Page 53 of Rebel
Kinsley’s fingers claw at my back as I press her against the wall and pump up, using all the strength I have left in my thighs.
“Don’t stop,” she groans.
I have no intention of stopping. I slap the wall beside her head, making her flinch, but the shock doesn’t last long, she grabs my neck again, this time using force to pull my face to hers. We kiss, hard and without breaking rhythm.
“Oh fuck,” she murmurs against my lips. “I’m close, I’m… don’t stop.”
“Don't tell me what to do, little villain.”
The low timbre of my voice, maybe the words, or the final, hard thrust, tip her over the edge and she comes hard, clenching and fluttering around my cock. That is all it takes for me to go over the edge, too. My cum fills her, pumping out of me as I tip my head back and try not to roar as pleasure takes over all other thought.
I stagger back, and her legs unwrap, her feet drop to the ground, and my cock slips out of her. Kinsley slumps against the wall, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling. Her skin is damp with blood and sweat, and the longer she stands there, my cum seeps from her pussy onto her thighs.
That drives me fucking mad, enough that I want to take her all over again. Good sense takes over.
“Are you on the pill?” I ask bluntly.
In the heat of the moment, I wasn’t thinking, but there is no way I’m putting myself in the position Nero found himself in. I’ll get her some Plan B if I have to.
Her eyes spring open and her already dark pupils look blacker. I expect her to blow up. Instead she nods, watching for my reaction. Hersurprise registers when I gently move some hair off her sweaty cheek and push it behind her ear.
Considering the violence of how we fucked and the coarseness of my question, that was a tender move.
She is naked, my jeans are hanging beneath my ass, and I tug them and my underwear up. Everything she was wearing is destroyed either by my tearing it or her cutting it with the knife.
“I need to go.”
“Okay.”
I’m not sure what else to say to her. We shouldn’t have done this again, but it was different this time. Yes, it was hard and fast, but something has changed. There was no hate in what we did. More like an understanding of how we’re different to other people. Yet…we’re the same.
It’s fucking dangerous, and Kinsley is smart enough to understand that too.
My gaze goes to the portrait of me on the canvas closest to us. I avoid looking at the one behind it, at the image she’s drawn of Stryker. It’s far too real for me to look at it right now.
Or examine how fucking irritated I am that she has drawn one of my brothers too.
“Getting involved with me isn’t safe.”
“I’m aware. I’ll be leaving when the mural is done.”
Something about the way she says that doesn’t ring true, I don't have time to press her on it.
I’ve got things to do tonight. There is one question I am not leaving without getting an answer to first.
“Who was the cop who called you?”
Kinsley tries not to react. Anyone else might have missed it, but not me.
“Why did that call make you look like you saw a ghost?”
“We don’t need to have deep and meaningful conversations because we fucked again.”
My lip twitches, there she is. Her eyes narrow when I study her face for a glimpse behind the wall she has erected.
“This isn’t over,” I say.
“The chat, or the fucking?”
