Page 134 of Only for Him
“Let go, little viper,” he coaxes in my ear. “Let go for me.”
But I can’t, oh God, I can’t, the need is torturing me, the pressure building up so fast that I feel like I’m fucking dying each time he pulls out, reborn each time he plunges deep again, hitting me in all the places that feel like heaven.
I’m too close, too far, too full of everything except permission.
Then his hand closes around my throat, holding me still against the tile.
“Look at me while I fuck you,” he commands, and something inside me obeys.
His eyes blaze through me—feral, possessive, devout. And when he says it again, it’s not a request.
“Come for me,” he growls.
I shatter.
Pleasure rips through me, ripping apart every piece of who I was. I’m no longer Giselle the cop, Giselle the sister, Giselle the liar.
I’m just his.
“Good girl,” he hisses, driving inside me so deep that I gasp at the whiplash of coming againeven before the last is through, feeling him shudder and clench against me before cumming inside me—releasing into my quivering, clenching, greedy slit, pumping every last drop as I milk him dry.
I let out a soft, jagged moan. We hover there, bodies slick and steaming, hearts racing in perfect rhythm, washed clean and stained all at once.
Time unravels, and as I slide my fingers along the contours of his chest, I catch the glimpse of promise and threat painted across his face.
He’s still hard, and I’m still desperate, ready for whatever darkness we’re about to unleash, when he begins to thrust again, teeth digging into the claim he already made on my body.
The steam is a gauzy veil,still clinging to the edges of the mirror and the marble tiles. My pulse is steadying, but the heat inside me hasn’t gone. Not after the way he took me like he’d been waiting his whole life for me to let him in.
I think of all the times he could have fucked me and all the times I basically begged for it.
But he waited for tonight.
Why?
No use pretending I don’t know. It’s because he needs me. Or thinks he does.
As much as I need him.
Anguish pulses in the place that just trembled from pleasure. This is sick, dirty, and wrong.
It’s also the cleanest thing in my entire life: the only thing that’s ever fit.
I wrap a towel around my waist. Roman exits the shower behind me, takes my shoulders in his hands. I still shudder because my reserves of need and pleasure are not yet spent. I think I could spend a lifetime with this man inside me and still need more of it in heaven.
Oh, Giselle, you know you’re not going to heaven. Not anymore.
“Starting tonight,” he says, voice low, reverent, temporarily snapping me out of my spiral. “We paint this city red with the blood of men who deserve no mercy.”
The conviction in his tone is a kind of seduction in itself. It sends a ripple through my chest, but I push it down. Cross my arms. The towel slips a little, but I don’t adjust it. We look at ourselves in the mirror.
“There’s risks involved when you decide to be someone’s own personal Judgement Day,” I say, steady, even though my heart is knocking against my ribs. “What happens if you make a mistake?”
His brow lifts slightly. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“I won’t,” he says. “Not with you beside me.”
And there it is again. That same faith. That blinding, impossible trust.
