Page 67 of Fired at the Heart

“Yes.” His arms tighten around me. “We have a lot to talk about.” He presses a kiss to the Mark on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “But right now, all that matters is this. Us.”

And for the first time since he walked out on me, I allow myself to believe there might be an us again.

21

My body trembles with each deep thrust, Raphael’s chest to my back, his breath hot on my neck. I bury my face in the pillow, trying and failing to muffle the sounds he pulls from me.

How many times has he made me come already? I lost count somewhere after the fifth or sixth time, my mind too hazy with pleasure to keep track of anything beyond the slick slide of his cock inside me.

“Raph.” My gasp comes out ragged as my inner muscles clench weakly around him, body reacting to his possession despite my exhaustion. “I can’t—not again?—”

His teeth graze the shell of my ear. “You can. One more time for me, baby.”

His palm slides around my hip, fingers wrapping around my aching dick. I whimper at the contact, oversensitive and raw. My body can’t decide if it wants to thrust into his grip or flinch away.

“You’re still so hard for me,” he purrs, his deep timbre vibrating through me. “Your body knows what it wants.”

My Heat ended two hours ago. I can tell by the way my thoughts are clearing, by how the desperate, clawing need has subsided to a dull throb rather than the all-consuming fire it was before.

But Raphael hasn’t stopped. He saidone more timeafter my Heat first broke.

Then one more.

And one more after that.

Three days. We’ve been going at it for three days, only stopping for water and the occasional protein bar that Raphael forced into my mouth between rounds. Three days of begging and screaming his name and having him fill me over and over until I dripped with it.

His cock hits that perfect spot inside me, and I cry out, clutching the sheets. My head tips back as pleasure courses through me, sharper now without the haze of Heat to dull the edges.

“That’s it.” Raphael’s rhythm never falters, the slap of skin against skin filling the room alongside our heavy breathing. “You’re taking me so well, baby. You always do.”

His teeth find my new Mark, where the flesh is tender at my nape. Not hard enough to break through again, but enough to send lightning bolts of pleasure-pain shooting down my spine.

My back arches, pushing my ass into his thrust as I howl at the sensation.

“Mine.” His fingers tighten around my dick, stroking with purpose now. “Always mine.”

The combined sensations of his cock inside me and his hand working me over causes my entire body to tremble. Then his teeth find the Mark again, and I’m done for.

My body shudders as pleasure rolls through me, and what comes out of my dick is so clear it resembles water. I’ve got nothing left to give after three days, but Raphael keeps proving he knows my body better than I do. My muscles lock up, thighs trembling as I clench around Raphael’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, Avery.” Raphael’s rhythm falters. “The way you squeeze me when you come. So fucking perfect.”

He thrusts deep one final time, his body going rigid as his cock pulses, the flood of his release adding to the mess he’s already made of me. The knowledge he’s filling me up again, marking me from the inside, sends another aftershock of pleasure through my system.

We collapse together, his weight pressing me into the mattress, neither of us possessing the energy to move. His cock softens inside me, but he doesn’t pull out, keeping us connected as our breathing returns to normal.

I feel hollowed out, emptied of everything but sensation. My brain feels fuzzy around the edges, thoughts coming slow and thick as honey. Raphael’s hand strokes up and down my side, a gesture more comforting than sexual now.

He kisses the back of my sweaty neck. “You with me?”

I grunt in response, not capable of actual words yet. Every muscle in my body aches with bone-deep satisfaction. The sheets beneath us are ruined, soaked with slick, cum, and sweat, and the scent of sex combined with our pheromones saturates the air.

Raphael shifts us onto our sides, still connected, his arm wrapped around my waist. I take in what I can of the safe house bedroom. Empty water bottles litter the nightstand and floor, while protein bar wrappers lie scattered like confetti. Our clothes are mixed among them, and a damp washcloth hangs from the knob of the open door.

My throat clicks when I swallow. I should drink some water. I should clean up. I should ask Raphael what happens now. But all I can do is rest in his embrace, savoring the rhythmic beat of his heart on my back.

I lift my trembling arm to study the faint bruise encircling my wrist from the handcuff, but I can’t remember when Raphael released me. When he trusted me not to run again.

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