Page 22 of Ripper's Redemption

“God, Tara,” I mutter, my hands roaming over her body, mapping every inch of her.

She moans, arching into my touch, her nails digging into my back as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, her voice a siren’s call.

I comply, moving lower, tasting the salt of her skin, the sweetness that lies beneath.

She shudders, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me closer.

“Please,” she whispers, and it’s the only word I need.

I enter her in one swift motion, and the world narrows to the sensation of being inside her, the tight heat that consumes me.

“Fuck, Tara,” I groan, thrusting deeply, finding a rhythm that has her crying out, her fingers clutching at the sheets.

It’s raw, primal, a connection that goes beyond words or promises.

“Yes, Ripper, just like that,” she pants, her voice ragged.

I lose myself in her, the friction, the heat, the undeniable rightness of it all.

Each movement brings us closer to the edge, a crescendo of pleasure that builds and builds until we crash over together, our cries mingling in the night.

“Just sex,” she murmurs again, her breath warm against my neck as we lay tangled together, spent and sated.

“Yeah,” I agree, though a part of me knows it’s more than that.

In this moment, in her arms, I find a sense of peace, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for redemption even for someone like me.

CHAPTER SIX

Tara

I swipe a finger through the thick icing, painting it over the smooth surface of the donut.

The kitchen smells like sugar and vanilla—a comforting cocoon against the pre-dawn frigidness outside.

It’s just before six in the morning and I’ve been here since four, finalizing what we need to get ready for customers before open.

Kelsey stands beside me, her fingers working deftly with the piping bag, creating perfect swirls.

“You're quiet this morning,” she says, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. Her tone is casual, but I can see the curiosity in her expression.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I reply quickly, focusing on the task at hand.

The last thing I need is to spill my guts before the sun even rises, especially when I haven’t had nearly enough coffee.

“Uh-huh.” Kelsey’s voice is skeptical, and I can feel her gaze burning into the side of my face. “Tara, come on. Spill it.”

I sigh, wiping my hands on a towel. “Fine. I’m... seeing someone.” My words hang in the air like the aroma of fresh pastries—sweet, yet heavy.

Kelsey’s eyebrows shoot up, and a slow smile spreads across her face. “Oh really? Who’s the lucky guy?”

I keep my eyes on the donuts. “Ripper,”

I’ve been calling him Rip as he requested, but I do wonder how he got his name.

“Ripper?” Kelsey echoes, her tone a mix of surprise and admiration. “Well, well. I never would’ve put that together. How is it? Do you think he’s the one?”

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