Page 66 of Backstroke

I trail my fingers through the warm fluid then smear it across her breasts.

“Please. I need you. I want to feel you inside me, filling me up and making me forget everything that’s happened tonight.” I don’t need any more convincing. I line my cock up with her entrance and slam into her with one hard thrust.

“Fuck, you’re always so tight. I can feel every inch of you, squeezing me so perfectly.” I pull out and shove back in, setting a punishing pace that has her crying out with every thrust. I take her nipples into my mouth, the copper tang explodes over my tongue, sending me into a frenzy of need. My arms cup underneath her arms, using the anchor to thrust harder. With her shoulders clenched in my hands, I lean down in the crook of her neck, biting down hard. I can feel the warm blood trickle into my mouth, erupting a coppery zest over my tongue. Fallon whimpers from the sensation. I didn’t mean to penetrate the skin but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Yes, yes, yes. Just like that. Harder, Remy. Make me forget.” I do as she asks, pounding into her until she’s screaming my name. I can feel her walls starting to flutter around me, telling me she’s close. I reach down and start rubbing her clit in time with my thrusts, pushing her over the edge.

She screams as her orgasm rips through her, sending her body into spasms. I can feel her walls clenching around me, milking my cock for all it’s worth. I groan, feeling my own release barreling down on me.

“Fuck, Fallon. I’m going to come. I’m going to fill you up with my cum so you’re dripping for days.”

I drive into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt as I come hard. I can feel my cum filling her up, mixing with her father’s blood. It’s fucked up but it’s also the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. I grab her waist, hauling her to my chest and placing her in my lap. I brush the sticky hair from her face, leaving traces of the smeared blood behind. She’s never been more gorgeous. My strong little fox who challenges me and never takes my shit. I press my forehead against hers, reveling in the warmth that surrounds us.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what, baby?”

“For saving me, and driving away my nightmares.” I would do anything for her. I mean I just fucking killed for her. My obsession with her is dangerous, but I’m too far gone to pull away now. I press kisses along her face and neck then lean over to grab my shirt.

“You aren’t walking out of here naked.” I press the shirt over her head, then pull her arms through. Thankfully it’s black and huge on her, so I don’t have to kill someone else tonight for seeing her ass. She gets to her feet and pulls her long hair from inside the shirt. Grabbing my jeans, I slide them up then pick up my knife and slip it into my pocket.

“You’re mine,” I promise, ghosting my lips over hers.

“Yours,” she agrees. I pull her into my arms and carry her away from the nightmare she has endured. Every heartbeat resonates in the stillness following her father’s demise, the echo of a promise I vow to keep.

The world outside thrums with distant sirens, the light from street lamps casting a soft glow across the faces of those whose lives still play on, untouched by the turmoil we escaped from.

I step into the night, her warm body cradled against me, and the weight of the world becomes slightly lighter.

Twenty Six

Fallon

My hands anxiously twisttogether in my lap, the fabric of my jeans crumpling under the pressure. The vast living room around me feels like it is closing in, my senses hyper aware of every creak and whisper as sunlight dances through the tall windows. The soft glow casts a warm, golden hue across the room, but I can’t shake the chill that sits heavily in my chest. My mother nestles in the oversized armchair across from me, her eyes lingering on the doorway to Remy’s father’s office, worry etched across her features as she fiddles with the edges of her shawl.

The silence stretches unbearably, interrupted occasionally by a muted murmur from beyond the closed door. I can only imagine the gravity of the conversation happening just a few feet away.What would they be discussing?My father’s actions, certainly. The knife, the blood, the chaos that had led us to this moment. I feel the bandage on the nape of my neck, a reminder of how close I had come to something worse.

A few days in the hospital, drifting in and out of consciousness, left me pondering the fragility of life—and love. Remy and I had spent those days together, a cocoon in the midst of turmoil, our young hearts tethered tighter than ever. I recall the feel of his hand in mine, his voice a quiet reassurance in the dim hospital room. Remy was adamant that he wasn’t going to leave my side, even going so far to argue with the nursing staff that the visiting hours didn’t apply to him.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay,” he had said softly, his voice slicing through the haze of my pain, a quiet reassurance in that room filled with worried glances and sterile equipment.

I remember the fierce determination in his eyes as he grasped my hand tighter whenever doctors came to check on me; his resolve bold and unwavering in the face of uncertainty. “I swear, I’ll never let someone hurt you again,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion, eyes ablaze with determination. The weight of those words shone brighter than any medication, illuminating the darkest corners of the hospital room that had felt like a cage.

As my injuries faded into memory, our parents discovered our relationship. It was inevitable, of course, but I hadn’t prepared for the consequences. My mother had leaned into it, embracing the unconventional. After all, love often triumphs, and she’d witnessed ours grow, unfurling in defiance of the chaos surrounding us.

Remy’s father, however, was a different story. Fierce and protective, he was furious when he found out about us, not out ofpaternal concern but wholly out of fear. Fear of how this would be perceived. A senator, with a son in a scandalous relationship with his stepsister? It was a nightmare for a politician who thrived on appearances.

The news of Remington Frampton’s heroic rescue spread like wildfire. The fact that he saved a girl from her deranged father overshadowed the darker details, and the public hailed him as a hero. Benjamin’s poll numbers soared in the aftermath, but the newfound attention brought its own set of worries. He was particularly concerned about how our relationship might be perceived by the press, knowing that scrutiny could complicate things even further.

I can still feel the tension in his office that day, the air tasting electric with judgment and stubbornness. As his father paced the grand room, I felt strangely detached, like a ghost watching this confrontation unfold. My mom stood strong, steadfast as an oak tree against the wind, her voice a soothing balm but firm as steel. Eventually, she helped him realize that his reputational hell was not worth the rift forming between families, and more so, between Remy and me.

Now, here we sit in the vibrant room, colored by disagreements and decisions made by those who could never understand the depth of our bond. Anxiety knots my stomach as I glance at the door again.What could possibly be taking so long?

Just then, the door swings open, revealing Remy, his face still flush from the discussion. A breath of relief washes over me at the sight of him—strong, steadfast, unyielding. Without a word, he crosses the room to where I sit, his presence grounding me as the chaos buzzes just at the periphery of my mind.

He kneels in front of me, his hands enveloping mine. His fingers are warm and steady, and I can see the storm swirling behind his eyes. It makes me want to shout out againsteverything that was wrong in our lives, to defend our love from the world’s scrutiny.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he murmurs.

---