacant and I realize with gut-wrenching panic that he is not lucid and if this continues, Bastian might end up killing me. A powerful mixture of survival instincts and the excruciating knowledge that Bastian would not survive finding me like this pulls me from my frozen state. I start to fight back with all the force I can conjure up.
I slap him across the face and beat my fists over and over against his bare chest while trying to pull myself from his grasp. I garble his name again, this time much louder while I slap him again and again. I’m growing faint, my eyesight bleeding darkness when finally, his fingers loosen against my neck and he lets go of me. I double over, still half-straddling him, wheezing in much-needed oxygen, retching, and coughing.
“Lucy?” The fear in Bastian’s voice slices my chest open, my heart aching for him.
For me. For us.
And in between painful breaths, the tears start falling, my fitful breaths growing even more irregular as I begin to sob. I vaguely understand that it must be the shock of what just happened that has heightened my emotions like this but I cannot stop. Suddenly, I feel like I’m crying for much more than just this.
“Luce, talk to me. What happened?” His voice is soothing, but the bite of fear is still sharp in his tone. Sitting up, his arm encircles me and I melt into him despite my body’s lingering resistance to being vulnerable around him. His plea for an answer becomes more desperate the more I can’t find the words to explain it to him. His kisses are feathery and light all across my cheeks, drinking up my tears with his soft lips until I finally manage to calm down.
