Текст книги "Daggermouth"

Автор книги: H. M. Wolfe

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Chapter twenty-sevenIt Did Not Make Me Weak

Shadera felt the weight of Maximus Serel’s gaze through his mask as she and Greyson were ushered into the pristine office atop Haven Tower. The space breathed power—polished stone, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a God’s view of the city below. His city. His people. His property. She kept her spine straight despite the exhaustion dragging at her limbs.

The President sat behind the desk, his golden mask catching the early afternoon light filtering through bulletproof glass. Even seated, even silent, he dominated the room like a predator surveying prey.

Mikel stepped out of the room as it closed behind them with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing them in with the monster who ruled this city. Greyson’s body was a rigid line beside her, taut with a tension she could feel radiating from him in waves. She could sense the rage he struggled to contain with each measured breath as he stared at his father.

“Sit,” Maximus commanded, the single word vibrating with disdain.

Two chairs waited before the massive desk. Greyson moved first, placing himself slightly ahead of her, a subtle shield between her and his father. The gesture wasn’t lost on Maximus, whose head tilted a fraction.

As they sat, Greyson leaned toward her, his shoulder brushing hers. A small gesture. A promise. They were in this together now, whether they liked it or not.

“I have been hearing whispers,” Maximus began, setting down a tablet he’d been examining when they entered. His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, which somehow made the hairs on the back of Shadera’s neck rise faster than any threat could have. “Whispers of late night activities that concern me.”

Neither responded. The silence stretched until it was something thin, fragile.

A chuckle leaked from behind the golden mask, the sound hollow and manufactured. “One of my Veyra units never reported back after their assignment last night. Eight officers, simply . . . disappeared.” His fingers drummed once against the desk. “Would either of you care to explain that?”

Shadera kept her expression neutral behind her mask, her eyes fixed on a point just above Maximus’s shoulder. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, wouldn’t betray the flash of memory—blood spattering across kitchen tiles, her finger squeezing a trigger, Greyson’s hands moving over her body.

Beside her, Greyson shifted forward, and she felt her breath catch. He was going to lie. He had to lie.

Please fucking lie.

“I killed them.”

The words dropped into the room like rebel bodies on the platform. Shadera’s head snapped toward him, disbelief freezing her in place. What the fuck is he doing?

Maximus went very still. “You killed them,” he repeated slowly. “All eight?”

“Yes.” Greyson’s voice was flat, emotionless. The Executioner’s voice.

“Alone?” The question carried a dangerous edge.

“Alone.”

He was protecting her.

Maximus leaned back in his chair, the golden mask sending sparkling prisms dancing over his desk. “Strange. My sources tell me two people engaged in a fight. Not one.”

“Your sources are mistaken,” Greyson replied evenly.

“And you dispatched eight trained Veyra officers by yourself?” Skepticism dripped from every word.

“Your training served me well, Father.” Greyson’s voice took on a cruel edge that matched his father’s. “Or have you forgotten the lessons you so enjoyed teaching me?”

The jab landed. Shadera could see it in the subtle tensing of Maximus’s shoulders, the slight curl of his fingers against the polished surface of his desk.

“You admit to killing these Veyra officers,” Maximus said after a moment, each word measured. “Do you understand what that means, Greyson? Even for the Executioner, even for my son, that is treason. Treason is punishable by death.”

“They broke into my home, threatened my fiancée,” Greyson responded, his tone remaining steady. “I was protecting what’s mine.”

Mine.

The word sent a jolt through Shadera, but she kept her reaction hidden, understanding what he was doing. Playing the role his father expected—the entitled heir defending his territory, his possession.

“What’s yours,” Maximus repeated, his attention shifting to Shadera. She could feel his gaze traveling over her face, her body, assessing and calculating in a way that made her skin crawl. “Interesting how protective you’ve become of a woman sent to kill you.”

“She’s as good as my wife now.” Greyson’s hand moved to rest on her thigh, the gesture casual but deliberate. A claim. “Entering my apartment without permission was foolish. I suspected they might be rescuers sent for her. I acted accordingly.”

