Page 18 of Claiming Sarah

MY NAME

ZAIDEN

Panic lashes at me, lips tingling from Sarah’s unexpected kiss. Twice now, she’s kissed me. Before her, no one had ever kissed me. With my scars, I thought no one ever would and never expected to enjoy it. Raw craving rushes at me, and Ineedher.

“Sarah,” I rasp, desperation creeping into my voice. “Please do that again. I’d give you anything,” I beg shamelessly.

Her mouth gapes open, and the sight of her swollen lips races straight to my hardening cock. I glance down at it quizzically.

“No,” she says, shaking her head, eyes trained on the erection straining my pants. She points at it like it’s a weapon waiting to jump out at her.

“No, that’s a step too far,” her hands gesture widely, taking in the foyer we’re standing in. “All of this is too far. Please, Dayton, just let me go. I know a few psychiatrists—” Cold dread skates down my spine, and I’m closing the distance before she can finish talking.

She squeaks, then gasps when I slam my mouth onto hers.

“Dayton,” she gasps, but I swallow the sound down, needing more of her mouth, her sounds, everything. I want all of it, unfulfilled until I’ve swallowed her whole. My hands snatch at her, pulling her into my body, cock rubbing against the inside of my pants.

Will she let me put it inside of her?

My balls tighten, threatening an eruption if I continue down that train of thought. Her hands shove at my chest but grip my shirt to pull me in. I can taste her confusion mingling with her sweet surrender, moaning into my mouth.

I kiss her sloppily, hungrily, tongue swooping into every corner of her mouth. Impatient with the distance between us, I grip beneath her ass cheeks, hefting her into the air. My groan gets trapped between our tangled mouths when she wraps her legs around my waist, bringing her pussy flush with my cock.

I want inside her more than I’ve wanted anything. Logic tells me I’ll lose her before I’ve gained her if I force her. It’s the first time I’m keen to listen to sanity.

I pull my mouth away from hers, and she moans in frustration, hips rolling against my cock, balls tightening painfully.

“Sarah,” I gasp, vision winking in and out, a tingle in my spine edging me closer to releasing in my pants.

“I want you,” I confess. Her breasts rest against my chest, and I feel each inhalation she takes, silence settling between us.

“You can’t keep me here, Dayton, and expect me to just sleep with you. That’s not how this works. And I don’t even know what you look like!” she exclaims, trailing her fingers across my scars. Facial muscles jump beneath her touch.

Can I show her?

“If I show you, will you promise not to run?” My throat constricts, struggling to swallow the extra saliva in my mouth.

“Will you promise to let me go?” she retorts, stubbornness lining her lifted chin.

Fuck! How the hell am I supposed to let her go when she’s awakened desire in me for the first time?

Before her, I swore my cock was a broken, limp thing, never rising for any sort of stimuli. It’s her, all of it. I might have to kill her to keep her from leaving, preserving her body like my mother’s down in the basement. She’d be the most beautiful corpse. Red, Blue, and I could start a collection.

But I already know there won’t be another Sarah, another awakening. She’d take all of these new things with her to the grave, further damning me in this half-existence.

My teeth grind on each other, my mind flipping through decisions, all of them ending with her leaving me.

“Dayton.” I wince at the name, not for the first time wishing she’d say my real name. Closing my eyes, I come to a decision, hoping against all hope that it won’t cost me the piece of treasure in my arms.

SARAH

Dayton’s eyes close and I wait a beat, holding my breath, hope unfurling in my chest. When he opens them, resolve steeling the vibrant blue, I know he’s not letting me go like I asked. My weight shifts back, prepared to bolt and kick and fight if I have to. The front door lies just behind me.

“My name isn’t Dayton,” he whispers, one hand releasing the hold on me to slide up to the edge of his mask. My heart sounds like a drum in my ear or an ocean crashing into the shore, anticipation raising hairs on my nape and arms.

“My mother,” his voice cracks, lashes flurrying up and down with rapid blinks. “She named me after my dead brother. He died as a babe.” His Adam’s apple bobs with a nervous swallow.

My eyes latch onto the fingers, shoving this mask up and off his head, air leaving my lungs. Without thought, my fingers fly to the scars on either side of his mouth, jagged healed cuts in a fashion eerily similar to the Joker. The low light from the bar when I first saw him barely did them justice.

---