The Devil's Archivist

Chapter 6

Christopher POV:

Her hands were in my hair. Her mouth was under mine.

And every shred of restraint I had built over thirty years burned to ash in a single, devastating second.

The moment August whispered “Don’t stop,” the dark, possessive beast inside me broke its chains. I didn't care about the Order. I didn't care about the bloody rose on her desk. All I knew was the taste of her lips—sweet, hot, and tasting faintly of rain—and the irresistible heat of her body pressed flush against mine.

I slammed her back into the mattress, my body coming down over hers, trapping her beneath me.

She let out a sharp, breathless gasp, her back arching into my touch as my hand slid down her ribcage, hooking under the hem of her shirt. My rough, warm palm brushed against the bare skin of her stomach, making her shiver violently beneath me.

"Christopher..." she breathed against my lips, her hands clutching at my shoulders as if I were the only solid thing in a world falling apart.

"Look at me, August," I growled, pulling back just an inch.

Her dark eyes were wide, glazed with raw heat and fear mixed into a dangerous, intoxicating cocktail. Her chest heaved against mine, her pink lips swollen from my kiss.

"If I take you tonight," I murmured, my thumb tracing the sensitive line of her hip bone, feeling the sharp, violent rhythm of her pulse, "there is no going back. You are mine. Not the Order's. Not Blackwood's. Mine."

"Then take me," August whispered, her eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, defiant surrender that completely shattered my soul. "Because I'm already ruined, Christopher."

A low, primal growl tore from my throat.

I leaned down and captured her mouth again, far rougher this time, deepening the kiss until she was moaning into my lips. My hands made quick work of her shirt, sliding it up over her head and tossing it onto the floor.

When my eyes dropped to the exposed curve of her chest, tight in a delicate black lace bra, my jaw clenched.

She was breathtaking. A masterpiece hidden in the dark corners of this rotten university.

My hands cupped her waist, pulling her flush against the hard, aching line of my length. She gasped, her thighs instinctively parting for me, inviting me closer. My mouth trailed down her jaw, biting gently at the pulse point on her neck until she arched her back, her fingers digging desperately into my upper arms.

"You're so soft, little bird," I purred into her skin, my hand sliding under her thigh, lifting her leg over my hip to press her center directly against the hard steel of my belt buckle.

She let out a broken, high-pitched whimpering moan, her hips rolling up to meet mine. "Christopher—please—"

"Please what?" I rasped, my lips tracing a path down to the swell of her breast, my thumb flicking over her hardened peak through the lace. "Tell me what you want, August. Say it."

"I want you," she choked out, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling my mouth back to hers. "Inside me. Now."

The control snapped.

I unbuckled my belt with one hand, unzipping my trousers, while my other hand reached down to slide her jeans off her hips. In seconds, the barriers were gone. The cold rain lashed furiously against her window, but inside this room, the air was thick, suffocating, and dripping with heat.

I guided my hips between her thighs, resting the head of my length right at her slick, feverish entrance. She was trembling, wet and ready for me, her chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate breaths.

"Look at me," I commanded, pinning her wrists gently above her head with one hand.

August forced her heavy eyelids open, her gaze locking onto mine.

I pushed forward—slowly, heavily—filling her completely in one long, agonizing stroke.

She threw her head back, a loud, breathless cry escaping her lips as her walls stretched around me, tight and scalding hot. I froze for a second, my eyes slamming shut as the sheer, unholy perfection of her tightness nearly brought me to my knees.

"f**k," I swore under my breath, my grip on her wrists tightening. "August..."

"Move," she begged, her legs tightening like a vise around my waist, pulling me deeper. "Christopher, move!"

I didn't need to be told twice.

I set a slow, punishing rhythm, driving into her deeply, pulling back, and slamming home until the bed creaked beneath us and the sound of skin meeting skin filled the dim room. August’s moans became frantic, uninhibited, her nails digging red crescents into my back through my shirt as I claimed every single inch of her.

Her climax hit her hard and fast. She tightened violently around me, her body shaking in a wave of intense pleasure, calling my name like a prayer. The sight of her unraveling beneath me sent me over the edge—I buried myself deep inside her one last time, spilling hot and hard within her as a low roar tore from my chest.

An hour later, the room was quiet save for the heavy sound of the storm outside.

August was asleep, her head resting on my bare chest, her hair spread out across my shoulder like silk. I held her tight, my hand slowly stroking her soft, warm back.

Her room had been breached. She was no longer safe here.

I looked over at her desk—at the word OBEY carved into the wood.

A cold, deadly calm washed over me. By touching her tonight, I had officially burned my last bridge. I was no longer just a ghost hunting his sister's killers; I was a man protecting his woman.

Tomorrow morning, she wouldn't be staying in this dorm anymore.

I was taking her to my private residence on the edge of campus—and God help anyone from the Order who tried to come between us.