Page 46 of Reaper
I close my eyes and let my imagination take over. In my mind, he's still here. The door opens, and he steps back inside, those magnetic eyes dark with want. He says nothing, just moves toward the bed with predatory grace.
My fingers work slowly at first, teasing myself the way I imagine he would. He'd take his time, wouldn't he? Strip away my defenses layer by layer until I was completely at his mercy.
The fantasy shifts, and suddenly he's kneeling between my legs, that cocky smirk replaced by something hungrier. His mouth is hot against my skin, his tongue working me with ruthless precision. The thought makes me arch against my own touch, a soft moan escaping my lips.
In my fantasy, he doesn't hold back. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider as his mouth devours me. I can almost feel the scrape of his stubble against my inner thighs, the way he'd look up at me with those devastating eyes while he worked me toward the edge.
My breathing grows ragged as I imagine him rising over me, positioning himself between my legs. He wouldn't be gentle - not with all that anger and tension crackling between us. He'd take me hard and demanding, the way he'd kissed me earlier.
The fantasy builds as my fingers move faster. I picture him driving into me with desperate hunger, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. The bed would creak under our combined weight as he claimed me completely, roughly, like he owned me.
My body tightens as the fantasy reaches its peak. In my mind, he's growling my name against my throat, his movements becoming more urgent, more possessive. The imagined sensation of him filling me completely pushes me over the edge.
"Reaper!" His name tears from my throat as my climax crashes through me, my back arching off the bed.
The sound of my own voice crying out for him snaps me back to reality with brutal clarity. I lay there panting, staring at the ceiling as shame and confusion wash over me in equal measure.
My body still thrums with aftershocks as I lie there frozen, listening to the silence beyond the door. The sound of my voice crying out his name echoes in my head like an accusation. Did he hear me? Is he standing out there right now, knowing exactly what I just did?
I strain my ears, waiting for footsteps or the creak of floorboards, but there's nothing. Just the sound of my own ragged breathing. Maybe he didn’t hear. Maybe he's already asleep on the couch. Maybe I'm overthinking this.
The cool air raises goosebumps across my naked skin, and I shiver as the last waves of pleasure fade into embarrassment. My body feels hypersensitive, every nerve ending still firing. I should put my clothes back on, but I can't seem to make myself move.
The alcohol is pulling me toward sleep now, making my eyelids heavy. Whatever damage I've done to my pride tonight, I'll deal with it in the morning. Right now I just want to forget this whole mess ever happened.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the mattress, willing my racing heart to slow down. Sleep tugs at the edges of my consciousness, promising escape from my mortification.
The soft click of the door opening makes my eyes snap wide.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Adriana
My world goes silent as I lay there in heated anticipation, my eyes on the man who stands in the doorway; his eyes on me.
“Did you…?” he says.
“I did.”
“That was my name…”
“It was.” I take a slow, ragged breath that does nothing to still my pounding heart. “I was about to sleep, but… I don’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t either.” He comes closer. One step, then another, eyes never leaving my body. He drinks me in with those mesmerizing orbs, and all fatigue leaves my body, replaced by a yearning stronger than I’ve ever known. “There’s just one thing: I don’t plan on sleeping.”
A flush spreads across my skin as his words sink in. Neither was I planning on sleeping — not anymore. My pulse hammers against my throat as he takes another deliberate step toward the bed, his gaze scorching every inch of exposed skin. The air between us crackles with an electricity that makes my nerve endings sing.
"Come here," I whisper, my voice barely recognizable even to myself.
He moves with predatory grace, each step measured and purposeful. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits on the edge, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from hisbody. My breath catches as those magnetic eyes trace the curves of my body.
"Get on the bed," I breathe, surprised by my boldness.
Years of undercover work, of keeping my emotions locked away, of sleeping alone in safe houses and cheap motels — all of it dissolves under the intensity of this moment. I can't remember the last time I wanted someone this desperately, this completely. My body betrays every professional instinct I've ever had as heat pools low in my belly and then, with aching slowness, suffuses the entirety of me.
He shifts closer, the mattress creaking softly. "You sure about this?"
Instead of answering with words, I reach for him, my fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. He leans down, his breath warm against my lips, and for a heartbeat we hover there—suspended between want and surrender.
