Page 102 of The Ripper

“Is this your way of distracting me from my head?” I asked as I clutched at his shoulders and writhed my hips beneath him, urging him to move.

“It’s my way of telling you that there’s only one monster I’ll allow to cloud your mind.” He drew my bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled out.

“You?” I taunted him.

“Me.”

His lips crashed against mine at the same time he thrust back inside me, swallowing each whimper as if he was feasting on the sounds he was provoking.

I remembered how the prospect of something inside me used to scare me, and I realized it wasn’t fear of the act itself, but fear that it could have happened with the wrong person.

“Grimm,” I moaned his name and wrapped myself tighter around him.

“Fuck, my name has never sounded so good,” he gritted his teeth as he kept plunging into me with the same fervor.

He was relentless and merciless in his hunger. When I thought that he was finally going to fall off the edge, he just changed positions and kept going. When I thought that he was going to have a heart attack from the punishing rhythm he was breaking me with, he just paused for a moment and kissed all the air out of my lungs. Only when I thought I was going to faint from all the pleasure, did he finally come.

We were drenched in sweat and nothing except our gasping breaths echoed through the dimly lit bedroom. Maybe I was wrong. Only a psychopath could do that in bed.

Our bedroom.

Home.

Exhausted.

I could think of nothing else but how it felt to have him inside me and how he so easily dominated my body. How he bent it to his will, and somehow, any fear I had before that moment seemed to have vanished into thin air, absorbed by the man whose world posed more danger to me than anything else.

It felt as though he reached inside me and ripped the terror out by the roots, reminding me that I wasn’t being chased by the monster.

No.

I was in the monster’s arms, and the beast that was chasing me didn’t stand a chance against him.

Or maybe I just liked lying to myself.

*

He had to leave for a meeting in the morning – whatever that meant – and although I woke up with a bad feeling in my stomach, I didn’t tell him. Just because I was in danger didn’t mean the earth had stopped spinning and he didn’t have other things to take care of.

Trying to distract myself and ignore the sinking feeling in my gut that something bad was about to happen, I started unpacking the boxes from my apartment.

Somehow, my colorful, mismatched coffee cups looked out of place among Grimm’s sets of small, black espresso cups. I actually laughed when I arranged my pink, yellow, and blue cushions on his black leather couch.

And so, after throwing a rainbow knitted blanket over the armrest and my favorite pair of pink, fluffy slippers at the foot of the couch, I snapped a photo of my masterpiece and sent it to him.

Me:

Do you think the owner

will mind?

Grimm:

Now you have something to

bite into when I’ll bend you

over that couch.

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