Page 102 of Chained

"Yes," she breathes, her hips rising to meet me. "I need you, Jax. Please."

I push into her, slow, deep, filling her inch by inch until I'm buried inside her. She's so tight, so wet. Her heat surrounds me, claiming me as much as I'm claiming her.

Her moans run through me, forcing a throb in my cock which pushes against her walls. Fuck, she feels so good. She sounds so good. I move in her, starting slow, devouring every sensation—the way her body grips me, the way her nails rake down my back, the way her mouth finds mine, the way she moans into every kiss. I pick up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, driven by the need to erase every memory that hurts her, to make her feel nothing but me.

When she comes, her body clenches so hard I nearly lose it. Her cries fill the room, and I can't hold back any longer. I thrust my cock deeper into her, losing myself in the heat, and then she looks at me, eyes finding mine in a way she's never looked before. Almost like her eyes are thanking me over and over for this moment where she can truly forget his hands had ever touched her, even if it was for a brief time.

My body shakes as I finally reach my own climax, my cock pulsing and throbbing inside her as I come. She moans out for the final time with my name on her lips, her body still fluttering around me. I collapse on top of her, our bodies tangled in a ball of sweat.

She's the second woman I've ever slept with, but it felt different than Melina. It didn't hurt to touch her. Fuck, it didn't hurt to be touched, either. I keep holding her, my lips in her hair, her heartbeat echoing against my chest. In this moment, all the darkness falls away, leaving only us.

She lays on my chest, my arm tucked under her, and we stay like this. Neither moving. Fuck, I don't ever want to move.

"Tell me a story about what it was like growing up here. As a kid, I mean," she whispers, fingers brushing against the hairs on my chest.

A small smirk tugs on my lips as I think about my childhood. Whilst it wasn't the best, it could have been worse.

"We used to play out in the rose gardens for hours, the hedges taller than all of us. We'd play hide and seek; it was one of Jarrod's favourites," I whisper, twirling one of her curls between my fingers. "When I was nine, I think. Jarrod would have only been like, what? Five or six? He used to believe that we could fly. We'd run all over the gardens, arms spread—pretending we were birds and that one day, we'd take off into the sky."

"How long did you guys believe that for?" she asks softly.

"About a month. Melina hated that we were close; she liked to have me all to herself. She dared me to go up onto the greenhouse roof and jump off. Just to prove that we couldn't fly."

"That's cruel."

"That's Melina. And well, I've never been one to back down from a challenge. So, I climbed up and jumped. Landed straight on Jarrod, poor kid."

"Oh my God, was he okay?" she gasps, sitting up to lean her chin on my chest, eyes sparkling against the light of the moon.

"Yeah, he was fine. I broke his glasses and also my arm." I let out a tired laugh, but I'm hit with guilt. I can't believe I scared him; can't believe I made him stutter. Fuck, I feel so bad.

Her hand strokes against my stubble, white sheet dropping just below her breasts as she leans up. "He's lucky to have had you."

I lean in, pressing my lips against her hair. "I wouldn't be so sure of that." Sliding my arm from under her, I sit at the edge of the bed. My eyes flick to the clock on the bedside table.

4:00 a.m.

Fuck.

"You should try and get some rest," I whisper, glancing at her over my shoulder.

"Will you stay, just until I fall asleep?"

I nod, settling back down in the bed. She lays beside me, wrapping the blanket around herself as the silence settles. She closes her eyes, her breathing shallow. I try not to think of what will be waiting for me back in that room. I pray to fucking God Melina isn't there.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, voice sleepy.

"Sure." My fingers trail over the side of her cheek as I wipe away the small, wispy flyway from her face. I hover for a second, twirling it in my fingers and she smiles, sending a lightning bolt through my chest. We stay silent for a second, her eyes searching mine whilst I hold back the need to tell her how much I fucking loved the way her hair felt between my fingers. It wasn't silky, or straight or anything I'd ever really felt before, it was soft, coarse…a kind of wiry texture that imprints into my fingertips and leaves me longing to take a fist of her hair just to pull her close and devour every inch of her all over again. She sucks in a breath, the smile dropping quicker than she can exhale as the question lingers on her lips.

"What's it like...killing someone." Her voice breaks.

I swallow. Lie to her. Just lie, the voice in my head pleads.

"It's...complicated." Not a lie, but also not the complete truth.

"How?" Of course, she's pushing. I don't know why I'm surprised.

"It's..." I take a breath. "When you kill someone who doesn't deserve it, it takes something from you. A part that you can never reclaim, and it haunts you. Every thought you see is their face, every dream you hear has their screams."