Maximus was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried a new edge. “Perhaps I should bring your sister in for questioning, she seems to be privy to the inner workings of your life. I understand she and Callum Thane were at your apartment early this morning.”

Shadera felt Greyson’s body tense, his fingers flexing against her thigh at the mention of Lira. One wrong word, one wrong move, could kill them all. She reached for his hand, her fingers wrapping around it and squeezing.

“The Vow ceremony is in two days,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, even as her heart thundered in her chest. “Callum and Lira arrived to help us prepare. Greyson took me into the Heart last night to celebrate. I . . . got carried away with the drinking.”

Greyson’s hand turned in hers, his fingers interlacing with her own. He understood what she was doing, was playing along.

“Callum offered to adjust the security to give us privacy,” she continued, the lie flowing easily. “So we could truly get to know each other before the ceremony.”

Maximus’s gaze dropped to their intertwined hands, and a low laugh bubbled from behind his mask. “How touching.” The words dripped condescension. “The mercenary and the Executioner, finding common ground.”

His attention shifted back to Greyson. “You have always been reckless, my son. Impulsive. Quick to anger. Last night was yet another example of that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “It is why I have never fully trusted you with the Heart’s future.”

“I’ve never wanted your trust,” Greyson said, his voice still measured despite the facade of calm slipping. “Or your future.”

“And yet here you are,” Maximus countered, gesturing to the room around them, to the city beyond the windows. “Playing your part. Taking the Vow. Fulfilling your duty to the Heart, to our family.”

Greyson’s grip tightened around Shadera’s hand, his anger trapped between their palms.

“Given the circumstances,” Maximus continued, his tone shifting to something that mimicked regret, “I’m afraid I must insist on certain precautions until the ceremony.”

“What precautions?” Greyson asked, wariness evident in the sharpening of his voice.

“Since you are so desperate to get to know one another, you will be quarantined until the Vow. No outside communication. No visitors.” Maximus’s fingers steepled in front of his golden face. “For your protection, of course.”

“I will not let you cage me.” Greyson’s voice had dropped to a growl as he said the words.

“Then maybe the Daggermouth’s second assassination attempt was more successful than the first.” The threat hung in the air between them. “Perhaps she turned you against your family, against the Heart. Perhaps you are both threats that must be eliminated.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Greyson snarled, rising to his feet. “You can’t—”

“I can,” Maximus cut him off, his voice hardening. “I can and I will. You killed eight of my men, Greyson. Be grateful I’m allowing you to live, to continue with the ceremony. Be grateful I’m not having your bitch dragged to the platform this very moment and putting a bullet in the back of her head like I did her parents.” Maximus slowly leaned across the desk, toward his son. “Do not forget your sister has a perfectly good womb. Heirs are replaceable. Even if sons are not.”

Something snapped inside Shadera at his words, at the casual cruelty with which he threatened her life, their lives. She stood beside Greyson, hand still clasping his, her eyes burning into Maximus Serel’s golden mask.

“One day,” she said, her voice low, deadly, “you will pay for every crime you’ve committed. Against my parents. Against the rings. Against your son.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “Against your daughter.”

Maximus went rigid. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.

“Is that a threat, Ms. Kael?” he asked, his voice silk over poison.

“It’s a promise,” she replied. “The Heart will fall. You will fall. And I will be there to watch it happen.”

Maximus rose slowly from his chair, his height and breadth emphasizing the power he wielded. “No one will stand against me. Not the rings. Not my enemies. Not my own blood.” He moved around the desk with measured steps, stopping directly before her. “And certainly not Daggermouth scum like you, Shadera Kael.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You think you know what power is? What cruelty is? You have not seen anything yet. When this is over, when you have served your purpose, you will die like all the rest, as an example to all who would challenge me.”

The doors burst open behind them. Mikel entered, flanked by six more Veyra officers, their weapons drawn.

“Father—” Greyson started, fury igniting in his voice.

“Take them,” Maximus ordered, stepping back. “Separate cells. No contact until the ceremony.”

