Page 58 of Then Came You

“Come here.” His tone is low and lethal. My body responds by tingling in the most sacred of places.

“Is that a good idea?” I ask stupidly, wanting more than ever to have his hands on me.

“I don’t really care, Tink.” His inhibitions are lowering rapidly just like mine.

We may have agreed to keep things platonic, but our feelings for each other are anything but.

As if I have no control over my body, I lift off the couch and swan over to him.

Looking down at his lustful face, the same wanton need is reflected in his eyes. It’s taking every bit of control for him to not reach out and pull me on top of him, and I respect that, but I resent it at the same time.

His hands are bundled into fists, and his eyes are dark and stormy.

“Turn around and sit, baby girl.” The name he praises me with slips from his lips, but there’s no inflection that he regrets saying it. I follow his directions to a tee, sinking to the floor. “Remove your shirt.” I’m naked underneath mainly because the bra straps still hurt my bruises.

“I don’t have anything on,” I confess.

Moving my messy mop of hair over to one shoulder, Blade whispers, “remove it, sweetheart.” His lips meet my skin, leaving a far too short and chaste kiss on my shoulder. I feel like my neck is on fire from his brief sizzling touch.

What am I doing?

What is he doing?

What are we doing?

The force of us is too strong to fight.

I cross my arms at the bottom of my shirt and slowly lift it above my head. The ghost of Blade's fingers skate up my hips, waist, and caress the side of my chest until he takes over and removes it the rest of the way.

“Heaven,” he murmurs in reverence. Wandering his hands lightly up and down my sides, I melt between his legs. His touch obliterates the last time those rapists had their hands on me. He’s rewriting the contours of my body. He’s giving my scars and bruises a better ending than how they began.

I test out my breathing to see if I’m indeed still alive or gone to heaven.

“Mmm, so good.” My voice is choppy and throaty, but I’m proud that I manage to mumble at least something out.

Blade’s strong hands were made for my pleasure.

I don’t even have to tell him how to drive; he already has the manual and knows his way around. At his touch, I lull my head back and forth like a kitten cuddling up to her master.

I’m aware his cock is getting stiff behind my head by its hardened prodding, but I can’t muster up the strength to care in the slightest.

Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into God knows how long. I’m gasping, on the verge of panting, as he slides his hands toward my chest again. There isn’t a sound around us apart from our heavy breathing and the echoing of crickets outside.

I’m embarrassingly wet. How do I know? Every time I wriggle I can feel it, plus there’s a faint muskiness in the air.

“Is this alright?” Blade asks for permission, whispering in my ear, his breath hot on my skin. I nod mutely, giving him the go-ahead to continue. “I need your words, baby girl.” He gets how much consent means to me after what happened, and for that, I’m grateful.

“Don’t stop,” I chant, craning my neck so I have access to his full lips. I press an open-mouthed kiss to his, invading him with my tongue. The scrape of his beard feels too damn good on my chin. He tastes like the medicine my body has been craving. His breath is hot and minty, but not toothpaste or chewing gum minty, but peppermint tea fresh. It’s a welcome contrast of hot and cold mingling in our mouths. Our wildly passionate kiss is intensified by his thumb and forefinger pinching my erect nipple while his other hand cups one of my breasts. I love how I fill his hands up. When he palms it in his hand, I’m featherlight, and the twinge in my back lessens. “Fuck, I missed you,” I moan, unable to tear my mouth away from his. I feel his smile on mine.

He tweaks my nipple, playing with my barbell, sliding it back and forth. I writhe against his touch. “Baby girl, you have no idea.” He removes his fingers momentarily, putting them to my mouth. “Suck. Make sure you get them nice and wet,” he commands, stroking my other breast, squeezing gently. My tongue salaciously wraps around his fingers, slurping from tip to knuckle. The sounds are obscene but his groan tells me he’s one happy little vegemite. When he removes them from my mouth, I kiss the tips. Once again, his fingers make my nipple dance with the way he’s strumming my piercing.

I’ve never wanted to pat myself on the back more than I do now for making the decision to get my boobs pierced. This sensation is otherworldly.

“Christ, baby girl, the way you're pushing into my hands is going to make me blow,” he growls, smashing his lips back to mine in fervour. I grab the scruff of his neck and pull him toward me, willing him to suck the oxygen from my lungs.

He slaps my breasts, fondles them, and excruciatingly screws with my nipples.

“Blade, I’m going…I’m nearly there…Oh.” I scream in climax, but no sound comes out. Full-body tremors rack me. It’s like all the tension I’ve clamped up releases, and my body is now languid.

---