Page 79 of Undeniably Corrupt
“No. Ah, stop.”
“You don’t mean that.” I continue to take her like this, knowing I can get her to another orgasm.
Her face pinches up, and she’s struggling to catch her breath. “It’s too much. I can’t move. Can’t control it.”
“I’ve got you. Feel how I own every part of you and control your pleasure. Submit to it, Liora. I’ve got you.”
I roll her clit, lightening some of the intense pressure I was pushing on it, and adjust her so that both her legs are on my shoulders. Climbing up onto my knees, I bring her with me, suspending her in the air. With my other hand on her hip, I piston in and out of her, not slowing or letting up on this.
I need to come. I need to come so fucking badly, and I’mright there. Hell, I’ve been right there since I first thrust into her. But I won’t until she gives me another orgasm. I drive into her, rubbing her faster, and on a screeching cry that has me covering her mouth with mine to stifle it, she comes, harder and hotter and wetter than the last time.
She fucking gushes all over me, and it sets off my own release. I come inside of her, sucking on her lip and groaning and grunting into her mouth. She whispers encouragements, filthy promises of what she wants me to do to her next time. It’s those words—next time—that have me wrapping myself around her and holding on tight as the last of my aftershocks ripple through me.
I collapse, taking her with me, and for several moments, I can’t move or think beyond the pulsing pleasure still echoing through my body. Eventually, I shift my weight to avoid crushing her and reach up to untie her wrists. The silk has left faint red marks on her skin, and I bring each wrist to my lips, kissing the tender spots and rubbing the ache out of them.
“You okay?” I ask, suddenly concerned that I was too rough.
She smiles, a lazy, satisfied curl of her lips. “I’m good.”
I pull her into my arms, her back to my chest, and our legs tangle together. The sweat cools on our skin, and when I notice goose bumps on her arms, I pull the blanket over us. I have no clue what I’m doing, but I’m unable to stop as I press kisses to her shoulder, neck, and the back of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair, loving how she still uses my shampoo.
We lie here breathing together, the weight of our history and a million spoken and unspoken words suspended between us. I don’t know what to say. What I should offer her and what I shouldn’t. Hell, I don’t even know what I want other than her.
Her fingers trace patterns on my arm, and I tense. She hasn’t seen my tattoo yet. How will she react when she does? What will I tell her about it?
Too soon, she pulls away and sits up, keeping her back to me. “I should go back upstairs. Hazel might wake up.”
“Right,” I say, reluctantly loosening the last of my hold on her.
We’ve crossed a line we can’t uncross. The taste of her is still on my tongue, the feel of her still imprinted on my skin. My bed smells like her, like us together, and I already know I’ll be haunted by it when I try to sleep.
I sit up, running a hand through my hair, uncertainty spiraling through me. My entire life has been upended. The careful walls I’ve artfully constructed, she’s breached. The truth is, I’m still in love with her. I never stopped. But I’m not sure how to reconcile how I feel about her with what my life is. With what her life is.
She turns and kisses me once more, soft and sweet, but brief and a little detached, before she slips from the bed. I watch her gather my shirt and slip it back on. She looks rumpled and thoroughly fucked, and something possessive stirs in my chest at the sight. I don’t want her to go back upstairs. I want her to sleep in here beside me.
That feeling quickly turns on me as she throws me a fleeting glance and walks out of my room.
I fall back and press my fists into my eyes. For better or worse, Liora is under my skin. She’s in my blood. She’s my girl. The one I let get away and the one I’m positive I’ll never get over. Yet she’s not even close to being there with me.
Now that I’ve had this with her, how am I supposed to let her go?
24
Pingrings out through the quiet darkness of my bedroom, stirring me from a hard-won sleep far too soon. With a groan, I roll over and slap at my phone. It’s likely spam. Or a reminder that my credit card payment is due soon. Ugh.
Either way, I don’t want to know at… “Five? It’s five in the morning?” slips out venomously. I don’t have to be up for another half an hour. “This better be good.”
I open the text and sigh because I have not one but two texts.
Due to inclement weather, Bright Lights Daycare will be closed today.
The second one is from my clinical instructor stating the school is closed today and therefore there is no clinical either.
Crap.
That means I have to be home today too. Should I text my boss or go downstairs, crawl back into his bed, and let him know? I snicker and lift the sheet, taking in Vander’s shirt I putback on before I fled his room. At least he won’t be here today. He never is.
After the longest mental debate in history, I sayfuck it, dramatically toss the sheets back, and climb out of bed.