The Veyra descended upon them like wolves. Shadera felt hands grabbing her arms, wrenching her away from Greyson. She clung to his hand, fighting instinctively. She landed an elbow to one officer’s throat, heard him choke and stumble back. Her leg swept out, catching another behind the knees.

“Shadera.” Greyson’s voice cut through her thunderous heartbeats, desperation in his voice. “Don’t fight them, they’ll hurt you.”

A blow landed between her shoulder blades, driving her to her knees. Hands tangled in her hair, yanking her head back as Greyson’s fingers were ripped from hers. She felt it then, real, exquisite fear as she frantically clawed for him.

She watched Greyson struggling against three officers, his eyes locked on hers even as they forced him to the ground. Rage reflected in his eyes as the butt of a rifle landed in the center of her abdomen.

She buckled over as the air vanished from her lungs, choking as she tried to draw in oxygen.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Greyson roared as a fist connected with his jaw.

The sound of his nose snapping filled the air as a black bag descended over her head, plunging her into darkness. She screamed, a wordless sound of pure hate, thrashing against the hands that held her. Then she screamed for him, his name slipping over her lips, frantic and terrified as she felt herself being lifted from the ground and carried away.

Her name echoed back to her, his voice penetrating through the fabric as she reached out blindly in the dark, fingers grasping for something, for someone, for him.

Lira watched the evening light filter through the high windows of Callum’s apartment, painting long golden fingers across the polished floor. The shadows had grown longer since she’d arrived, stretching toward her like an ominous clock.

No word from Greyson or Shadera, no message—nothing but the hollow reassurances Callum offered with decreasing conviction as time passed. She traced the rim of her untouched whiskey glass, focusing on the cool touch of crystal against her fingertip rather than the knot of dread tightening in her stomach.

“They’re fine,” Callum said from across the room, not looking up from the security feeds he monitored on his tablet. “Your father likes to make people wait. It’s a power play.”

“You don’t know that,” Lira replied, her voice flat as she glanced down at her mask resting on the side table. “Something about this feels wrong.”

Callum set down his tablet with a sigh, running a hand through his thick brown hair. He’d been pacing, checking his networks, calling in favors to gather scraps of information—all without result. “It’s still early,” he insisted, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his concern. “If something had happened, we’d have heard. The Heart loves its gossip.”

Lira didn’t respond. Her father was many things, but predictable wasn’t one of them. Not anymore. Not since the growing unrest in the rings had begun eating away at his control, at his power. A cornered animal was most dangerous when it sensed its territory slipping away.

Callum moved to sit beside her on the plush couch, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not touching. He’d been careful with her since morning—since she’d put a bullet in Marcus Webb’s head, since the truth about her past had spilled from her lips like poison finally purged. The careful distance between them now was new, unfamiliar, as if he feared she might shatter at his touch.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked suddenly, his voice low. The question that had been hanging between them all day unspoken until now.

Her fingers tightened around the glass. “What would you have done if I had?”

Callum was silent for a long moment. “I would’ve killed them.”

“Exactly.” She turned to face him, meeting his eyes. “You would have gotten yourself put on that platform. And I couldn’t risk losing you too.”

“You were a child,” he said, the words catching in his throat. “A child, Lira. And I was supposed to protect you. We all were supposed to protect you.”

“Protect me?” A harsh laugh escaped her. “That was never your job, Callum. That was my father’s duty. My mother’s duty. And they failed.”

His face twisted with something like guilt, and she realized he was blaming himself for not seeing, for not knowing. For not saving her from a horror that had occurred before they’d even become close.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharpening. “I don’t have the energy to console your male shame.” She paused then sighed, her tone softening slightly. “Don’t take on guilt that isn’t yours to carry. You have your own nightmares from surviving in this place.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “All these years, I thought I was protecting you from the ugly realities of the Heart, from the violence and corruption. I thought you needed sheltering from the things I did, the choices I made.” His hands clenched into fists on his thighs. “And all along, you were the one protecting me.”

Lira set her glass down. “Is that why you kept me at a distance all these years? Why you never told me about your work for the rebellion? Because you thought I needed protection from the truth?”

“Yes,” he admitted after a pause. “That and . . . I didn’t want you to have to choose. Between me and your family. Between me and your duty to the Heart.”

