Page 55 of The Girl and the Cobra

I take my time. I relish in each and every thrust, moving my hips in an agonizingly slow manner. I move slow and steady, exhaling when I fill her up to the brink and taking a breath in when I retract my hips. Neither one of us is used to this. We are discovering each other, playing adventurer, learning, changing to fit with each other, our souls bare.

Her hands find my sides, and she clings to me in a way no one ever has. Eventually she starts to moan again, and the sounds she makes while I’m inside of her are practically breathed into my ear. Her moans make my balls clench and my spine shiver, a symphony of pleasure and need rolled into one.

Fuck. I need her. I need her so much more than I thought I did. If I lose her, I lose myself. If I lose Mabel… I’ll die. There will be no possible way I can continue to breathe without her. My body just won’t work. I know it.

My body moves against hers, my cock filling her up. Mabel moans under me, and I swallow up the sound greedily, needing more. I murmur, “You’re mine, Mabel. Every single part of you is mine.”

Mabel must know I need to hear it back, because she whispers hazily, “I’m yours.”

I nod against the top of her head as I bear down upon her. “You’re mine, and I am so fucking yours.”

Though I feel like exploding already, I push it down, edging myself as long as possible while I continue to make this girl mine. My movements become a little quicker, a little harder, but not overwhelmingly so; Mabel is a soft, fragile flower and I need to treat her as such. If I hold onto her with too hard a hand, she’ll break. Everything about Mabel is a lesson in patience and gentleness.

The way she holds onto me, as if I’m her life, drives me to push myself further, to make it last. First times are generally quick, but most people aren’t me. Most people haven’t been trained as an assassin their entire lives. I display the true definition of stamina.

Having her under me, knowing I’m inside her, there isn’t anything like it in the world. Nothing else could compare. I never want us to leave this bed now that I know every smooth curve on her body. I never want her out of my sight.

But that’s not what a relationship is. It’s not ownership. She is mine and I am hers, but there are no cages here—beyond the ones Wolf gives us, that is. I will not try to cage her, and Mabel won’t cage me. We are free, truly free, when we are together.

As much stamina as I have, eventually I can push it off no longer. The pleasure in me threatens to break the dam, and I plunge into Mabel with more urgency. A low moan comes from me when my eyes squeeze shut and the muscles in my lower abdomen tense up. I fill her core up completely, and my cock twitches as it releases a flood of cum into the condom.

Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to fill her pussy up with no barriers between us. Knowing that she’ll be out in public, out of my sight and out of my reach, makes me want nothing more. Itwould be like a part of me is always with her—but until she’s on some other form of birth control, we can’t. Neither of us are cut out to be parents just yet.

Once the heated pleasure from the orgasm subsides, I am slow in pulling out of her and even slower in taking the condom off.

Let’s just say I’m not the only one that doesn’t sleep tonight.

Chapter Twenty-Four – Mabel

By the time the sun shines in through the windows and morning comes, I’m exhausted, but in the best way. Lying in bed with Tristan, cuddling up against him with his arm around me, my body has never felt so light. I finally understand what people mean when they say they’re riding cloud nine.

If this is how it is for other people, I totally get why people make stupid decisions when they’re in love. Used to think it was just an excuse, but no, love really does make you look at the world differently.

I lay there with my cheek against his chest, breathing in his manly, musky scent. Now that the sun is lighting up the room, I can see just how littered his torso is with scars. He’s still very toned, with the shadows of a six-pack on his abdomen, but it isn’t the thickness of his body that draws my attention. It’s the scars.

They really are legion. So, so many. I try to imagine Tristan doing this to himself, taking a knife and carefully cutting into his body over and over again. Besides the scars from the bullet wounds, the rest are definitely from sharp blades. None are longer than two inches, and there is no pattern to the way they decorate his skin.

And then there’s the name on his left forearm. I can’t see it from where I am, but I know it’s there.

I can’t judge him. I really can’t. It’s hard for me to imagine Tristan as the man he used to be; all I know of him is the quiet, serious, contemplative man who tries to be better than what he used to be. Damaged as he is, I like the man he is now.

More than like, really, but I’m not quite ready to say that out loud.

Tristan’s arm tightens around my back the moment I start to trace one of the scars on his side, and I angle my head up and meet his gaze. I got so used to seeing all the scars on his face that the amount of scars on the rest of him don’t surprise me.

“You’re the first person to see my scars,” Tristan whispers. “All of them, I mean. Not just the ones on my face.” You’d have to be deaf not to note the vulnerability in his deep voice.

I can sense what he’s not saying, what he doesn’t dare ask at the risk of sounding weak, so I scooch up to his face and give him a soft kiss on the cheek before I say, “They’re a part of you. They make you who you are today. Besides, I kind of think scars are sexy—” The moment the words are out of my mouth, my cheeks heat up. I’ve never said anything like that out loud before.

But before I can hide at how embarrassed I suddenly feel, Tristan smirks and rolls on top of me, his hand cupping my face to stop me from doing just that. “Sexy, huh?” he asks with a smirk, and then he kisses me so hard my toes curl.

“I’ll take that,” he murmurs against my lips. Tristan trails a line of kisses along my jaw, to the crook of my neck, making me squirm. “And I’ll take this.” His head drops to my chest, where he kisses both of my breasts. Under the sheets, even lower he goes, stopping only when he’s nestled between my thighs, just as he was last night. “And this.”

And then he reminds me just how good he is with his tongue.

Once we shower, Tristan and I head downstairs for breakfast. Little did I realize it’s almost noon already. I guess, uh, Tristan kept me occupied way longer than I originally thought. We’re sitting at the table, side by side, eating cereal, when Dr. Wolf strolls in.

He raises an eyebrow once he notices we’re eating cereal, but neither Tristan nor I say a word. Dr. Wolf rounds the table,stopping when he stands near us. “I trust you two had a good night?”

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