Page 29 of Raiden

I grasp her waist with my other hand, palming her generous ass a little lower as I sink inside. She holds her breath. I go slow, despite what she said. She’s tight. I can feel her clenching all around my cock. I would love to be in her bare.

She moves before I do, grinding back against me with a flex of her hips. She whimpers, her hands clutching at the pillows. My throat closes up. It’s hard to breathe. Not another panic attack, but I’m near blacking out at how good it feels.

When I start to thrust, she matches me stride for stride. I love that she doesn’t stay still. That for every time I plunge insideof her, she wriggles to take me just a little bit more, pushes back into me, taking every inch of me to my balls.

“Raiden…” The edge to her voice is so desperate, my name drawn out. She bends her head, flattening her cheek to the blankets and pushing her hips up.

It just about pushes me over the edge.

I slam my hand between her legs, working her clit hard while I pump into her. She grinds against my hand, her breaths coming faster, sharper, sawing in and out of her lungs. I won’t stop working her until she comes. I can feel her walls clenching tighter and tighter with every stroke of my dick.

“Oh my god. Please. Yes.” She’s not afraid to cry out, to be loud. It’s just us in here, but it’s not a show. There’s nothing I hate more than when passion isn’t genuine. My balls slap against her ass, so heavy and full that every hit sends pain vibrating up my tailbone.

She screams when she comes, her tight pussy rippling around the length of my cock, her juices soaking my fingers on her clit, running down my thighs. I keep churning in and out of her, giving her the same pace, working her clit to keep the pleasure going. I don’t stop until she leans away from me, her hand brushing mine away because she’s too sensitive to take anything more.

“Come,” she pants. “Please.”

It takes me a few strokes. I’ve been holding back too long. I love the wet, messy slaps of my body meeting hers. Love how tight and swollen she is for my cock. My balls get heavier and heavier. The condom keeps me in the game for a few more strokes, but the second I feel my climax barreling down my dick,I pin her in place with both hands, not letting her go anywhere as I rut into her.

In a few brutal thrusts, I’m coming, filling that fucking condom instead of her with my hot, explosive climax.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So. Fucking. Amazing.”

“Yeah.” She closes her hand over my own, digging her nails into the back of my hand just hard enough to leave a few small marks when she lets go. “Yeah.”

I wait to pull out, slick with her juices and spent, but still half hard.

Normally, this is the point where the women I’ve fucked in the past get their clothes, throw me a smile and a goodnight, and leave. Never at my house. I’ve never brought a woman here before.

This is Widow, though. Mywife.

I think about that as I strip the condom off in the bathroom, throwing it in the trash. She’s not going anywhere. I knew this would change everything, but I did it anyway. I still want to do it again. She’s not the kind of woman who’s going to expect that we’re a couple in the traditional sense just because we fucked. She doesn’t love me, and she’s probably seen enough to know how broken I am in that department. I can’t even take care of myself. Can’t get this fuckery in my head under control.

Worse than sex, she’s seenthat. Twice.

Emotions roil inside of me as I head back to the bedroom. I realize, when I see her on her side, her head resting on the pillow, that I should have brought her something. A damp cloth? I don’t know the first thing about aftercare.

When I was a teenager, I was focused on the club and being a hang around had certain advantages. I had a few girlfriends come and go in high school, but we both knew it was nothing permanent. Did I ever disrespect a woman? I never meant to, even as a young shithead, but no one stayed the night. Ever. It was never that kind of serious, and then I went to prison. When I got out, I was too fucked up to even think about sharing myself in any meaningful way with another person.

Widow raises her head and sweeps her gaze lazily over me. Her soft smile hitches something inside of me, especially when she pats the bed beside her.

I swear I don’t want to go. I’m not going to cuddle her or hold her, but I find myself stepping forward. Sitting on the edge of the bed. I don’t like that when I sweep my eyes over her, naked and sinfully tempting as any siren, my chest clenches with a different kind of panic and another sweep of emotion hits my gut.

Her soft green eyes dance, emeralds in the early afternoon light. “I just wanted to tell you that right now, in this moment, I feel safe. And that I’m sorry, because this was about you, not me. I just- hope that I can help you in some way in the future.”

Her quiet admission and the sparkling worry when she looks at me hits me harder than anything. It’s not her job to fix me. I need to get my shit together. I know that she’s the kind of woman to stand beside me and support me, whatever I need. She doesn’t take bullshit, but I could imagine she’d soften for me if I softened for her. Even if we were only ever soft for each other, with an equal mix of sass thrown in, what a glorious thing that could be.

If we let it.

The sharp ringtone of my phone in the kitchen cuts me off before I can think anything further. I vaguely remember plugging it in because it was dead. Neither of us move. It stops, but a few seconds later, it starts again.

I curse under my breath and get up to gather clothes from the dresser. I toss a pair of sweats and a t-shirt onto the bed. Widow’s clothes are soaked. We’re going to have to leave soon.

I head out of there before I can contemplate what seeing her in my clothes means. I don’t have the capacity for attachments. I don’t have time. I don’t have the will. If I did, it would be anyone but her that I’d turn into a caveman over.

The ringing starts again as I reach the kitchen. It’s a private number, which means it’s probably one of our club burners. Ever since Zale involved my sister in that shit, calling her phone with the coordinates to the cabin where Gray was being kept, I hate picking up anything, even another burner.

I answer it anyway. Three calls in a row has to mean it’s one of my club brothers.

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