Tears stream down my face as my body swallows his. His breathing is rapid but he doesn’t rush. He stays completely still, letting my pliant flesh stretch around him. The water is shallow enough in this spot that it doesn’t wash away the remnants of my climax, letting it act as a natural lubricant. Plus with me tilted so only my shoulders touch the rock wall, beads of slick arousal roll down my seam, adding even more wetness.
He pushes in a little deeper, and my voice breaks in a sob. It hurts—my God, it hurts—but he knows well enough not to stop. He knows I can take the pain. He knows I crave the pain. And this is by far dancing the thin line of my threshold. Still, I won’t beg him to stop. Even if it rips me open, I will never let him go.
He pushes in farther still, and this time, it doesn’t burn as bad. Actually, it’s starting to feel ok. He holds me up with one arm wrapped around my waist and brings his other hand to stroke my clit. That, coupled with the intense pressure from behind, makes my whimpers turn to pants. He pinches my sensitive flesh between his fingers, pulling the hot, little button as he pushes in a little more, and I throw my head back. Oh God . . . OhGodOhGodOhGod.
He’s inside me to the root, fully immersed in the one place Tucker refused to explore. He always thought it would hurt me—that the scar tissue in that area would make things painful for me. So after he shot me down again and again, I stopped asking him to touch me there. Instead, I learned how to touch myself, and make it feel good.
This is so beyond what I had been doing. My thin, dainty fingertip was nothing compared to Ransom’s thick hardness inside me so deep, I can feel his sac against my ass cheeks. And nothing ever will compare for as long as I may live. There’s no way I could ever go back to what I had before. I’ve bitten the apple, I’ve sucked the seed, and now I want that sin to grow deep inside me.
He strokes me slow, knowing my body well enough that that’s all I can take. I hang on to his shoulders as he angles us in a way that keeps him thoroughly buried but also lets me taste his tongue. He makes those erotic, little noises again, those throaty rasps that he does on stage to make the girls wet their panties. I swallow every one, wanting every bit of him to live inside me. He smiles against my lips as if he knows exactly what I’m doing.
His tempo increases and he begins to throb within my tight walls, causing my own orgasm to build. This one is different though. This one won’t be like the others. It feels too strong, too uncontained. Like even if he stopped right now and pulled out of me, I’d still come so hard I’d faint.
I grasp his back and bury my head in the crook of his neck, trying desperately not to stop it, but slow it down. I’m not ready to let go. I’m not ready to surrender this feeling for anything.
Despite the madness of our bodies, Ransom’s lips are oddly soft and controlled as they caress the side of my face. He kisses my temple, the shell of my ear, my neck. And then he opens for me and bears his soul. He shows me the beauty in chaos, the grace in all this filth and sin.
He sings for me. He sings because of me. And it’s a song I’ve never heard.
Falling through the rabbit hole
Down down down I go
Let’s go mad together, babe
Nobody has to know
I’ll take you into my veins
Drink the elixir of your soul
You’re mine now little bunny
I’ll never let you go
We come together in a way that bonds us for life. No secrets lie between us—no denial, no regrets. Only sweat, water, and our release. I refuse to let him go for a long time, and it’s not until he slips out of me that I lift my head to look at him. His eyes are low, but unguarded. He’s still here with me, still all mine for the taking. I kiss him with all I have to give, hoping to convey everything I don’t have the courage to say. When he sets me on my feet, I have to steady myself against the wall until the blood returns to my extremities.
Something happened here. Something deeper than we intended. Something deeper than I’ve ever felt. And it wasn’t the sex. That would be too easy. We became kindred in a way that’s beyond the physical. And that scares me to the marrow of my bones.
I’m silent as I gather my bikini and he slips into his shorts. We don’t even speak as we leave the safety of our little cave dwelling. On some level, I don’t think we have to. Words are irrelevant to what’s transpired here. They would never be able to describe the sheer horror and savage beauty of the monster we’ve created.
I leave the lagoon area first to find that people are already lounging around the pool area. I smile and wave, going through the motions on autopilot. No one seems suspicious. No one notices the bright-red scratches on my back or the fingernail marks peeking out from the sides of my swim bottoms. And even if they did, they wouldn’t care.
The room is empty when I arrive, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I strip off my abused swimsuit like it’s on fire and turn the water in the shower to scalding hot. I’ve done something dirty, and while I don’t want to wash it away, I have to. I have to be clean for my husband again.
A door opens just as I step under the hot spray. The steam is so thick that I can’t even see the door to the bathroom and Tucker approach the glass shower partition. It’s not until he’s right in front of me that I see his naked frame, staring over my body with those shrewd, knowing eyes.
I look at him through tears, desperately trying to swallow my sobs. He says nothing as he steps closer. Nothing as he runs his thumb up and down the column of my throat. I’ve never felt threatened by my husband, never felt like he could hurt me. But right now, with him looking at me with the calmness of a serial killer, stroking the skin that Ransom had licked and sucked and bit just minutes before, I’ve never been so terrified in his presence.
He knows.
He knows.
He’s always known.
“Tuck . . .” I try to choke out, but it falls on deaf ears. He just keeps touching my kiss-burned skin, his fingers moving down to my shoulders. He moves in even closer and tastes my jaw with the barest brush of his tongue.
“Tuck . . .” I whisper again, begging for him to hear the plea in my voice.
He doesn’t.
I’m spinning around in a blur of movement, my face and chest pressed into the cold, slick tile. I cry out with shock, but am unable to move with Tucker holding my wrists against the wall. I stop struggling and he lets them go, only to sink to his knees on the shower floor. He grasps my ass, which is still sore and raw, if not swollen. I want to stop him—I should stop him—but if I do, he’ll know for sure. He may already have a hunch, but he can’t know for certain exactly what went down.
He spreads me, revealing that puckered hole that was once unsullied. Tears stream down my face as my husband sees the proof of my indiscretion. As he bears witness to my filth and indignity.
I release a full sob when his tongue meets that ravaged skin. Not because he’s hurting me—it actually feels amazing despite my debilitating guilt—but because I know I’m hurting him. He’s kissing, licking, sucking the very place where Ransom was buried inside me. He’s not only tasting me; he’s tasting him too. And that makes me so utterly disgusted with myself that I can do nothing but press my face against the tile to hide the shame rolling down my face.
I cry against the shower wall, my howls a mix of torment and pure ecstasy. And when I come for the third time in the past hour, I nearly collapse on the floor.
Tucker lifts me into his arms and carries me out. He wraps a towel around my dripping wet body, all the while leaving his own naked frame cold and dripping. When I am securely tucked into the bed, he goes into the bathroom to towel off.