Page 33 of Descent
As if he heard my mental plea—shared in it, even—he pushed me against the steering wheel, and the horn blared, echoing off the deserted landscape. Our eyes locked and held, sparking with mutual desire as he tugged my pants down my thighs. I shrugged out of the muddy denim, and he reached for the hem of my tee, yanking it over my head until I sat on his lap in nothing but my undergarments.
Instead of clearing my arms of the shirt, he used it to restrain my hands above my head, and a furrow formed between his brows as his attention lowered to the space between my breasts. Keeping one hand on the shirt holding me hostage, he fisted the key dangling in my cleavage. “This belongs to me.”
“So do I.”
He frowned, knuckles going white as he clutched the key that meant so much between us. Uncertainty infused his eyes as he searched my face. “We don’t have to do this right now.”
The reasons for waiting were plentiful. I still felt Zach’s imprint on my soul, could fucking smell the memory of him on me, wafting off my skin in a phantom scent that made me nauseous. Rafe and I had things to talk about, and new scars that needed time to heal, but maybe the biggest reason lay in the secret I had yet to spill.
“I want you,” I whispered, pushing all the reasons to the back of my mind to be dealt with later. Right now, I needed him, thirsted for the anesthetic of his punishing love. “Fuck me…and don’t be gentle about it.”
Imparting a low, sexy growl, he let go of the key, and it dropped between my breasts again. He finished removing the shirt trapping my wrists, and I lowered my palms to his chest as he unhooked the back clasp on my bra. Inching the cups down, leaving the straps hanging off my shoulders, he took my sensitive nipples between thumb and forefinger and applied pressure until I squirmed on his lap.
“Are you wet for me?”
“God yes.”
He swiped my panties to the side, cock teasing my opening, and again, he gave me that look.
The one full of hesitation and apology.
“I want you inside me, Rafe.”
With a quick thrust, he pushed into me, and our chests came together, skin-to-skin. Foreheads touched, green eyes locked on green eyes. Deep moans rent the air between us, sparking the atmosphere with a union so sacrilegious, I wondered if we’d spontaneously combust. My heartbeat doubled, and I exhaled in shallow puffs with each drive of my hips. There was no better high than becoming one with Rafe.
Slowing the pace, he brushed his lips against mine in a kiss full of sweet longing. Of apologetic sorrow. “I’m so sorry I left you there.”
“Stop apologizing,” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want your sorrow. I want you to make it hurt.”
“Why, baby? You need to talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
His eyes shuttered, and even in the dimness of night, I detected the slashes of self-flagellation on his face. “What did that bastard do to you?”
I shook my head, firmly planted in the land of denial. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It fucking matters.”
“It doesn’t. Just fuck me.”
Pulling the lever on the side of the seat, he reclined, then he grabbed me by the hips and bounced me on his cock, each forceful downward angle designed to plunder and bruise. It was rough and animalistic, and I groaned with every thrust—a cross between pain and pleasure.
“Is this how you want it?” Frustration laced his tone, though I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or himself. We both knew that after the dust settled from this frenzy, and the real world coalesced with the bubble we’d created, we would be forced to confront the shit neither of us wanted to face.
Arching his hips, he made me take his entire length, hands holding me immobile as he stalled inside me. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes!” I cried. “Don’t stop.”
“Tell me what he did to you.”
Shaking my head, I tried crawling off of his lap, but he wouldn’t allow it, and his cock stayed right where it was, planted deep inside me.
So deep I couldn’t ignore the connection between us. Couldn’t avoid or escape it.
“Tell me,” he insisted.
“He fucked me.”
Rafe tugged me down by the hair, and my trembling mouth almost met his. “No, sweetheart. You’re using the wrong word.” Tone a soft caress on my lips, he framed my cheeks between warm hands. “Zach raped you.”
I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. Blinking rapidly, I did my damndest to stave off the threat of fresh tears, but my composure fissured, guilt sprouting from the cracks. Burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, I gave in to the sobs wracking my soul.
“He made me come,” I choked out, heart cracking at having to admit that to him.
