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And I’m so tempted to take her mouth with mine, to taste her fear, and lap up her pleasure all while her cunt sucks at her fingers.
“I need you to save me, Grimm,” she whispers, just as her body tremors and her thighs clench each side of mine. I could pull the trigger, send her away from this world on a fucking high. But I keep my finger steady. I keep her with me because I don’t think I can give her up.
When she moans out in pleasure, my grip on her neck intensifies, and she rides out her fucked up orgasm on my lap while I press the tip of the gun deeper into her temple.
I want to bite the pink out of her lips when they whisper my name, and suddenly her body stills, her lips trembling as the thrill inside her eyes become sedated with relief.
The hand she’s just used to fuck herself with slowly slides up between us and soaked, quivering fingers touch my lips, coating them with the sweet taste of her pleasure.
I lose all my restraint. Dragging her closer with the hand I’ve got clenched around her neck and smashing my mouth onto hers because I need her to taste herself on me.
I’ve never kissed anyone before. The thought of someone else’s lips touching mine has always repulsed me.
But I’m not kissing Rogue.
I’m fucking tasting her.
Tormenting myself by sampling how good the inside of her would feel, and as her tongue rolls against mine, coaxing me, I need so much more. So much more that the handle of the gun rattles inside the arch of my hand and I fear I might actually shatter her pretty little face to pieces.
“Don’t fucking tempt me,” I growl the warning against her lips, pulling together enough strength to throw the fucking gun across the room.
I could stay on this couch and explore each fragment of her broken pieces. But I have to do the right thing and get the fuck out of here. Even if the lone tear that strays from her eye makes me feel like an asshole as I force her away from me.
One of us has to do the right thing.
One of us has to walk away.
Because together we’re toxic.
Two damaged souls that eventually will destroy each other.
I’m halfway to the door before she speaks.
“It’s not for protection… it’s my last resort,” she speaks so timidly that I barely recognize her voice.
I looking back over my shoulder, and she looks so weak and helpless, crawling on her hands and knees to get to the gun and pick it up from the floor.
“I keep this gun because if another bad thing happens to me, Grimm…” she pauses, her eyes falling onto the gun in her hands. “…I think I’ll be done wanting to survive.”
I can tell she’s holding back a stream of tears and I wish she’d let them free. Rogue doesn’t have to be strong for me, she can’t shelter me from her agony the way she does everyone else, because somehow when we’re together, I feel every ounce of her suffering.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that, why did you hide it from me?” I take a few steps forward, needing to be closer, then I crouch down in front of her. She drops the gun to the floor and fists the lapels of my cut, clinging to me.
“Because…” she looks up at me through her lashes and smirks through her sadness. “I think you might care enough about me to take my last resort away from me.”
Grimm surprises me after my confession, I thought he’d be angry at me, that he'd storm out on me again, but instead, he stares back at me. How can a man turn every single emotion into something beautiful?
“You need to get some sleep.” He stands up, dragging me with him.
“Don’t leave me.” God, I sound pathetic, but I can't have him go, not after what I’ve just told him. I’ve never admitted that to anyone before, hell I haven’t ever really admitted it to myself.
“Who said I was going anywhere?” Grimm's lips remain straight, his eyes focused on mine like my tears are fascinating him. I sense that he wants to touch them as they slip onto my cheek, and right now there’s nothing I’d like more. Grimm could be the collector of all my tears now, he’s the only person who could ever truly hurt me. He does it every time he rejects me. Why does he have to punish himself?
He picks up my gun and pulls my body onto his, my head rests on his chest and the hand he’s holding the gun with strokes through my hair slowly. For a second I wonder if he’s going to do it. If this is him calming me, the way owners pet their animals before they have them put down. Is this Grimm caressing me, making me feel loved before he takes me out? Proving to me and himself that he’s capable of overcoming his emotions.
“I never want to hear you talk like that again.” His warning sets a relief inside me that scares me, he sounds angry now, and the tension in his fingers tighten against me. I’m clinging to him, needy and desperate. I don’t recognize myself anymore and I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.
“Just being honest with ya.” I find the strength to look up at him.
