Page 182 of Those Who Are Bound

She spread her legs wider for him without hesitation, careful of her ankle; of course, at this point, she wouldn’t care if she had to cut it off, if it meant keeping Jonah between her thighs. He kissed and caressed his way down her body, taking time again with her breasts. He bit the tips and then soothed away the sting with gentle licks.

She trembled, she moaned, she thrashed, she pulled at him. He was propelling her toward the cliff, and she desperately needed him to fling her out over it, to fall, to shatter into a million pieces. Because he had a way of miraculously pulling her back into herself again, whole; complete.

So when he shifted upward and covered her again, his mouth crashing into hers, his hand still between her legs, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His fingers slid up, and his cock was pressing against her, into her, thrilling her all over again.

His hand between them massaged her clit as he thrust in slowly… and lazily drew out… so she could feel every hot, hard inch of him. In… out, filling her fully and then retreating, leaving her desperate and needy and aching—panicking in the span of breathy nanoseconds—until he pushed back in again.

Rational thought—she didn’t even know what that was; all she knew was Jonah, the glorious stretch of her pussy, his teeth nipping at her jawline, and their shared breaths. Arching her back, she rubbed her sensitive tips against his chest, further tantalized by the sensation. His groan let her know he enjoyed it as much as she.

His teasing fingers and the friction he was creating between her legs were sending her once more toward the heady drop. Instead of being flung, though, it was a slow, languorous slide, matching his pace.She allowed herself to slip, her body shaking, her legs trembling. “Oh please, oh please, oh please,” she begged, her hands slipping around to his buttocks, pulling him closer; she needed him. Needed him in her, around her, always… always.

Jonah pushed her damp hair from her forehead—whether it was from the shower or from their lovemaking, she didn’t know anymore—and demanded of her, “Look at me when you come.”

Yes. She obeyed, rapt attention on him, and he picked up his pace. She bit her lower lip, but he shook his head at her. Then took her lip into his own mouth and bit, sucked, before his tongue swept in. He kept watching her as his hips undulated, thrusting with purpose.

Her eyelids fluttered. “I can’t.”

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

“I… I…” Her fingernails claimed flesh from his shoulders. Her thighs wrapped around him. Her leg… fuck, it hurt, but, fuck, she was coming, and… “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”

Her head fell back, but his hand grasped her hair and pulled her face even with his as his body slammed into hers. “Eyes!”

Though dazed, she obeyed. She watched him study her face. His attention didn’t leave her, didn’t give her space. His gaze held her in the intimate moment of her release; absorbing every part of her soul. It felt like both a conquest and a liberation at the same time.

When he came, he didn’t offer her the same. He concentrated on her lips, biting in a rough kiss, crying out, teeth clashing.

She woke to a darkened room; no Jonah. It was disappointing but at the same time, a relief. They’d had their last perfect moment, and he had left. No drama.

Stretching, her foot snagged and dragged on the blankets. Disoriented at first, she realized he’d put her Aircast on her. Her heart was warmed by his thoughtfulness.

Getting out of bed, she grabbed her nightshirt from the chair and slipped it on. The light in the front room was still on; he must have left it on for her. Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she limped down the hallway, one hand bracing on the wall as she did so.

When she entered the front room, however, she startled. “You’re here.”

Jonah looked up from his phone and smiled at her. He was sitting on the couch—on clean cushions. He’d cleaned up her mess and washed the cushion covers. This man destroyed her heart. “Of course.”

Words that told her he’d misinterpreted what had happened between them. He had read that as a tentative beginning, not the ribbon on the goodbye that she’d meant it to be.

“You cleaned up.”

“I did.” He gave her an amused look.

Hobbling farther into the room, she said quietly, “I realize I never thanked you.”

Standing, pocketing his phone, he watched her for a moment, picking up on her somber mood. He eventually responded, searching, somewhat guarded, “You did. You have. But you don’t need to thank me.”

“No, I mean… for the gear. The motorcycle gear. I wouldn’t be alive without it.”

I don’t deserve to be alive now, doing this to you a second time. Third time?

A look crossed over his face, and she wondered if he had the same thought she’d just had. Because the way he was looking at her indicated that he was sensing what was coming. The dejection, the anger, the betrayal were all there, hovering, ready to be called forth.

“That day would have ended that way, regardless—except for the wreck, of course. There was nothing you could have done. I’d meant for that to be our last night, and I’d wanted it to be perfect for you. And me,” she admitted. “That’s part of why I was so upset about the interruptions and the misinterpreted plans. I wanted that last memory with you. This one…” She bit her lip as it began to tremble.

Jonah just stared at her, not saying anything, but his hard swallow told her that there was definitely an internal reaction to her words.

“There’s a look,” she tried to explain. “The way you look at me. I feel it everywhere. And I love it. Iwant to leave it at that, while you still have that look in your eye. I want to be able to remember that look in your eyes when I think of you.” A look that wasn’t disappointment. Or horror.

---