Page 106 of Hellbent
He doesn’t move.
Behind me, a hand wraps around my ankle, tight and cold.
I scream but no sound comes out.
The forest goes still. Not quiet. Like it’s holding its breath.
I look back up—he’s gone.
And the dark closes in.
I wake with a gasp, heart thudding, lungs locked. Sweat clings to the back of my neck, my skin clammy and cold.
I’m pinned—heavy weight pressing down on me.
Panic flares, and I squirm, trying to break free. Ryder groans low in his throat, shifting off of me with a rough breath, and I sit up, breathing fast, eyes wide and sightless in the dark room.
The dream clings to me. Trees. Blood. His voice. My legs that wouldn’t move.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to still my heart, and Ryder reaches out, his hand closing over mine, warm and solid, fingers interlacing. He pulls my hand down to my side.
“Hey.” His voice is low and groggy. “It’s okay.”
His voice, his warmth, the weight of his hand—it pulls me back into reality. The dream fades at the edges, chased back into the corners of my mind by his touch.
I exhale a shaky breath and lie back down beside him, turning to face him in the dark, our hands still tangled between us.
His eyes blink, watching me, but we don’t speak. Don’t move.
I focus on listening to his breathing, feeling the warmth of him beside me.
After a while, he untangles our fingers and brushes his hand down my side, the backs of his fingers over my ribs, a gentle stroke beneath the curve of my breast. I exhale through my nose, tension bleeding out in the quiet.
His hand rests there, still for a beat. Then moves again.
A slow circle. Then another.
Impossible, but somehow, after everything, the need is still there. Rising again. Low and warm in my belly. A slow ache building with every pass of his thumb.
I shift closer, my thigh brushing his beneath the sheets. My palm finds the hot expanse of his chest and rests there, feeling the steady thump of his heart under my hand.
His hand slips lower, drawing a line down my side. His fingers trace my hip, then back up again, painting slow shapes into my skin.
My body stirs. There’s no urgency now, just a slow burn winding its way back through me.
Our legs tangle under the sheets. I can feel the slow rise of him between us, already stirring back to life.
When I roll onto my back, he comes with me—covering me again, this time with a softness that makes something ache deep in my chest.
He doesn’t rush.
His hands frame my face, fingers brushing through my hair, and he kisses me gently.
His hips press against me, and I feel the unmistakable weight of his cock between us—thick and hard against my stomach.
I shift beneath him, parting my legs, and he sinks into me.
The stretch is familiar now. Welcome. My body opens for him like it was made for this—made for him—and I gasp softly, head tilting back against the pillow.
