CHAPTER 5 – THE CRASH-OUT
1303 Words
LAYLA’S POV
Rafe is standing at my door like he's been on the other side of the wall this whole time.
For one second, we just look at each other, and I notice that he’s looking like he hasn’t slept either.
“Do you need a hug?”
I look at the man I spent years convincing myself I hated because of how badly he treated me, and something in me snaps.
“Why do you keep showing up?” My voice cracks and I don't care. “Why did you come to the help me that night? Why did you catch me on the bike? Why are you at my door at 3 AM looking at me like–” I gesture at the space between us like I can make him see it.
He stays silent, so I continue.
“Megan is in my father's chair. Garrett threatened me in a hallway today and smiled while he did it. He called me tonight when everyone could hear, and his voice was so sweet I almost believed him – I ALMOST believed him, Rafe – and the council voted me out of my own birthright and my brother is acting weird and I am pregnant and wolfless and trapped and you are standing at my door and I don't understand why you keep–”
I'm not making sense – I know I'm not making sense – but he doesn't interrupt. He just stands there with his hands at his sides and takes every word like a man receiving something he thinks he earned.
I run out of words and I'm shaking when he steps forward and pulls me into his chest. My face presses into his shirt and his chin comes down on top of my head and I can feel his heartbeat under my palm – steady and even and the most solid thing I've touched in days.
I hate how much I need this. I hate that my hands are gripping his shirt like he's the only thing keeping me upright, because he might be. And I hate how much he’s making me feel better.
My crying slows. My breathing changes. And then I'm aware of the heat of him through his shirt and the leather scent I've been catching in hallways for days and every cell in my body is pointing at this man and screaming his name.
I don't decide to kiss him.
All I know is that one second I'm crying into his chest and then my mouth is on his and I don't know who moved first and it doesn't matter because we were both already moving.
A current rushes through my body and I gasp against his mouth as he pulls me closer. The kiss is desperate and salt-wet and his mouth is warm and sure and nothing like anything I have ever known.
He walks me backward into the room, and the door clicks shut behind us.
Then he stops. Cups my face with both hands. Looks at me.
“You sure?”
I pull him back down without a word.
His shirt comes off and my hands are on his chest and then his mouth is on my neck, with his teeth grazing my skin before his tongue follows, and I grab fistfuls of his hair because my knees are gone.
“Rafe–”
“I know.” He's already moving lower. “Not yet.”
He lays me back on the bed and his hands are everywhere except where I need them. My throat. My collarbone. The inside of my wrist. I grab for him and he catches my hands and pins them above my head with one hand with just enough force and his eyes lock on mine.
“Don't move.”
His mouth finds my breasts, and I arch off the bed. Then his tongue circles one n****e while his free hand works the other and I'm making sounds I don't recognize.
“f**k – please–”
“Not yet.” He repeats as his mouth keeps moving lower.
He reaches the bump and his hand rests against it for one second – gentle in a way that cracks something in my chest – and then he goes lower. His fingers trace along my inner thigh and my hips lift and he presses them back down with one hand like it costs him nothing.
“Stay still.”
I can't stay still.
His mouth is on my inner thigh and then higher and higher, and then his tongue is exactly where I need it and my hand flies to his hair and I grip hard enough to hurt.
He doesn't stop, but he doesn't go any faster. He works me with his mouth while reading every reaction steadily, and then his hands are gripping my thighs to keep me in place because my body is doing things I can't control.
“Oh God – Rafe, I'm going to–”
He pulls back. Right at the edge. And I actually whimper.
“Don't stop – why did you–”
He comes back up and kisses me softly, and I can taste myself on his mouth and I grab his face and kiss him harder. He places his body between my legs, and I can feel how hard he is against me and the contact sends a jolt through both of us.
“You're shaking,” he says against my mouth.
“No, I’m not.”
He laughs briefly and I feel it as a warmth in my chest. “I haven't even started.”
His hand slides between us and two fingers push inside me slowly, and when he curls them upward and reaches the spot that makes my vision to go black, my head drops back against the pillow. His thumb finds my c**t and works it in circles and white spots start appearing behind my eyes.
“Right there, softie.” His voice is low and controlled and wrecking me. “That's it.”
“Please.” The word falls out raw and honest. “Please, Rafe.”
He pulls his fingers out and positions himself between my legs as he unbuckles his pants. His forehead drops against mine I can feel him right there and my whole body is trembling in anticipation.
“Look at me.”
I look up at his dark eyes and notice his breathing is ragged and for the first time all night that his iron control is cracking. I can SEE it cracking. His jaw is tight and his hands are shaking where they grip the sheets beside my head and he looks like a man who has been holding his breath for six years and is about to exhale.
Seeing Rafe Ashford lose control is the most intoxicating thing I have ever witnessed in my life, but nothing beats the feeling that explodes into me when he pushes into me slowly.
The sensation hits like a current and my nails dig into his back and a sound comes out of me that I have never made before. He stops and stays still. Buried inside me with his forehead against mine and his breath shaking.
Garrett never felt like this. Not once in the time before he got too busy to see me. I had two years of routine s*x that I thought was the ceiling of romance, but now I know that it wasn't even the floor.
“Move,” I whisper. “Please move.”
He lets out a deep breath.
“I just want you to know that I do care for you.”
I nod, wondering what he is getting at.
“Good. Because I am about to f**k you like I don’t.”
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