Open your hands. Like that.
Grip me harder. Harder.
“Shit, bunny.” He fists his free hand over the sheets. Soon, a request becomes apparent, written across his gaze as if in blazing neon letters.
Slowly, I sink to my belly with my legs dangling off the end of the bed. Any doubt vanishes the second I see his face. His wet lips slightly parted, his gaze so intent on me that I almost fear I’ll combust from the force of it, honed like the full intensity of the sun.
It’s cruel how long I make him wait, hovering with my mouth dangerously close to where he craves it the most. Needs it. A vein in his neck jumps the second I brush my tongue along the tip of him, and I’m startled by the taste. Musky. Powerful. Not offensive.
“Jesus,” he groans, watching like a hawk as I take him in as deeply as I dare.
A list of supposed actions—all overheard from Mara in vivid detail—cross my mind, only to fade beneath a wave of pleasure that shocks me to my core. Electrifies. Emboldens me.
I stop thinking and focus on wringing every gasp and grunt from him that I can.
“Stop!” He cradles my scalp in his hands, urging me off of him.
My confused glance is met with a growl as he flips me over, straddling my hips. He makes short work of my skirt and shirt. Then, our lips meet, his easily overpowering mine as his hand slips between my legs, easing a finger inside me.
My readiness makes him groan as he rocks his hips to replace the digit with a larger appendage. He thrusts in hard, letting my body greedily adjust to his size.
It’s a sinful cross between pleasurable and painful. Then he strokes out, and in again, and it’s fire. My mind reels with how vital an act can seem, though you’ve gone most of your life without it. How a single touch, kiss, and bit of contact can rival any other desire life has to offer. It’s like my body didn’t know what feeling truly was until it learned to grapple with the invasion of his.
The sheer depth of what it can be like to be known by someone else so deeply.
How dangerous it can feel to burn beneath another’s body heat.
How good.
How reckless.
How destructive.
It’s only in the early afternoon when Rafe finally drags himself from the mattress long enough to heat up some food. We devour leftover tamales at the counter, and he eyes the time on the microwave with a curse.
“I’ve got some shit I’ve gotta take care of,” he says, setting his plate aside. His eyes cut toward the door, and I wonder if the ‘shit’ on his mind has anything to do with the ultimate destination of the briefcase we took from the warehouse.
“And Faith’s service is tonight. I should really go see Mara,” I add, forced to face the reality of just how terrible a friend I’ve been to her.
“And what are you going to tell her?” Rafe wonders. His back is to me, obscuring his reaction. From his tone alone, I can’t tell just what he wants to hear. For me to keep our fling secret? Or save him the hassle of having to avoid Mara’s attempts at flirtation.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to drive you?” he asks. “In case you run into him?”
I suck in a breath and try to imagine what could be worse. Facing Branden alone, or pitting him against Rafe? I quickly decide on an answer and shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” he repeats before turning on his heel and padding down the hall as I gape in alarm.
“Rafe?” I start to follow, but he’s already returning, an item in hand.
“Take this.” He hands me a small device that takes my brain a second to identify—a cell phone, a much more modern style than my old one.
Gratitude is a living thing, threatening to crawl up my throat. “Thank you.”
“My number’s in it,” he adds, starting for the stairs. He’s already thrown on a fresh pair of clothing and donned his boots. Clenched in one of his hands is the handle of that infamous case. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He looks back as if to gauge how I’ll respond to the invitation.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. “Tonight.”
He heads down the stairs, taking them two at a time. From the base of them, he calls back, “And take the spare key. It’s on the hook.”
Sure enough, I spy one, hanging from the same spot he kept his car keys.
I take my time showering and getting dressed before arranging my hair in the best way possible to cover most of the bruising. In the end, I leave it down and sigh in defeat. To be honest, the worst of the bruising is already starting to fade, leaving brownish splotches around my eye and down my chin.
Ironically, my neck looks the most ravaged, sporting fresher, bright red spots from this morning. When I finally leave the shop, I take the back roads to the restaurant district, jumping at any sudden noise to pierce the quiet.
I’m not ready for the true depths of paranoia that descend the further I go. Every person passing by morphs and transforms into someone else. Branden. Then I blink, and they reform into a businessman, a passing child, or another stranger. And each time, it’s like I can hear him, scoffing at my attempts at normalcy.
You’re a video star now, Hannah. You’re a fucking slut. A liar. A whore. Say cheese…
“Hannah!” I blink and nearly run into the smiling figure who races forward to greet me. “I’ve been looking all over for you, girl!” Mara explains, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “It’s like you fell off the face of the earth. Where the hell have you been?” She draws back, and her expression transforms as her mouth drops open, her eyes widening. “Oh my god. What happened to your face?”
She runs her finger across