She stared at him, anger flaring sudden and hot in her chest. “I thought I’d found a man I could trust,” she said, each word precise and cutting. “Someone who saw me as an equal, not just a Serel daughter to be used or protected. And now I learn that you’ve been hiding half your life from me, making decisions about what I could handle, what I should know.” She shook her head. “I’m angry, Callum. I’m fucking furious.”

“At me?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

“At everyone,” she replied. “At the fucking world we live in.” Her voice hardened. “And yes, at you. For thinking I was too fragile to handle your truth.”

“I never thought you—” he started to protest, but she cut him off.

“Didn’t you?” She stood, moving away from him, needing space as the words poured out. “You’ve treated me like glass from the moment we met. Always so careful, so controlled around me. Never letting me see the man who was capable of torturing Marcus Webb this morning, who disposes of bodies without thinking twice.” She turned back to face him. “Did you think I’d run screaming? Did you think I was so naive to what you do in your clubs?”

Callum rose to his feet, his own anger beginning to show. “Do you think I wanted to hide my true self from you? That I enjoyed a second of it?” He stepped closer. “I was trying to give you one fucking corner of this city that wasn’t soaked in blood and betrayal, Lira. One relationship that wasn’t built on violence and fear.”

“So instead you built it on lies.” The words burst from her, louder than she’d intended. “I never wanted to be the precious, perfect thing you kept on a shelf, untouched by the dirt of your real life.”

“And I never wanted to be the man who added to your nightmares!” he shouted back, his control finally slipping. “Do you have any idea what it does to me, knowing what happened to you? Knowing I’ve spent years in this apartment with you, talking to you, wanting you, and never suspecting the pain you were carrying?”

The raw honesty in his voice stopped her. She stared at him, seeing the anguish in his eyes, the self loathing. They stood facing each other across the room, two people who had spent years circling a truth neither had been brave enough to name.

“I don’t care,” she said finally. “I don’t give a damn about the violence in your life, Callum. I don’t care what you’ve done, who you’ve hurt, how many men you’ve tortured or killed.”

She moved toward him, each step deliberate.

“I don’t care if Greyson would be angry, if my father would forbid it. I don’t care about any of it.” Her eyes never left his. “Because I love you. I have loved you for years, through every moment you thought you were protecting me, through every secret you kept, through every touch you held back because you thought it was for the better.”

Callum’s jaw clenched at her words, almost as if he couldn’t believe she was saying them. That she still felt the same way after all these years.

Lira had never stopped loving him. Not for a single second. Her heart, her body, her soul had ached for him. Had mourned for the love lost to a man that was too afraid to love her back.

She was close enough to touch him now, but she didn’t. Not yet. Not until she’d said everything she’s been waiting to voice for five years.

“I’m not some fragile, breakable thing. I don’t want to be touched like I might shatter at any moment,” she continued, the words flowing now. “I’m a woman in a system designed to grind us down into nothing, to strip us of our worth and dignity and rights. I’ve survived that system and it didn’t make me weak or submissive, it made me angry. So fucking angry that sometimes I can barely breathe through it.” She paused for only a breath and straightened her shoulders. “Women are the backbone, the foundation, the immovable force that still does not falter when men stand on our spines to grab power. So no, Callum, I am not fragile. The cracks in my soul aren’t broken places. They are veins cemented together with rage. And it will take more than the hands of men to kill my spirit, to break my will.”

She finally reached for him, her fingers curling around his wrist, feeling his pulse race beneath her touch. “I don’t need your protection. I need your honesty. I need your trust. I need all of you—the ruthless club owner, the kind man I know you to be, the rebel informant, all of it.”

The silence that followed felt electric, charged with a potential that had been building between them for years. Callum’s eyes traveled over her face as if seeing her for the first time—really seeing her, not the mask she wore for the Heart, not the girl that he needed to protect, but the woman who had survived and grown stronger in her scars.

Callum’s hand came up slowly, hesitantly, to cup her cheek. The touch was different now—not careful, not controlled, but honest in its vulnerability.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” he finally said, his voice hoarse, the words unpolished. “The only honest part of me is what I feel for you.”

