His teeth sink into my flesh, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard as he growls, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Feeling him appreciating my curves, feeling his hands roaming over and gripping the swells of my body, has me melting into the bed again.
They didn’t break me.
As hard as they may have tried to make me wither away into nothing, the proof is under Jase’s very hands.
They didn’t break me.
The next command ushers goosebumps across my skin, because I’ve never tried this before. But I do as Jase says, lifting my ass up when he comes to kneel behind me. Spreading my legs further apart, he grips my thighs and positions us both. The second I feel his length tease at my entrance, I can’t resist pushing back, silently demanding him.
The expletives he groans in response only leave me more needy, and the tether on his control finally snaps.
He slams into me, burying himself to the hilt, and the sensation alone is enough to take me to my peak. Never has anyone been this deep. Never has anyone hit these places inside me I didn’t even know existed. His rhythm increases with every thrust, fucking me harder and faster until I may very well liquify from heat flooding me.
I try to bury my scream into the mattress, but his fingers fist my hair, forcing me back just enough that I can’t.
“Don’t fucking hold back from me,” he demands, and I can’t—not when he releases his hold of my hair in favor of my clit.
The pressure he applies instantly has my inner walls clamping down around his length, and we’re both there.
I don’t have a voice to verbalize a thought or his name or even a letter. I may as well be boneless, my entire body made up of nothing more than just one raw nerve awakened with a pleasure I had never even fathomed before. All I can concentrate on is the feeling of him pulse inside of me, his rhythm turning erratic. One final thrust, and he joins me in oblivion, cursing as he swells inside of me, filling the condom. His weight comes down on me, and the position sends an aftershock through my core that has me clenching around his length once more. He’s moaning my name like a mantra, nearly breathless as his heart thunders against my back. If the orgasm hadn’t just ruined me for all other men, that would certainly do it. He may as well be a fanatic of a new religion for the way he’s worshiping me.
I don’t know how long it takes for us to recover, but when he collapses onto the bed next to me after disposing of the condom, it’s clear he’s ready for another round.
I chuckle, my voice still breathy. “I think I’m going to need a minute.” To bring me back from euphoria, to reacquaint myself with the earth, to appreciate that he’srealand closer than arm’s reach from me. Take your pick.
I’m still lying on my stomach, so it comes as no surprise that he takes the opportunity to run his fingers along the length of my spine again.
He doesn’t need to ask. The question is right there in his eyes.
I smile. “The only people that matter are the ones I don’t have to prove myself to.”
And it’s true. Jase, Maggie, and Derek never needed me to convince them it wasn’t me in those pictures. It was never even a possibility in their eyes that it could be. Those are the people that count. Either you know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t hook up with Trent or try to attack Sienna or make up stories to make myself a victim, or you can fuck off. I’m done trying to win anyone else over to have my back, especially not the rest of my family.
Jase begins trailing kisses up the length of my arm, but when he eventually makes his way up to my mouth, I pin my pointer finger over his lips.
“Not so fast there, mister.” I grin, running my own hands over his back, though my focus is on his shoulder blades. “You lied to me.”
He looks genuinely taken aback, and I can’t help a laugh.
“You told me the tattoo you got here had been a drunken mistake.” I tsk. “I know enough about getting ink to know a design this detailed, not to mention this large, would definitely take more than one drunken session.”
“Well, then, you weren’t looking close enough,” he says cryptically.
I prop myself up on one elbow, getting a better view as he lies on his stomach.
I’m again acquainted with the macabre depiction of a crow carrying something in its talons, blood trailing off the ends. My breath stutters, however, when I see the small scars marring its body, especially the one above the eye.
It’s not a crow at all. It’s a raven. My raven. The one that attacked me in my bedroom.
And the “something” in its talons isn’t just anything. It’s a particular organ, which is fitting, because there’s a ribbon attached to the bird’s ankle, the words inscribed on it reading,Al bellissimo uccello che mi ha rubato il cuore.”
I would recognize my mother’s native language anywhere, but I haven’t studied Italian for a few years, so translating it takes me a minute.
The pads of my fingers run over the words, my vision blurring as I read them again and again.
To the beautiful bird who stole my heart.
