Page 387 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Tell me,” I demanded as I rocked just inside her.
“I’m no one,” she practically sobbed, clinging to my hair, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses to my temple and cheek. “I was born with a name, but that girl is dead. She’s been dead for so fucking long, but right now, with you, I want to live. I want to feel. I want to exist outside of the web. Help me, please,” she begged.
When I hesitated, she bent to bite my neck so hard I wondered if she drew blood. When she pulled back, a droplet of red was smeared on her lower lip.
“If you have to call me anything, call me yours,” she told me as she lifted slightly and then jerked down, impaling herself halfway down my cock.
I groaned as she shouted hoarsely, writhing at the width of me inside her.
She was tight, but I was beyond caring.
“Yours,” I echoed as I lifted her off my dick and then, “Yours,” again as I thrust back inside her, working her open on two, three glides until I was balls deep inside that exquisite heat.
I pressed my forehead to her breastbone to stare down at where she took me to the hilt and then looked up to find her watching me with a shattered expression. She moved against me, rolling her hips, gentling my savagery with her sensuality, my frenetic need with her peaceful acceptance.
“Yours,” she agreed before she softly claimed my lips, kissing me so sweetly while she fucked me dirty, leaking all over my lap, gyrating like she’d never stop and never wanted to.
And I got it, then, how little names mattered.
I’d been Finnegan Ramsey and R3d W4rr10r.
I’d been a son and then an orphan.
A redhead. A man. A hacker.
But none of those labels could contain the multitudes of who I was. Who she was.
Who we wanted hopelessly to be to each other even though we knew it was doomed.
Knowing the name she’d been born with didn’t make her more real to me than she was in that moment, her scent in my lungs, her mouth on mine, a year’s worth of friendship tying our hearts together too tightly.
I knew this swan song of a woman, and I knew I loved her.
That this, here, was enough.
And it would play in my heart on an infinite loop until my system crashed.
“Yours,” I panted back to her as I took over, changing the angle again so I could hit that spot that made her mouth bloom open and her eyes roll back.
When she came, it wasn’t my name she shouted hoarsely.
It was ‘Yours.’
And a few minutes later, buried deep inside her, her hands in my hair, her mouth eating my words, I came too and promised the same thing.
“Yours.”
