Page 86 of Scarred in Silence
When her body shakes—once, twice—I release her throat completely. Oxygen floods, and with it, unraveling ecstasy. So fucking hot.
She splinters around me, nails carving my shoulders, a howling cry swallowed by thunder. I flip her over, thrust turning brutal, climax creeping up and down my limbs, white flashing behind my eyes. I empty inside her with a groan that scrapes my vocal cords raw.
We freeze, breathing a shared storm. My palm still cups her throat, protective now, feeling her heartbeat gallop wild. I lower my forehead to hers. Her eyes refocus, hazy but alert. Air fills the room with a slow pace.
“Color?” I ask.
She smiles softly, exhaustion-sweet. “Green,” she croaks, voice rough from strain. Pride consumes me from the fact that I controlled her most delicate element—air—and she loved it.
I stroke my thumb beneath her chin, soothing her pulse, then slip free from her body, collapsing beside. The rain’s slowed to a hush.
The minutes tick by. Panting steadies. I gather her into my chest, spine curved, absorbing her aftershocks. She buries her nose into my collarbone. My heart still hammers; hers too, syncing.
“Too much?” I breathe.
“Not enough,” she counters, voice scratchy. She peeks up. “Next time, rope?”
Greedy Siren. I press my lips to her sweaty hairline. “Next time, rope and a gag.”
She shivers in delighted horror.
She hums in satisfaction. Thunder rolls in the distance, like applause fading.
I glance at naked windows.
“We missed the after-party.”
She stretches catlike. “Worth it.”
I vow to buy this bed on the spot, if only to chain memories here. Buy the whole damn floor. But reality intrudes: midterms, family obligations, and work.
I collect our clothes, toss her my jersey. As she slips it on, lightning paints her silhouette like cracked porcelain—stronger where broken. I’m struck breathless by what we are. Monsters in training, lovers by accident, destined to bleed for each other long after this hotel rots. Even if I do cheat on her, I do it for the release. She is the only one I would bleed for.
She peeks at my face, sees the storm in my skull. “What?”
“I love you.”
Her smile curves wickedly soft. “I love you, too.”
We leave the room at dawn holding hands, smelling of rain and something darker. The clerk pretends he doesn’t notice the bruises. I tip him enough to forget.
Outside, the storm’s broken. The moon glares through the clouds. She looks at the ethereal light like it’s a dare to remake her. I pull her into my side; she tucks sweetly, trusting a demon’s protection.
Inside me, a vow forms; whatever the fuck hunts her, I’ll hunt it back, worse. And if I ever become that Hell, I’ll give her the bullet to stop me.
However, that part of the story awaits another night.
For now, we’re college kids with secrets scalded into skin, stepping into the moonlight, laughing at thunder’s retreat—two sinners certain the world won’t dare catch them.
We have already caught each other.
33
Lucien
I wake to the taste of gunmetal on the back of my tongue.
For a moment, I’m not in my bed—I’m on a warehouse floor, knuckles split, Nicolette’s blood drying between my fingers, Varek’s accusation ringing in my skull: Damien is alive. The memory burns so bright it blinds me.
