Page 88 of Reaper
I need this. Need to worship him with my mouth and hands, need to memorize every inch of him in case tomorrow brings the ending that people like us so often get. The thought terrifies me more than any gun or knife ever could.
What scares me isn't dying. It's losing him.
Losing him… and losing myself.
I force myself to stay present, to focus on the way his skin feels warm and alive beneath my palms. My hands slide across the hard ridges of his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles contract under my touch. He's beautiful like this - vulnerable yet strong, completely mine in this moment.
When I trace the tattoo that curves along his hipbone, he makes that sound again, deeper this time. His wrists strain against the handcuffs, and I can see the tension in his shoulders as he fights the urge to reach for me.
"Easy," I murmur, pressing kisses along the path my fingers have traced. "I've got you.”
And I do. Right now, in this bed, in this stolen moment between violence and uncertainty, I have him completely. The thought should make me feel powerful, but instead it fills me with something softer. Something that scares me more than any gun ever could.
Don't think about Vanessa. Don't think about the overdose. Don't think about what he might have…
I kiss him harder, trying to drown out the whispers in my head. His response is immediate and electric, his whole body arching toward me despite the restraints. This is what I need to remember - the way he sees me. Not as broken goods or damaged cargo, but as someone worth protecting. Someone worth those careful breakfasts he makes, standing at the stove in just his jeans while I watch from the kitchen table, marveling that someone like him wants to take care of someone like me.
Those eyes of his — God, those impossibly bright eyes — they look at me like I'm something precious. Like my darkness doesn't scare him, it completes him somehow. He understands I carry a gun because sometimes that's what it takes to protect people who can't protect themselves. He doesn't try to talk me out of walking into danger; he just makes sure I don't walk into it alone.
My mouth finds the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder, and I feel him shudder beneath me. The handcuffs clink softly against the headboard as his hands flex, wanting to touch me back.
"Adriana," he breathes, and there's something in his voice - need, yes, but also something deeper. Something that sounds like forever, even though we both know forever isn't something people like us get to count on.
That's what terrifies me. Not the Triads or whatever sick job Charlie Eng has planned for us. Not even the possibility that tomorrow might be our last day breathing. What scares me is how much I love him. How completely he's worked his way into the spaces I didn't even know were empty. How the thought of losing him makes me want to burn the entire world down.
I trail my lips lower, tasting salt and something uniquely him, trying to memorize everything about this moment. The way his breathing changes when I find that sensitive spot just below his ribs. The way he whispers my name like it's the only word that matters.
I hook my fingers into the waist of his jeans, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. The denim is rough against my palms as I work the button free, then slowly drag the zipper down. He lifts his hips to help me, and I take my time sliding the fabric down his legs, letting my hands trail along his thighs.
"You're killing me," he groans when I trace patterns on his skin instead of removing his boxers right away.
"Good," I whisper against his hipbone. "I want you to remember this."
When I finally slip his underwear down, he's already hard for me, and the sight makes something hot and possessive coil in my chest. I settle between his legs, running my hands up his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles.
"Adriana, please — "
I silence him by pressing my lips to the inside of his thigh, working my way higher with deliberate slowness. When I finally take him in my mouth, he arcs off the bed with a strangled curse, the handcuffs rattling against the headboard.
I go slow, savoring the taste of him, the way he responds to every movement of my tongue. His breathing turns ragged, and I can feel the restraint it takes for him to hold still, to let me set the pace.
"Fuck, baby," he gasps when I pull back to tease him with just the tip of my tongue. "You feel so good."
I hum against him, the vibration making him shudder. "Tell me what you want," I murmur, my lips brushing against his skin.
"You. Just you. Always you."
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. I take him deeper, losing myself in the rhythm, in the way his body responds to mine. This is what I need - this connection, this proof that whatever darkness surrounds us, we still have this moment.
His breathing becomes more labored, his hips moving despite his efforts to stay still. I can feel him getting close, can hear it in the way my name falls from his lips like a prayer.
"Adriana, I'm — "
I don't let him finish the warning, taking him over the edge as his whole body goes taut beneath me. The handcuffs strain against the headboard as he rides out the waves, my name the only coherent sound he can make while I swallow, again and again, taking every drop that he gives me.
When it's over, I rest my cheek against his thigh, listening to his harsh breathing slowly return to normal. His skin is warm and damp with sweat, and I press a soft kiss there before moving up to curl against his side.
"Fucking hell," he breathes, turning his blindfolded face toward me. "Come here."
