Page 59 of The Reaper
“I need this.”
He didn’t hesitate again.
Clothes fell in pieces. Mouths met with a desperate hunger. Skin on skin, warm and grounding, the weight of him over me exactly what I needed to feel tethered to something real.
I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs as Caleb’s hands roamed my body.
The threat of the note lingered, but his touch chased it away, replacing it with a heat that pooled low in my belly. My long hair spilled over the pillow, and I caught a glimpse of us in the full-length mirror across the room—a gift from a friend, now a silent witness to this unraveling.
His broad, muscular frame hovered over me, his chiseled abs flexing as he moved, and I couldn’t look away from the raw power in his body.
“Watch us,” he murmured, his voice a rough command that sent a shiver through me.
He shifted, guiding my chin toward the mirror with a gentle but firm grip. My breath hitched as I saw myself—cheeks flushed, lips parted—beneath him, his hands sliding down to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they hardened under his touch.
The sight of his strong fingers against my pale skin, the contrast of his tanned, sculpted arms, made my core tighten with need.
He leaned down, his lips grazing my neck, teeth nipping just enough to make me gasp, and I watched in the mirror as his mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of bliss across my collarbone.
My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he obliged, his tongue flicking over my skin with deliberate intent. The mirror reflected every move—his hand sliding between my thighs, parting me with a slow, teasing stroke that drew a moan from my throat. I was wet, aching, and the sight of his fingersglistening as he teased me sent a jolt of arousal straight through me.
“See how much you want this,” he growled, his eyes locking with mine in the reflection.
He positioned himself, the thick length of his cock pressing against me, and I arched into him, desperate for more. With one smooth thrust, he filled me, and I cried out, the sensation overwhelming as I watched his muscles tense, his hips rolling with a rhythm that was both controlled and wild.
The mirror showed it all—his powerful thrusts, the way my body welcomed him, the bounce of my breasts with each movement. My long hair swayed, framing my face, and the image fueled my desire.
This was heaven.
He gripped my hips, angling me so I could see every inch of him sliding in and out, the slick heat where we joined driving me wild.
“Look at us,” he urged, his voice thick with need, and I did—watched as he reached down, his thumb finding my clit, circling it with expert pressure. The dual sensation—his cock filling me, his thumb pushing me closer to the edge—had me trembling, my moans growing louder, echoing throughout the house.
The harbor lights flickered through the window, casting a soft glow over us, but the mirror held my focus. I saw the way his jaw clenched as he fought to hold back, the sweat beading on his brow, and it pushed me over.
My orgasm hit hard, a wave crashing through me, and I watched my own face contort with pleasure, my body shuddering beneath him. He followed moments later, a low groan escaping as he thrust deep, his release pulsing inside me, the mirror capturing the raw intimacy of it all.
Breathless, he collapsed beside me, pulling me into his arms, and I nestled against his chest, the mirror now showing a softer scene—us tangled together, his protective hold a silent promise.
This wasn’t just sex anymore.
He was quiet, but I felt the shift in him as clearly as I felt the tide tugging at the pilings in the harbor outside. Something had settled in his chest. Something dangerous. Something permanent.
“I scared you,” I murmured, voice soft in the low light.
“No,” he said immediately, then added, “You scared me before. When I realized you didn’t take the first note seriously. That’s when I wanted to break something.”
I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his jaw. “You’re really not good at pretending this is just a fling, are you?”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t blink.
“No,” he said. “I’m not pretending anything.”
That silenced me.
He ran his knuckles gently along my arm, and I could feel how tightly wound he still was beneath the calm. Like the soldier in him hadn’t stood down yet.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he added. “You don’t have to handle this alone.”
