I force myself to unclench my jaw, my stomach, my thighs. I force myself to go nearly limp, but still hold my body up on all fours.
“Every hole in your body is mine, Ella,” he whispers, kissing the side of my neck. “Every inch of you.” His chest is rising and falling rapidly against my back, his hard cock against my thigh as he moves his fingers faster.
“You’re just for me.” His mouth finds my shoulder and he bites me gently. Then he pulls his fingers out, and something else, something much bigger, presses against me and I tense all over again.
“No, no, no,” he scolds me. His hand finds my own, and he presses down on it, holding himself up but giving me comfort, too. “Relax for me, pretty girl.”
Pretty girl.
I wet my lips, try to do as he asks.
“You’re doing so good.”
He crowns me and I gasp, muscles locking all over again. He lets go of himself as he presses inside of me slowly with a groan, and his hand goes underneath me, his fingers on my clit.
I relax again, press my head against the headboard as he circles me and slides himself further into me.
“You’re doing so good, baby. You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He lips move against my shoulder and I relax more, whimpering.
“God, those little noises you make.” He groans again, and then he’s all the way in and I bite my lip, but a gasp still comes out of my mouth, a nearly strangled sound. His hand moves from my hand to my throat. He uses me as leverage, thrusting himself in and out of me, and even those he’s dropped his hand from my clit to keep himself balanced, it feels good.
I never knew it could feel this good.
My head is tipped up, hair down my back, and in this moment, with my eyes closed, him inside of me, his hand claiming my throat, I feel loved. And I know, even in the moment, it’s the most twisted sort of love. The kind my mom, if she gave a damn, if she had been someone else, someone that cared, it would be the kind of love she warned me against.
If my father was out there somewhere, he’d be disgusted.
But I don’t care.
It’s mine. And whether Maverick says it or not, whether he admits it, I know he feels something for me.
He groans against me. “Fuck, Ella, you’re so fucking tight.” He moves faster, and it feels so good, I don’t know why I was ever afraid of this. Of him.
His thumb pulls down my bottom lip and he twists my head so I’m looking at him. “You’re fucking mine,” he whispers. “Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Tell me.” His voice is more urgent as he thrusts into me, his breath catching in his throat for a moment. “Tell me no matter what happens, you’re mine, Ella.”
His rubs his thumb over my lip and I dart my tongue out and lick him.
“I’m yours,” I tell him against his finger. “I’ll always be yours.”
“Fuck, Ella.” He presses his forehead to the back of my neck, twisting my head back around. He pushes me down, so my chest is to the bed, my ass up in the air as he finishes, spilling into me, one hand gripping my ass.
He collapses on top of me, and I scoot my hips down flat to the bed.
“Fuck, you feel so good.”
His chest is sweaty, and it sticks to the shirt of his I’m still wearing. His arm is slung over me as he slides off of my back so I can breathe, slowly pulling out of me. He pulls me closer to him, one leg over my hips.
“I love you,” I whisper, my eyes closed, my body sated. My mind delirious.
He presses a kiss to my head and doesn’t move away for long moments. But he doesn’t say it back, and my chest tightens, something pricking behind my eyes.
I swallow it down, turn my head from him.
He squeezes me closer, and we stay like that for hours.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucifer sits behind the wheel as we watch Cain saunter down to the drag strip, not bothering to bring his Camaro. He, like Luce, doesn’t believe in racing.
Bunch of fucks.
Atlas and Ezra are already there, sitting on the hoods of their respective rides.
The windows are down on the M5, both Luce and I smoking, just different drugs.
Lucifer tilts his head back, closes his eyes as he exhales through his nose, holding his cigarette out the window, his other hand rested on his thigh.
I pinch my joint between my thumb and index finger, throw it out the car and lean back, too, eyes closed.
Another Council, another hour of wasted time I can’t get back.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. Shakespeare wrote that in “Richard II”, and goddamn do I feel it. Everything I do nowadays seems like a fucking waste of time, unless I’m with Ella.
I’m looking forward to Noctem, just so I can lose my mind. Snap.
“She’s gonna keep it,” Lucifer says in the quiet of the car, the only sound someone’s laughter from down at the strip.
I resist the urge to open my eyes. Something about my brother’s tone doesn’t really seem to mesh with what he’s saying. Or with what she’s told me.
“That’s great,” I mumble.
He laughs, but it’s humorless.
I sit in silence, waiting for him to unload. I haven’t talked to him about Ella. He knows I went upstairs with a girl that wasn’t her, so maybe he thinks I don’t give a fuck about her. And I tried not to.
I tried to let her go that night. Or maybe I just wanted to see how much it would hurt me to see her really hurt.
Maybe I’m just fucked in the head, but I know I won’t do that again. Seeing her sitting beside Mark at the bar was torture. Watching her touch Connor, too.
Thinking about what her mom’s ex-boyfriend did to her…no. That’s not happening again.
“She doesn’t want to,” Lucifer finally continues. He coughs, and it’s raspy, just like his voice. I keep my eyes closed. “But she’s going to.” He pauses, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “For me.”
I sigh, pressing further into the seat, my wounds healing but still painful. I haven’t needed to call Father Tomas back over. Haven’t needed to get lost in the pain again.
Ella is pain enough. And what comes next is going to be painful enough to last me a fucking lifetime.
“She’s going to resent you for that,” I tell Lucifer, my tone even. Brothers tell each other the truth, and since I can’t seem to do that about so many things, I’ve gotta at least try with this.
“She wants to meet Finn.” Another laugh, full of bite. “Get a feel for what it’s like to be around a kid.”
I know he’s ignoring my comment but there’s nothing to say about it.
“You’ll be a good dad,” I offer. I think that’s true. Probably overbearing and overprotective, but I know that as many screws as he may have loose—like we all do—he’ll be better than our fathers. He’ll do things differently. He’ll love with his whole heart, and he won’t force them to choose between love and duty. He won’t let them get girls entangled in a game that could cost them their lives. And if it is a girl, he’ll never push her away.
He’ll be good.
Better, at least, and that’s a start.
“I doubt it,” he says indifferently. “But she’ll make up for it. She’ll be perfect. She is perfect.”