For a moment, the words hovered between them, trembling and alive. His voice, always a careful instrument, was stripped raw now. There was no calculation, no performance, no attempt to charm or deflect. He sounded almost boyish, almost frightened, as though in articulating the depth of his feelings he might be consumed by it.

“Lira, you—” He took a steadying breath. “I don’t deserve you. After everything I’ve put you through I don’t deserve you, and I know that. But I need you to know that you are the reason I keep fighting, the reason I believe there might still be something in this world worth saving. Because if someone like you can exist, if someone as kind and fierce and fucking beautiful as you can still stand tall after everything you’ve endured, then maybe there’s still hope for the rest of us.”

Lira’s body felt like it was floating somewhere above her as she listened to his words. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen.

“I am in awe of you. In awe of your resilience, your intelligence, your capacity for love in a world that has shown you so little of it. You are a goddamn force of nature, and I am just a man lucky enough to stand in your presence.”

Lira felt her eyes burn, her throat tightening.

“I don’t want to hide from you anymore,” he breathed, his eyes never wavering from her gaze. “I don’t want to pretend I’m anything less than completely, desperately in love with you. I want you to know me—all of me, even the parts I’m ashamed of, even the parts I thought would make you turn away. Because you’re right. You’re not fragile. You’re the strongest fucking person I’ve ever known. And I trust you with my truth, with my heart, with everything I am.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled, their lips a hairsbreadth apart.

“I love you,” he whispered again, the words a vow, a prayer. “I will always love you, in this life and whatever comes after. You are my beginning and my end, Lira Serel, and I am sorry.” He took a shuddering breath. “I am so sorry for not telling you that five years ago, for wasting so much of your time.”

In that moment, with those words and the last light of day fading around them, Lira felt something she’d stopped believing in long ago. Hope.

“I love you, Callie.”

Those four words seeped into Callum’s chest and his lips crashed against Lira’s before he could second guess himself, before the habit of restraint could reassert itself.

The kiss held none of his usual careful control—it was desperate, hungry, years of wanting poured into a single point of contact. Her mouth opened beneath his, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer with a strength that challenged his own. Gone was the delicate touch he’d always used with her, replaced by the raw need he’d kept leashed for so long.

His hands found her waist, pulling her against him with an urgency that matched the racing of his heart. Callum’s lips devoured hers, a hunger breaking free after years of starvation. He’d imagined this moment countless times—dreamed of it, ached for it—but reality eclipsed fantasy in ways he couldn’t have predicted. The soft gasp that escaped her as he backed her against the wall sent lightning through his veins.

Five years. Five fucking years wasted on noble intentions and misplaced protection.

He lifted her, hands sliding beneath her thighs as her legs wrapped around his waist. The weight of her, the heat of her body against his, felt like coming home after a lifetime of exile.

“Lira,” he breathed against her lips, reluctantly breaking the kiss to look at her. He needed to see her face, needed to know that this was real—she was real—and not another torturous dream he’d wake from alone and aching. “Are you sure?”

Her eyes met his, pupils dilated with desire, her lips swollen. The sight of her like this—disheveled, wanting, looking at him with such raw need—made his knees weak.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered, her fingers working frantically at the buttons of his shirt, impatient, demanding.

He captured her mouth again, unable to resist the pull of her any longer. His shirt fell open under her touch, her fingers trailing fire across his chest, exploring each ridge and plane of muscle as if committing him to memory.

Callum carried her toward the bedroom, unwilling to separate from her even for the short distance. The apartment blurred around them—the luxurious furnishings, the security screens, the evidence of his double life—none of it mattering now. Only this moment, only Lira mattered.

The bedroom door hit the wall with a bang as he kicked it open, not caring about the mark it would leave. The last rays of sunset filtered through the windows, bathing the room in golden light that caught in her hair, illuminating it like a crown of fire. He laid her gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he shrugged off his shirt and tossed it aside.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, drinking in the sight of her sprawled across his sheets, her hair fanning out around her like a dark flame against the fabric. “So fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes.”

