Page 93 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

“That’s my girl.” I slipped a finger over her swollen clit, and Cordelia let out another one of her chesty moans that burrowed straight through me. I brought the showerhead right up against her, and with one more flick of my finger, she fell apart. Her knees buckled. Her hands dropped off the wall, only to claw at my arms to keep herself upright. Her neck tilted back, and I caught her mouth with mine, tasting each of her moans as she came undone.

With her orgasm, that white hot cord around the base of my spine wound tighter and tighter. I bit her lip and pushed hard against her backside until my dick was cradled by her ass cheeks. Her trembling muscles were enough to give me that last bit of friction. The one that made the cord snap. The blinding electric shock surged through me until nothing mattered but being as close to Cordelia as humanly possible. I rocked my hips into her and spilled myself over the curve of her ass.

When Cordelia stopped shaking, I dropped the showerhead, and held her against me. She dropped her head back onto my shoulder and blinked up at me, eyes glazed and cheeks flushed. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Cordelia Montgomery, thoroughly satisfied and covered in my cum.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered.

“Sounds good,” I agreed.

Fifteen minutes later, Cordelia had fixed herself back up - and I looked worse than I had right after the fight. The bruises were starting to show color and half my face was swelling up to twice its size.

I expected to walk out of the locker room and find my uncle and Luka waiting, instead Silas fucking Whitaker shoved his camera in my face. Cordelia shot me a small smile and took my hand in hers, her slender fingers weaving through mine. “Just until we’re in the car. Just keep walking.”

I blindly followed her. She took a detour on our way out. My first guess was that she had to take me to visitors’ parking, but instead, she led me through the press room. She smiled but she didn’t pause for the flashing cameras or the yelling reporters, and I instinctively moved closer, physically putting myself between her and the crowd. Once out the door on the other side, I could see the panic creeping into the tight set of her shoulders and her fast breathing. I wrapped my arm around her middle, and she kept walking.

Down to private parking, and to a glaringly red Porsche.

“With three minutes to spare.” Del slapped her book shut and slid off the trunk of her car.

“Didn’t pause for interviews,” Cordelia mumbled.

“Okay, come on, let’s get you home.” Del waved us forward and opened the passenger door. Whitaker took that as his sign and lowered the camera with a sigh.

I walked Cordelia to the passenger side - which had been turned into half a living room. She sat nestled in a fleece blanket with a fluffy pink pillow in her lap. A pair of thick slippers lay to her feet, next to headphones, her iPad and a Dunkin Donuts box. And I counted no less than three bottles and thermos cups.

“What exactly is this?” I asked.

“Comfort,” Del quipped, “I figured leaving the house was hard enough. Might as well make the car as comforting as can be.”

If I were to believe in soulmates, it wouldn’t be because of me. It would be because of them. Del and Cordelia had this strange bond that I could never understand. It was like they took one look at each other and recognized a missing piece of themselves. Cordelia and I were a match forged by circumstance, but they had always been meant to find each other.

“What about all of this,” I clarified by circling my finger to include her and Whitaker in my question, “and where’s Irina?”

“I’m just following the story.” Whitaker shrugged and got in the back seat. He was clearly lying but he wasn’t who I was concerned about.

“Get in. I’ll explain.” Cordelia gave my hand one more squeeze before reaching past me for the door handle.

It wasn’t until we were several miles from the arena and both Cordelia and Del stopped constantly checking the rearview mirrors before Cordelia turned around in her seat to face me. “Hi.” She offered me an exhausted smile.

“Hi.” I scooted forward and ran a finger down the delicate curve of her jaw.

“I couldn’t come alone. I can’t even drive,” she said and nodded towards Delilah behind the steering wheel, “and Del is the best driver I know.”

She wasn’t wrong. Del was expertly weaving her car through the streets now, just slightly above the speed limit, but that pocket-sized blonde could have probably gone up against Luka in his glory days.

“I didn’t know how hard it would be to get you past your uncle,” Cordelia continued, “but I figured a camera would be a pretty good shield. Silas Whitaker behind the camera? Practically untouchable. And then leaving Irina at home was mostly about space. Two cars would be a bigger target than one if your uncle was going to cause trouble, and I wasn’t sure how hurt you’d be and how much of the backseat you’d need. She put this in my purse though.” Cordelia reached for her bag and handed it to me.

The weight already gave it away. I still unzipped it to find a 9mm covered in pink rhinestones. “She gave you a pink gun.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, the one word rattling through her chest.

“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned and took the gun before returning her purse. Of course my stupid baby cousin would give a gun to someone who dealt with PTSD from gun violence. “I’m sorry.”

“She meant well.” Cordelia pulled her shoulders up.

“Not to interrupt, but I need to know if we’re gunning for the border or if you need a hospital first,” Del asked, shooting me a quick appraising glance in the rearview mirror.

“Border,” I said in unison with Cordelia and Whitaker.

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