“Keep thrusting with your fingers, and swirl your thumb around my clit.”
Fox obeyed immediately. His thumb pressed the sensitive nerves, and I bucked in his hold. His forehead furrowed as he concentrated on perfecting his rhythm. Thrust, swirl, thrust, swirl.
With every stroke I forgot where we were, how strange our relationship was—I forgot my own name as heat gathered and rushed between my legs.
My knees wobbled wanting to crumble to the ground.
“Like this?” Fox asked, his voice so deep with lust I could barely understand.
I no longer possessed the gift of speech and ground myself onto his hand in answer.
“Fuck,” he groaned. His own hips began to pulse just slightly, a natural urge to join. “What else? Do I have to do anything else?” His hand left my hip and ascended to capture my breast. His fingers squeezed my nipple and I suffered a full body tremble.
“Yes… like that. Umm hmm.” My vision went black as all my senses turned inward, focusing on where he touched me.
His hand increased pressure until he rocked against my clit. “Come for me, Hazel. Fucking come on my fingers.”
His crude commands sent another wave through me, and he groaned. He lost the finesse of easy thrusting and grabbed my hip to hold me in place. “You’re going to fucking come.” He drove into me hard and deep. I cried out as intensity level went from hot to scorching.
“Come for me. Come for me. Fucking come for me.” He never stopped ordering and every stroke wound me tighter and tighter until I couldn’t wind anymore.
My lips parted, and I threw my head back as I rode Fox’s hand. The first wave of release shattered me just like he wanted. He growled low in his throat as I gripped tight around his fingers.
“Fucking hell,” he grunted, increasing his pressure and sending my orgasm into another realm entirely. I lost all mobility and became nothing more than an exploding firework.
Wave after pleasure wave I surfed. I’d never come apart so completely.
The moment my orgasm faded, Fox ripped his fingers from me, spun me around, and pulled me down fast.
I moaned long and low as his cock pushed up and entered me in one thick invading impale.
With nothing to hold onto and my hands chained to my stomach, I couldn’t fight or twist. Fox controlled every inch of taking me, and he’d stolen even my right to look at him.
His body was hard and hot behind me as his drove upward, taking me ruthlessly. I was so wet. His invasion slipped and stroked, sending yet more waves through my system.
I bounced in his lap, our only contact his erection deep inside me and his hands on my hips. Jerking me back to meet his thrusts, he breathed loud. “Goddammit, it’s like heaven being inside you. I never want to. Fucking. Leave.” He thrust with every word, shaking the chair until it scraped on the floor.
“Oh, hell,” he groaned. “I’m going to come. I can’t—I wanted. Fuck.”
He sounded like a wolf intent on shredding his prey alive as hot jets of wetness filled me. His thrusts turned feral as if he wanted to split me in two, delivering as much of himself as he could.
When the last band of his release left him, he slouched back into the chair. His cock twitched inside and I wanted nothing more than to lay back and have him wrap his large strong arms around me.
We didn’t move. The only sound was our breaths panting in the stuffy heat of the greenhouse.
After a minute, Fox patted me on the back, murmuring, “Thank you.”
I struggled not to laugh. Such a formal touch and verse. Nothing like what we’d just done. We’d just owned each other in a fit of fucking, and he’d already withdrawn.
There was no afterglow or tender-hearted cuddling.
Instead of being hurt, I smiled.
However strange our interlude had ended, he’d been an eager lover and hadn’t tried to kill me.
Progress.
Two days later, I reclined on Fox’s bed watching television.
The episode displayed a sexy sun-bronzed man arguing with a pretty redhead. The undeniable tension on screen amped up my own need until my core grew wet. Being around a male like Fox without being allowed to touch was a daily agony of unrequited pleasure.
He hadn’t come near me since the greenhouse, and we hadn’t spoken a word about it. That night when I went home to Clara, she’d had a coughing fit, and it was all I could do to not break down and scream at every entity for making her sick.
Every day I suffered more and more guilt. Guilt for living another life away from her. Guilt for finding small smidgens of happiness thanks to Fox. I felt like a traitor and a bitch.
Clara grew sicker despite the new pills I made her take every morning and the exorbitantly expensive trail drug in her inhaler.
Fox stalked toward me, wiping his face with a black towel, panting and sweaty from his session in the gym down the hall.
Not only did he drive his broken body to failure by endless fights and working long hours, he also worked out religiously every morning when he woke. Wearing the same black trousers and long sleeved shirt, he came back drenched in sweat.
“I’ll just have a shower, then we’ll head out. We haven’t left Obsidian since we met, and I need to run a few errands. I’d like you to come.”
Not waiting for my reply, he disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. I waited for the shower to turn on, imagining Fox naked and wet.
My tummy fluttered with the thought. Pushing Clara from my mind, compartmentalizing my two lives, I scampered off the bed and tiptoed toward the bathroom.
What if he catches you?
With my heart in my throat, I turned the handle. I expected it not to turn—after all, Fox was so private I figured he would’ve locked it—but it unlatched.
I stopped breathing as I cracked open the door and peered inside.
Fox stood trembling and tense in the centre of the shower while hot water hissed and fizzled on his skin. He stood side profile, hiding his back and chest—the two areas I most wanted to see. With one hand, he held a razor and pressed the blade hard against his inner thigh.
His eyebrows drew together, knitting tightly as a small trickle of blood erupted from the wound and sluiced down his leg with boiling water.
I wanted to run in and stop him, but he cut himself again—one more perfect line. Tossing the razor to the side, he switched the water from scalding to freezing and tension siphoned from his muscles down the drain.
Resting his forehead against black tiles, he groaned with every sadness and fucked-up emotion inside.
I couldn’t watch any longer.
Closing the door, I drifted back to the bed in a daze. I felt as if he’d dragged the blade down my heart instead of his leg.
You’re so stupid, Zel. You thought you’d broken through. You thought he was on the road to recovery.
I was idiotic to hope he wouldn’t self-harm anymore. I’d searched for evidence, but saw none. Now, I knew why.
His inner thighs had an array of marks and cuts, decorating his already scarred legs. He’d even taken out the stitches on his thigh and calf, causing the wounds to gape a little, not fully healed.
Fuck.
I rubbed the heel of my hand into my chest, trying to dispel the aching agony. I hated seeing someone in pain. I hated not being able to help.
There was no helping someone with a mind so scrambled like Fox’s.
The shower switched off and a few minutes later, Fox strode into the room dressed in his usual wardrobe of black.
His eyes narrowed, running hands over his wet hair. The strands of colour captured sunlight, looking bronze, cinnamon, black, and gold. The Sydney sun bounced through the large windows, turning the black interior into a sun-soaked paradise.