Callum’s hands stilled on her hips. The trust in her gaze made something twist inside him. After everything—the secrets, the distance, the years of half-truths—she still looked at him like he was worthy of her. Like he was something more than the blood on his hands and the lies on his tongue.

“What is it?” she asked, pushing herself up on her elbows. Concern had begun to replace desire in her expression, and he couldn’t bear it.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted, the words scraping his throat raw. “Afraid that once I have you again, I’ll never be able to let you go.”

“Then don’t,” she answered simply and the last of his restraint shattered.

Callum surged forward, her mouth clashing with his as he pressed her back into the mattress. His hips ground into hers instinctively as he groaned against her mouth.

The dress she wore became an enemy, a barrier between him and what he craved. His fingers found the zipper at her back, dragging it down with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. The fabric parted beneath his touch, revealing inches of soft skin that he immediately claimed with his mouth.

He pressed his lips to each new expanse exposed—the soft curve of her stomach, the delicate arch of her ribs, the swell of her breasts.

When he finally pulled the garment over her head, his breath caught in his throat. The fading light cast shadows across her body, highlighting every curve, every dip and hollow. His fingertips traced the edge of her bra, feeling her shiver beneath his touch.

“I’ve dreamed of this so many times,” he confessed, his voice rough with desire as he unhooked her bra with ease, sliding it down her arms. “But nothing I imagined comes close to how perfect you are.”

Her breasts spilled free, and Callum couldn’t resist lowering his head to taste her, his tongue circling one nipple while his fingers teased the other. The sound she made—half gasp, half moan—sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock, already hard and straining against his pants.

“Callum,” she breathed, her back arching, pressing herself more firmly against his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as if afraid he might stop. “God, that feels so good.”

He switched his attention to her other breast, lavishing it with the same care, drawing another breathless moan from her lips. His free hand slid down her stomach to the waistband of her underwear and slowly dragged them down.

“I want to worship every inch of you,” he murmured against her skin, pressing kisses along the valley between her breasts, down her sternum, across her stomach. “I want to learn every sound you make when I touch you here—” His fingers dipped between her thighs, finding her already wet. “—and here.”

Lira gasped as his fingers slid through her folds, circling her clit with teasing pressure. “Please,” she whispered, her hips lifting to meet his touch. “I need you.”

He slid her underwear the rest of the way down her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he tossed it aside. She was completely bare before him, a feast for his senses that he intended to savor.

“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice bordering on a moan as his fingers explored her, finding the places that made her breath catch, that made her tremble. “Tell me, my love, how many times do you want to come?”

Lira gasped at the question, but didn’t answer. He pressed harder on her clit, and a deep moan rolled from her lungs.

“I want you to tell me,” he breathed, bringing his lips to her ear and nipping at her lobe.

“Three,” she forced out, her voice thin and breathy.

Callum chuckled then pushed a finger inside her. “Only three? We can do better than that.”

“Oh God.” Her moan was ragged as it fell from her lips. “F-five,” she gasped, greedily pushing her hips toward his hand.

Callum grinned against her neck at the sound of her pleasure, dragging his lips to hers and kissing her deep and hungry before pulling away. He lowered himself between her thighs, pressing kisses to the soft skin of her inner legs, slowly working his way higher. When his mouth finally found her center, the taste of her exploded across his tongue and he groaned against her, the vibration making her gasp and buck against his mouth.

Callum took his time, licking and sucking, his tongue tracing patterns that had her writhing beneath him as her hands fisted in the sheets. He slid another finger inside her, curling them to hit the spot that made her cry out his name.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, watching her face as pleasure transformed her features. “I’m going to worship you like you deserve.”

Her eyes locked with his, dark with desire, her lips parted as her breathing grew more ragged. He could feel her tightening around his fingers, so close to the edge. He increased the pressure of his tongue against her clit, his fingers moving in rhythm inside her.

“Callum.” His name was a cry torn from her throat as she shattered, her body arching off the bed, her walls clenching around his fingers. He didn’t stop, working her through the waves of her orgasm until she collapsed back onto the mattress, trembling and breathless.