Page 37 of Still Beating

Nothing else exists.

Dean closes in, reaching for my wrist and beginning his slow, circular motions over my skin. He then presses his opposite hand to my chest and lets his forehead fall against my own. I inhale a sharp gasp, not expecting the gesture. There is something intimate about it—something different. I force my eyes shut because I find myself unable to look at him while we’re in this strangely personal position.

Odd, considering he’s beeninsideme. It doesn’t get more personal than that.

He pushes his hand against the crown of my breast, but not in a sexual way. He sighs so deep it resonates right through me. “It’s still beating,” he whispers, his words a soft kiss against my lips. “As long as it’s beating, you’re okay.”

With his hand to my heart and his thumb trailing along my pulse point, he leans in. I meet him halfway, eager to feel his warmth, desperate for that human contact—thatconnection. His tongue invades me, and our kiss feels hungrier than usual. It’s more than routine. It’s more than survival. Maybe he’s craving that connection just as much as I am.

Dean trails his hand down my breast, slowly, splaying his fingers along my abdomen. His touch is gentle and soft against my sore ribs, merely a tickle. A small whimper escapes my throat, and I instinctively raise my leg to wrap it around his waist, our tongues in a frenzy and our lips devouring one another. Dean’s hand leaves me to unbutton his jeans and yank them down his hips, and then I feel him at my core, seeking more of my heat. We’re both warm and breathing and alive, and it’s intoxicating.Lifeis intoxicating when you’re on the brink of death, day after day.

I inhale a tapered breath when he pushes inside me, my hands gripping the pole. My eyes are still closed as I try to zone out to my usual, happy place—the one that’s far, far away from here.

But I keep being pulled back to Dean.

I’m too aware of him today, too drunk on the feel of another human body filling me up and breathing life into me. His cock thrusts deep as his forehead touches mine again, but I keep my eyes shut, too scared to look at him. Too scared to see if his blue, blue eyes are reflecting everything I’m feeling right now.

His movements are slower than usual. Slow, but steady. Intense.

Usually he’s quick and hurried, eager to get this over with. But not today. Today, it’s different—almost like he’s savoring every inch of me. And I’m not sure why, I’ll never know why, but my body starts to respond. I block everything out, except for Dean, and I feel a pool of heat surge between my thighs… an ancient buzz of pleasure.

Pleasure.

What a thing to feel when you’re chained in a basement with a madman waving a gun at you in one hand and beating off in the other, while your soon-to-be brother-in-law fucks you against a pole.

But I go with it.

I go with it because it’s better than feeling like I’m dying inside.

I think Dean notices, too. He palms my ass with one hand beneath my t-shirt, my unwashed hair falling over our faces like a curtain. I’m dirty and gross, and I probably smell like a sewer, but that doesn’t stop Dean from burying his face into my neck and breathing me in, inhaling my scent like it’s sweet, beautiful oxygen. He picks up speed, and I realize my other leg has wrapped around him, holding myself up and pulling him close as his cock drives in and out of me.

He lifts his head.

I can feel him looking at me. Watching me. Begging me to open my eyes.

I do.

My eyelids flutter open and the air catches in my throat when our gazes meet. He’s staring at me like I’m the only goddamn thing in the world, and I suppose, right now, I am.

A soft moan passes through his lips and I want to know what it tastes like, so I lean forward to capture his mouth in another searing kiss. He kisses me back with everything he has left, every last ounce of life and hope, his tongue tangling desperately with my own.

Then his thumb halts its calming designs along my wrist.

My security blanket is gone. My way out has turned to dust.

And I hardly notice.

I don’t even care because I’m so wrapped up in all of the strange, powerful feelings coursing through me, swallowing me whole.

Dean trails his hand up my arm and cradles my neck, pulling back from my mouth to find my eyes again. He doesn’t want to give me an escape this time. He wants me to behere, in this moment, with him. My breathing is heavy as tiny sounds crawl up my throat with each hard thrust of his cock. I want to reach for him. I want to touch him like he’s touching me. I want to feel his skin beneath my fingertips, assuring me he’s real.

I’m not alone. I’m not alone.

Dean’s hand disappears from my neck and falls between us, and I almost choke on a gasp when I realize what he’s doing. The thumb that has been tracing my wrist, giving me comfort, is now pressed up against my clit, massaging me as our bodies crash together. His eyes don’t leave mine. My eyes don’t leave his. We’re locked together, something silent and unspoken but all-consuming passing between us.

It doesn’t take long before the telltale sparks begin to scatter and climb, an orgasm building. My breath hitches with tiny gasps and whimpers, and my God, the look on Dean’s face when he realizes what’s happening—when he realizes I’m going to come…

Shock. Disbelief.

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