Page 59 of Hate Mates

She whimpers, her forehead falling against mine.

“I’ve had dreams about your dick.” Unbidden, a laugh bursts out of me. I can’t remember the last time I laughed or felt happy, elation, relaxation. “Did you just laugh?”

“No.”

“I won’t ask for all your secrets,” she says, pulling the hair at the back of my head hard enough to demand my attention. “I certainly won’t give you all of mine. No lies though, Frankie. Not when we’re like this.”

“When my cock is inside your perfect cunt?”

“When we’re raw. Bared to each other. When you’re about to get me out of this cold shower and fuck me senseless againstevery surface this hotel room has.” I get us out of the shower, wrap her in a towel, and follow as she leads me to the bed. She stops at the foot of the bed and looks up to me. “What was her name? Your sister?”

“Franny,” I say around the lump in my throat. Maybe now I can deal with the emotions surrounding losing her. Now that my vengeance has been sated some. Maybe I can let myself feel something different, something new.

“I’m sorry you lost her,” she says, sweetly and genuinely. She raises to her toes to press a kiss to the underside of my chin. “If there’s more blood to spill, let me be by your side when you do it.”

“You are the most feral person I’ve ever known.” I gather her wet hair into my fist, tugging her face further up to mine.

“Thank you,” she preens, and again, I laugh.

And then I kiss her like I haven’t since that night in Paris. Intimate but hungry. A battle but a dance, that she meets me in step for step. Celine climbs my body, and we topple on the bed. I maneuver her so she’s finally underneath me.

I’m inside her, thrusting and loving the way she doesn’t hold back when she digs a heel into my thigh or scrapes her nails down my side. She keens, she mewls, she tells me when she needs more.

“Harder, like you still hate me.”

I never did.

It was a lie, but this isn’t.

I don’t relent, I can’t. Not when the drag of my dick against her walls makes my eyes roll back. Or when she seals her mouth to mine and steals my oxygen, making me lightheaded. It only makes me feel everything more—her moans are sweeter, her skin impossibly softer, and the way she pushes back at me more fucking mind-blowing.

She’s insatiable.

“Oh, fuck. I need to come,” she cries.

I roll us over, letting her ride me wildly. Letting her find her rhythm, her spot. All while I tease her body with my fingers and tongue. She shoves a breast in my mouth, and I bite, playfully at first and then a bit harder.

She shatters and convulses in pleasure. Her cunt grips me so tight it pulls me over the edge with her. It’s a rush… this, her. This whole night. When she falls on top of me, our bodies warm and slick with effort and sweat, I feel more at peace than I have since Franny vanished.

Part of it is that Lyle is finally dead. A bigger part is the woman twirling my hair like it gives her comfort. I know I’m not alone, not as long as she’s in my life.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she says. “I’ll want a round two once my blood stills.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. Ugh—” I groan from the punch to my gut she delivers.

Some things never change.

Some things I’m grateful for never changing.

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