Stone

She feels like heaven—warmth and goodness and the home I never had. It takes every ounce of my restraint not to pound her right into the bed, right through the fucking floor, to devour her like an animal.

I don’t deserve her. But I’m taking her. It feels like I’ve been waiting for her forever.

She’s mind-bendingly tight. I brace my arms on either side of her and press all the way in.

And nearly come, right there. Like a schoolboy.

Fuck, that was close.

I move inside her, then, slow at first. She makes this sweet little gasp every time I rock into her. I could live on just that gasp. They could lock me up and throw away the key and not even feed me, but that little gasp contains everything I need. And her tight, hot cunt and her breasts, soft pillows against my ruined chest.

Her hands roam over my back, exploring, seeking.

Take it all, I think. Whatever you want.

All this time I was worried about ruining her. I never imagined she’d be the one ruining me.

Then she comes, and her little pussy squeezes me so hard I see stars.

There’s been sex. There’s been orgasms. There’s never been this, the pressure that builds at the base of my spine. That explodes in a wild burst of joy. I come hard and long, rutting into her body as if I can fuck her deep enough to merge with her. We won’t be two people anymore, just one fucking body.

It’s the collapse of my muscles, my strength that finally puts an end to it. And I collapse on top of her.

Climax has only ever meant release for me. That I’m done with whatever woman I’m with. That whatever man has taken me upstairs is finished for the night.

This climax isn’t an ending. It’s a beginning. When I look at her, everything seems clearer.

I love you. She said that to me.

It seemed impossible but inevitable. Because I love her, too. It’s the only thing that explains the way I take her hostage, again and again. The only thing that explains why I fucked her without a condom. Shit.

I push up on my elbows, looking down at her. She looks wrecked. Her eye makeup is smudged, her hair a crazy tangled halo. She’s never looked more beautiful.

If I weren’t already sunk, she would be a cannon blast in my side. She still is.

Even as the world is sharper to me, more colorful, brighter, it’s the opposite for her. I can tell by the hazy look in her brown eyes. By the dreamy half-smile on her face. She’s blissed-out. Well-fucked. Masculine pride swells in my chest.

“You okay?” I murmur, pulling away from her reluctantly.

My dick doesn’t want to leave her tight, wet clasp. It’s ready for another round. To fuck her again and again until we die in agonized bliss.

But it’s her first time. She might be sore.

“Better than okay,” she mumbles, her eyes still soft and unfocused. Like she can’t really see me, even one foot away from her. Like she can see through me, inside me. And for some reason, that doesn’t terrify me like it should.

Her body is the very definition of welcome. A warm place to land. I want to lie beside her for a long time. A lot longer than we actually have. I’m well versed in denial, so I push out of bed and cross to the small sink. The hot water here is shit. I never cared about that. I could take a cold shower, could stand the sting of freezing spray, but I hate the thought of causing her discomfort. I find a clean washcloth and dampen it, twisting it in my hand as if I can transfer some of my body heat into it.

She hasn’t moved even an inch from where I left her.

“Little bird,” I say softly.

There’s a small sound that might be acquiescence or denial. She doesn’t want to move, so I move her myself. I pull her legs apart and use the washcloth to clean her. A gasp, the first time the cloth touches her private place. And then a soft whimper. Fuck. How bad did I hurt her? I hate myself a little for that, for taking her thin little hymen, even knowing I’d do it again if I could.

The washcloth comes away pink, stained with her blood. Lord knows I’ve seen worse injuries, especially ones that happened through sex, but none of them hit me as hard as this. It would take a thousand fucking rivets to suck the darkness out of me. I made her bleed.

She shakes her head, as if trying to rouse herself, to focus. “Stone. You okay?”

“Course,” I say, but it feels like a lie. The ground beneath me trembles. Breaks apart. I’m standing at the epicenter of an earthquake. One with pale skin and pink nipples.

It fools her, my lie. She settles back into the bed like it’s made of fucking velvet. That’s what she deserves. Silk and lace. Everything soft and beautiful. Instead she has me.

So I force myself to clean her, thorough and careful. Even though it’s hard to see her skin turned pink from my mouth, a set of fingerprints on her hips. I’m a fucking barbarian.

And then I’m done. Nowhere else to clean. Nothing else to do but stand there, looking down at a goddess who somehow landed at my feet.

She reaches toward me, her slender arm both fragile and strong. “Come here.”

My body responds before I can think it through.

I’m hers.

I curve my body around hers, protecting her from whatever real or imagined threats might be out there. “I never thought it could be like that,” I say.

Maybe it makes me a coward, that I know she won’t remember this. She’s too lust dazed, already half in the dream world. She won’t remember my confession.

The terrible truth that I didn’t know sex could feel good.

For this one second, she sees how broken I am. A ribbon of worry darkens her hazy eyes, but then it’s gone. “Hold me.”

It’s too much of a relief when I take her in my arms, when I pull her close. “You’re safe here,” I tell her, even though she probably isn’t worried. She probably doesn’t remember that her friend Liam called the police, and that they’ll be desperately looking for her. There’s probably a national manhunt happening right now. “You’re safe.”

“Good,” she mumbles, nestling deeper into my chest. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“About what?” I ask gently, expecting her to say Liam. To say her friends, her whole life.

“About the Innkeeper,” she says, with a big yawn, her eyes closed.

Then she falls asleep, leaving me cold and wide awake. The Innkeeper. Who the fuck is the Innkeeper? I have no clue, but it sounds an awful lot like the name Keeper.

Does she know something about Keeper? Does she know who he is? She’s in that world. She’s in a position to hear things, too.

She would tell me if she knew, wouldn’t she?

I want to shake her awake, to demand answers. But I also want her to continue sleeping, to pretend that I’m as peaceful as I felt one minute ago.

Before I doubted the woman I love.