As I release around him, he slowly withdraws his glistening fingers, as if he’s deciding when I get to come down.
He lifts his hand deliberately toward his mouth, his tongue lapping between his index and middle finger. He hums in appreciation, self-evident satisfaction curving a smug smile. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he says. “I can’t wait to eat you next time.”
Even though I’ve just had an orgasm, my clit pulses at the thought of him lapping at my pussy with his tongue.
Aftershocks twitch my inner walls, as if ghost thrusts continue to echo within me.
Suddenly, the air is too thick. My lungs demand oxygen, and I roll sideways in an attempt to regulate my tempo. It’s as if I just finished a sprint or a marathon with no training.
I expect him to do more—and I’d be more than happy to keep going—but then he just… stops.
Instead of jumping on me like I expected, he slides a space between our bodies. He’s only a palm-width away, but he adjust the blankets and pulls them upward, a gesture that seems strangely tender—a juxtaposition with the ferocity of his hand only minutes ago.
It’s as if we just signed a wordless contract, my pulse felt in my throbbing clit as if it enthusiastically agrees to the terms.
He reaches over to his nightstand, then hands me his T-shirt, still smelling like him, and I pull it on.
I figured he’d want to go all the way—maybe more than once. But he’s treating me almost with deference, like he doesn’t want to spook me.
I want more. I need more.
But then his lips press against my temple, lingering. I inhale his scent, a heady combination of sweat, lime, soap and that signature cedar. I exhale as he reaches out and swipes strands of hair away from my forehead.
“Okay, time for sleep now,” he says, stroking my hair, as if he didn’t just make my back arch off the bed like an electric shock. “My beautiful stray.”
Beautiful stray.
His words roll around in my mind.
I like the way it sounds. As if it describes me accurately, but also makes something sad into something pretty.
Something special.
And I drift off to sleep—his arms wrapped tightly around me, feeling safer than I have in longer than I can remember.
CHAPTER 20
IVY
The next morning feels muted somehow. Like the world is holding its breath.
I wake up slowly, my body heavy with sleep. As if the fact I’ve gotten a couple of nights of solid slumber is reminding my body just how far in the hole of sleep debt I really was.
My limbs are loose, like I’ve been drugged. Like my nervous system has been lulled into forgetting what danger feels like.
For a second, I’m disoriented.
I open my eyes, expecting to see Soren beside me.
But he’s not.
I roll over, rubbing my eyes, as if that’s going to magically conjure him from thin air. Or maybe he’s on the other side of me. I’ve somehow managed to roll smack-bang into the middle of his monstrous bed.
The space next to me is empty but still warm, like he left recently. Like he was here and then decided to disappear before I could wake up and remember to be afraid.
I sit up slowly, the oversized T-shirt twisting around my thighs.
The room is quiet. No footsteps. No voices. No TV. Just the low hum of the city outside, distant and indifferent.