Page 77 of Widow's Walk

My lips press to her neck, dragging down her body in a heated trail, my rough stubble reddening her skin. Her breath trembles, and her fingers twist in my hair.

I look up at her, my shoulders locking between her thighs. She stares down at me, breath caught in anticipation. Then one side of her mouth quirks in a familiar, wicked smile. That flash of the Sinclair I know strips me of every other thought.

I open my mouth and eat her pussy. My tongue flattens, then flutters. My lips close around her, sucking and pulling. I stab at her core and slurp up her sinful nectar. Her knees hike up, and she moans, her hips rolling. I selfishly drink from her, pulling some of her pleasure for myself.

I could live with my face in her cunt.

“Fuck,” she whines, her back arching off the bed.

I push her legs back, folding her, and crush my face against her. Her body quakes, and her legs fight me, but I continue to feed. Feed until she’s convulsing again.

“Damnit, Blackwell,” she rasps, still trying to squirm from me.

Easing up, I crawl up beside her. Keeping her on her back, I lie on my side, hooking an arm under her knee. Then I slide my cock inside of her, stealing her breath and mine.

Her chin tilts towards the ceiling on a gasp, then she snaps her head down and slaps a hand on the back of my neck to yank me in for a deep kiss. It’s messy and raunchy as we both try to get as many kisses in as possible, like we’re running out of time.

Our arms become tangled, and her other leg joins the one I still have hiked up. She’s folded in half as I pound into her. She mewls in my mouth, and I bite her bottom lip. She whines and crushes her face against mine. Diving her tongue into my mouth.

Using my bicep to clamp her legs down, I slide my fingers against the tautness of her pussy. Flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves in rhythm with my thrusts. As soon as she cries out with yet another orgasm, I wrap my fingers around her jaw to hold her close. Our foreheads pressed together, we share the same breath.

Just as that tingle at the base of my spine spikes and makes its way to my balls, I pull out and explode all over her cunt. Exhaling with every spurt. My hips are still moving. My lungs are still struggling.

Once my body allows me to function, I press my lips to her forehead, eyes closed, breathing her in. I let the kiss linger before parting from her. Only to grab something to clean her off. Then I slink back into bed.

She’s pliant in my arms, her breath ghosting over my chest in soft, slow intervals. The sun is now high in the sky, casting a golden streak across her skin, turning her into something unreal.

Her eyes are closed, her lashes resting against her rosy cheeks, her lips swollen from the way I kissed her. But I know she isn’t asleep.

We’re lying on our sides, our ankles entwined, and her hair tangled. My fingers twist around the strands, over and over, slow and reverent. I could stare at her for hours.

“Why did you come to me last night?” I ask quietly, brushing a lock of hair away from her face.

She hesitates, then opens her eyes and stares back at me for a long moment. “I wanted to thank you. For finding Blender.” She doesn’t need to say it, but what she meant was she didn’t know how else to thank me. I won’t call her on it, though. “Harlan said you were pretty determined,” she says, softer this time.

“It was important to you,” I say simply, like it should be reason enough.

She tries to shrink away, like she always does when I get too close. When the truth creeps up, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Sinclair.” Her name slips from me like a promise.

She looks at me, those eyes holding a vulnerability that cuts through me. She’s already retreating in her mind, searching for her next exit. But not this time.

I curl an arm around her waist, pulling her in so she has no choice but to stay. No choice but to hear me.

“There will always be games to be played. Butthis.Thisis not a game. You and I arenota game.” I see it then. The panic flaring in her eyes. The instinct to run. I hold onto her even more tightly. “You ask anything of me, and you have it,” I say, each word deliberate. “Every want, every need, it’s yours. Everything I have, every fucking inch of me, is yours.”

Her eyes glass over with something I can’t name, but I recognize it. She doesn’t know how to receive love, let alone see it when it’s laid bare in front of her.

She shakes her head like she’s trying to physically cast the words off her. “Please, stop,” she whispers.

“No,” I say too harshly. “Not until I’m finished.”

“You said anything I ask of you. Is mine. So, please. Stop saying these things.”

“Once I'm finished.” I tilt her chin up with a curled finger until her shining and wounded eyes meet mine. “Clair.” Her name is a breath of air on my lips. Reverent like a prayer. “I love you.”

It hangs there for a beat. Then another. A breathless silence stretched between two people unraveling in real time.

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