Page 77 of Savagely Yours
He said nothing.
I could barely see him, my vision blurred.
“Downstairs, I heard that the pie was poisoned,” I tried again. “It was for someone in the conference room. I knew you guys were having a meeting, and then they said 720. I knew then it was for you.”
Still, he didn’t comment.
“That’s why I,” I sniffed, “picked the fight. I was hoping you’d call me upstairs. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but Dez, I knew you couldn’t ingest that poison. Not after everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done for me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate you and how you’ve cared for me. That’s not it, I swear, but the thought of you not being here…”
My head fell.
The tears on my dress collected to form a large wet spot.
“Tapley,” he quietly called.
I looked up, and he’d gone from the door to kneeling in front of me.
“Tapley, I live in 722.”
I swallowed and swiped at my eyes with the heel of my palm. “What?”
“I don’t live in 720. I live in 722. And Mae has a system for the way she sends up my food. It’s so I know it’s from her, know it’s safe.”
“So, you’ll be okay?”
He searched my eyes. “Sweetheart, what the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Clearly.”
“What was I supposed to do?” I asked, harsher than intended. “Was I supposed to let you die? I’m not doing that, Dez. I’m never doing that.”
“Do you think I wantyouto die? Larke, I…” His voice broke, and he momentarily closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the rims had reddened even deeper. “I fucking love you, Larke. There’s nothing here for me without you. And I don’t mean here, at Totten. I mean here, in this life. I’m living for you. Just for you.Onlyfor you. Killing yourself? It’ll kill me too.”
Before I could respond, his mouth came down hard on mine, and he snatched me up off the floor. In only a few steps, I was on my back on his bed. I cradled both sides of his face, our breaths going from fear to pleasure. Terror to peace. No one was dying, so we could take this moment and have it to ourselves. In this space, all time belonged to us.
“I’m sorry, Tapley.” He kissed my neck, my collarbone, my shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you.”
I kissed whatever part of him I could reach—temple, eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the tip of his forehead. I licked the salt from his tears from my lower lip.
“Make what up to me?”
He backed away and tugged on the tights.
As he tugged, I shoved my panties down to my ankles. I only managed to get one foot out, but one foot was all I needed. Then, I rose to my knees and pulled him back toward me, sucking onand flicking my tongue along his lips. Our fingers scraped, and our hands bumped as we worked on his belt. The clicks, followed by the hiss from his zipper, sent a pulse directly between my legs.
We shoved down his pants, and I wrapped my fingers around the thick column of his shaft. We sighed at the same time, and I journeyed to the tip and used my thumb to spread the moisture there along his head.
Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed my wrists, nudged me back to the mattress, joined our fingers above my head, and massaged my clit with his erection. Every moment leading up to this one was foreplay, so I was ready for him the moment his hot skin met mine.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Sorry for what?”
“Need you.”
He entered me with one slow thrust.
