Page 80 of Relapse

It's from the words. I know her. I know every crack in her armor.

"I tried to stay away," I say, leaning over her, my chest against her back, my mouth at her ear. “Told myself you were better off,” I mutter roughly against her skin. “Told myself getting rid of you was the right thing.”

Blair’s fingers tighten in my hair immediately.

“But you do,” she breathes shakily.

A laugh leaves me then.

Not amused, but broken.

Because fuck, she has no idea.

“I fucking do.”

I drag my mouth slowly along her jaw before biting lightly at her earlobe hard enough to pull a sharp sound from her throat.

“We didn’t send you away just because of Dante,” I murmur darkly. “It was us too.”

Her breathing stutters beneath me.

“Our world. The shit we do. What we become.” My hand tightens harder against her thigh. “You think I didn’t know what being around us would do to you?”

Blair’s eyes search mine now. Less teasing and more vulnerable.

“We were trying to keep you safe from all of it,” I continue quieter now. “From Dante. From Severance Point.” My forehead presses briefly against hers. “From us.”

Something twists painfully across her expression at that.

“But you couldn’t stay away,” she whispers.

“No.” I close my eyes briefly against the confession clawing up my chest. “Because you’re not the problem, little addict. You’re the fucking drug.”

Her breath catches sharply.

“I spent months trying to quit you,” I murmur roughly. “And the second you came back, I relapsed so hard I stopped pretending I even wanted to recover.”

Blair actually shivers beneath me.

“You say the craziest shit when you’re balls deep inside me,” she whispers.

“And you still melt for it.”

“Fucking right I do,”

I pull out, spin her around, and push her back onto the couch. Her legs fall open, and I'm between them again in seconds, slamming back inside her, deeper this time. Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails digging in, and I watch her face—eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, a single tear escaping from the corner of her eye.

"Look at me," I demand.

She does. Her eyes open, dark and wet and full of something I'm afraid to name.

"I'm not letting you go again," I say, and my voice cracks on the last word. "I don't care what happens. I don't care if you're bad for me. You're mine. Ours."

Her fingers slide into my hair, pulling my forehead against hers. "I know," she whispers. "I know, Noir. I'm not running."

I kiss her. Hard. Desperate.

My hips pound into her, faster, harder, the couch groaning beneath us, the rain drowning out everything but our breaths and the wet sound of our bodies. I feel her tightening around me, feel her orgasm building, and I reach between us, thumb pressing her clit in tight circles.