Page 11 of Hostile Bond
He was a friend. Now, as adults, that friendship has bloomed into an undeniable desire, enriched with love, and shadowed with all things immoral and savage.
Still flat on my back, he continues to slide in and out of me. The urgency remains strong, but the disturbing glint in his eyes has scattered. I push up onto my elbows to get closer, helped by his scooping hands that wrench me to a sitting position. Our chests collide. The skin to skin contact is slippery from sweat. The contact sizzles from a dynamic alchemy that neither of us can hide from.
I keep my thighs wide and my legs hooking his hips. A securing arm wraps the curve of my spine, the pressure firm, locking me against him as he grinds his pelvis to angle in excruciatingly deeper––sensuous and slow.
Pressed tightly to his thrumming heart, I feel the intensity of it slamming from his chest to mine. My senses react to the scent of his salty skin wearing a hint of destruction, the trace of coppery knuckle wounds, and every carnal groan that vibrates from deep within his throat.
We move together, more in tandem than before. Equal in hot intensity. His mouth worships mine. Our lips bruise and devour, our tongues dancing. This time, the way he kisses me isn’t hard and vicious. It's so much more.
Dirtier, hungrier… possessive and emotional.
This new balanced pace we create sets my soul alight and welcomes back the burning heat that drives me crazy for him. He isn’t punishing me or listening to the incomprehensible mind games of his dead father. Rather, he’s opening himself up to me and allowing a complete surrender. His dick fills me, his sinewy controlling arms refuse to release me.
“You’re the hottest fuck I’ve ever had. It’s me and you, baby…” he hisses into my mouth, sucking my tongue and squeezing my ass tighter as he burrows himself in deeper. “Me and you…”
And that’s it, the moment when the tip of his bullish dick presses against my spot of detonation. It starts off violent and insistent. There’s no faking this reaction to his mastery. Shivers rain over my scalp as a full body orgasm takes over my senses, torches my veins, and decimates my soul.
I scream out his name, hearing my tattered, breathless voice from the back of my mind. The very mind that can’t fathom the pleasurable electrical current charging through every cell in my being.
He snarls and thrusts upward, his mission to offer pleasure becoming unstoppable. I scrape at his shoulders, trying to withstand the intensity, my parted mouth close to the shell of his ear. “Say it one more time…” I pant.
“I love you,” he says thickly, his voice rushing as he finally gives himself permission to let go. “It’s me and you, Sin.”
The feral snarl escaping his throat prickles every hair on my used body. His spine goes rigid and his hands secure me in place to pump his cum in deep. He pants, growls, and drives his tongue into my mouth.
Once he’s fully emptied himself and the delicate web of our vows settles over the two of us, he withdraws and cups my face. He lightly brushes his nose with mine and places a tender kiss on the tip. I breathe him into my lungs and gaze up at him.
His head cocks to the side and his eyes turn blacker than black. Almost primitive in their quicksilver transformation.
“No one comes for my family. Whoever did this to us will die in an unimaginable nightmare. Tommy was right all along. Love is death.”
I freeze for a second. My heart thrashes from the subzero tone he uses and how his countenance readjusts from utterly devoted to harrowing in a heartbeat.
Shadows pass over his rugged features as the sunlight beyond the window disappears, making him the epitome of villainous.
Death and destruction swirl in the bottomless carbon-black pits of his personal hell.
“There’s no coming back from this war, Sin.”
5
SINÉAD
There’s no casket to lower into the ground.
No remains to lie within cushioned satin.
Only a rainbow of tropical flowers on a platform and a collage of heartbreaking photographs.
Blistering sunshine beats down on us from a clear blue sky, the penetrating rays powerless to crack through the darkness blanketing the select few mourners.
Fat seabirds swoop at the grassy ledge we’re gathered on, their noisy presence making my husband's hand twitch next to the thick rifle strap slung over his shoulder.
In other circumstances, the Cuban island fringed by an aquamarine ocean and white sandy beach would feel like heaven. Perhaps that’s the reason André had chosen this blissful location. Except standing here amidst a collection of notorious killers, it feels remote and even further away from Ireland.
Some people are lucky enough to have a vacation home by the sea, whereas cartel billionaires own massive islands and the aircraft that take them there. André’s privately owned slice of the world, like a coin dropped in the middle of the ocean, has a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree marine barrier, making it the ideal location as our new home for the foreseeable future.
It’s been three days since the rooftop at Sky Hotel was obliterated. Seventy-two lonely hours of watching my husband’s mutation.
