Page 63 of Juniper Unraveling

My stomach muscles bunch, as if he’s breaching my womb, while my cheeks feel as if I’ve been sitting by a toasty fire for hours.

Sweat glistens across his skin with the constant quake in his muscles, like he’s fighting to maintain his control. He holds himself still inside of me, eyes screwed shut, and breath explodes from his chest on a shudder.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m okay, Six.”

His fingers curl into mine, holding tight, and I wrap my legs around him when he pushes deeper. Deeper.

“Oh, Gah—” The pressure winds inside my belly, and I arch into him.

His jaw hangs open, head tipped back with his eyes closed, and a look of pure ecstasy claims his face.

He thrusts again. And again.

Hooking his arm beneath my thigh, he slides my leg over his shoulder and pushes even deeper, climbing higher up my body.

“Six.” His name arrives as a whisper, a constant chime inside my head that reminds me who has commanded my body this way.

Wriggling a hand free, I slide my palm across his damp shoulders, the steel of his muscles flexing beneath. He’s formidable and strong, but so vulnerable at the same time.

I want to crawl inside of him and stay there. I want to touch his heart, and allow him to touch mine. Hips driving him into me, Six stares into my eyes, and I drown in that sea of blue, letting it pull me under with him to the dark depths of wherever his mind goes.

Beads of sweat wet his hairline and his face pinches with agony, as if it’s all too much for him. A carnal darkness shadows his eyes, and he pushes my leg away.

His movements turn abrupt. His fingers dig into my flesh, bruising my skin. He flips me over onto my stomach and grabs hold of my hips, slamming himself back inside of me.

I cry out again, but the panic in my voice seems to have no effect on him.

I lift my head, but he holds it down, pressing my cheek into the blanket. A wave of fear washes over me, but instead of fighting him, a voice inside tells me to surrender to it. So I do.

I allow his roughness this time.

His body rails into me from behind, while he continues to pin me down. The grunts and moans remind me of animals mating. I close my eyes and imagine that. The two of us in the wild, with him using my body, rutting against me recklessly.

Everything turns numb, and the sting from before fizzles into a fullness in my belly, as he fills me with his venom. This hate the world has branded him with. The cruelty of his tortures slam into me, consuming me in his sadness.

He’s baring his soul to me. Peeling back his skin to the blackness within.

I could tell him to stop, and he would. I know he would, but I don’t.

Instead, I open my mouth to the familiar sensation I’ve come to know, on nights when he’s gently brought me to climax. It coils low, and I cinch my eyes shut, gripping tight to the blanket.

He pounds faster, and I can feel my breasts jostling beneath me with his coarseness, my nipples brushing against the fabric below me.

The masculine sounds of approval that reach my ears only heighten my inexplicable need for this, and my muscles tighten. I lift myself higher to him, allowing him to push deeper, and a droning sound rumbles in my chest—a cross between pleasure and pain. The thrusting of his hips intensifies, until the last bit of control flits out of my grasp, and I scream.

I curl my fingers into the blanket, as if to keep myself grounded, and submit to the explosion that rockets through my blood.

Six grunts and growls, squeezing my hips as he pounds out the last of his release.

Wet warmth leaks down the back of my thighs when he finally stills, keeping himself inside of me, and collapses across my back.

My body is trembling, my muscles weak, and my tears break on a sob.

It’s not because of the pain—I don’t feel any pain, at all. Yet, at the same time, I feel everything. All at once, and it’s too much. I feel as if I’ve given away my darkest secrets, while taking in Six’s at the same time. The hurt. The anger. The true nature of his being.

I wanted to touch his soul, but I didn’t anticipate the obscurity of it. The way he keeps it hidden behind a veil of pain.

The little girl inside of me clings to the last thread of my innocence—the same one that tells me not to trust love, and that what I’ve done is wrong.