36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

IZEL

I’m still cuffed, sitting in this goddamn interrogation room, and I hate Richard right now. I’m practically shaking with anger and fear. His teammates are useless, pacing around, muttering into their radios, but none of them can give me any answers. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life. I’ve never asked God for anything, but right now, I’m begging for Richard to be safe.

How could he do this? How could he throw himself into danger like that and leave me behind? The thought of him out there, risking everything, makes my chest ache. I can’t stop thinking about that moment when he looked into my eyes, the way he confessed his love. And then, he fucking cuffed me. He handcuffed me like I was some criminal to keep me from following him.

I’ve never felt so powerless. I’ve spent my whole life fighting for control, clawing my way out of every shitty situation, and now here I am, stuck in this room with my wrists bound, while the man I love is out there, facing down death.

Every time someone walks past the door, I tense up, hoping it’s him. But it’s never him. It’s always just another faceless agent, another useless figure who can’t tell me anything.

“Please,” I mutter. “Just let him be okay.”

I glance around the room, looking for anything, any sign of hope. But there’s nothing. Just cold metal chairs and a table that feels like it’s a million miles wide. My hands are starting to go numb from the cuffs, and I shift uncomfortably, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt. But it’s useless. Everything hurts right now.

The door opens and my heart leaps into my throat. But it’s just Emily. “Any news?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. But we’ve got people on it. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Everything you can?” I snap. “That’s not good enough! He’s out there with a fucking bomb! I need to know he’s safe!”

Emily looks at me with pity, and it makes me want to scream. “I know you’re scared,” she says softly. “We all are. But Richard’s tough. He’s going to get through this.”

“Don’t patronize me. You have no idea what this feels like. You’re not the one sitting here, wondering if the person you love is going to die because he decided to play the hero.”

Emily opens her mouth to respond, but I cut her off. “Just get out. I can’t deal with this right now.”

She hesitates, then nods and leaves.

The minutes drag on. My heart feels like it’s going to burst from my chest. I’m angry, I’m scared, I’m...everything. I think about all the things I should have said, all the times I should have told him how much he means to me.

Now I realize how much I depend on him, how much I need him. And if he’s not okay... I don’t even want to finish that thought. But the moment I know he’s safe, I swear I’m going to get miles away from him.

A cup of coffee slides across the table in front of me, the fifth one in God knows how long. I snap, finally beyond annoyed.

“I said I don’t want any fucking coffee!” I don’t even bother looking up. I’m too pissed off to care who’s trying to be nice.

“Good thing it’s not for you then,” comes a familiar voice.

That voice. My head snaps up so fast I think I might’ve pulled something. Standing there, covered in dirt, looking exhausted but very much alive, is Richard. For a second, I’m frozen. Then I’m out of the chair, flinging myself at him.

“Hey baby, I’m covered in dirt,” he says against my hair.

“I don’t care,” I murmur, clutching him even tighter. I was thinking I needed to get away from him, but now that he’s here, that thought seems impossible. And the damn cuffs are getting in the way.

“You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were dead. I hate you so much right now.”

He’s silent for a moment, just holding me. Then, I feel him smile against my hair. “I love you so much more,” he whispers.

“You fucking idiot. Why do you always have to play the hero?”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes soft despite the dirt and exhaustion. “Because I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you. I had to make sure you were safe.”

“You’re an idiot,” I repeat, but there’s no heat in my words. Just relief.

“Let’s get these off you,” he says, reaching for the cuffs. He pulls out a key and quickly unlocks them, freeing my wrists. I rub them, wincing at the red marks left behind.

“Thank you,” I say. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

He sits down across from me, taking my hands in his. “I know. I’m sorry you had to go through that. But I’m here now. And I’m okay.”

“How did you…?”

“Diffuse the bomb?” He smiles, a bit of the old cockiness creeping back in. “It was tricky, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I knew I couldn’t take the risk, so I drove it to the lake. As soon as I hit the water, I bailed. The car and the bomb went under, and the water contained the explosion.”

“Jesus,” I breathe, my grip tightening on his hand. “You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says softly. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Just then, his phone rings. He glances at the screen and answers, his expression shifting into that focused, serious look he gets when he’s in work mode. “Yeah, Noah, what’s up?”

I can’t hear Noah’s side of the conversation, but I watch Richard’s face, trying to gauge what’s going on. His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow.

“No, I’m not leaving the room,” he says. “I don’t care what Wilson wants.”

A pause. Richard’s grip on my hand tightens. “I don’t give a shit about protocol right now. Izel’s been through enough, and I’m not about to let Wilson grill her after everything that’s happened.”

Another pause, longer this time. Richard’s knuckles turn white. “Tell Wilson he can question her later. If he wants to talk to Izel, he can wait. She needs a break. If Wilson has a problem, he can come down here and talk to me himself.”

I can hear Noah’s muffled voice, but not the words. Richard’s face hardens further. “Yeah, well, Wilson can go fuck himself if he thinks I’m just going to step aside. I’m not leaving her, and that’s final.”

He hangs up and lets out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that,” he mutters.

“What’s going on?”

“Wilson wants to question you,” Richard says bitterly. “He thinks he’s going to get you to say something useful. But I told Noah that’s not happening.”

I bite my lip. “I can’t believe this. After everything, they still don’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust, Izel. Wilson wants to get you to confess about the kills. But he’s not going to push you around. Not while I’m here.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

Richard leans back in his chair, still holding my hand. “He’s probably going to storm in here any second, thinking he can intimidate me into leaving.”

“Let him try,” I say. “I’m not saying a word without you here.”

He smiles with a hint of pride in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

The door opens, and sure enough, Wilson walks in. “Agent Reynolds, a word outside, please.”

Richard stands up but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it here.”

Wilson’s eyes narrow. “This is highly irregular. We need to debrief her immediately.”

“Not happening,” Richard says firmly. “She’s been through enough. You want answers, you wait until she’s ready.”

Wilson’s face darkens. “This isn’t a request, Agent. It’s an order.”

Richard steps closer to Wilson. “With all due disrespect, sir , I don’t give a fuck. She’s not a suspect; she’s a victim. And I’m not going to let you or anyone else treat her like she’s anything less.”

There’s a tense standoff. Wilson glares at Richard, but Richard doesn’t back down. Finally, Wilson sighs and looks at me. “Miss Montclair, when you’re ready, we have some questions.”

“I’ll answer when I’m ready.”

Hours later, after giving my statement, I’m in the car with Richard. I stare out the window, lost in thought. Dating an FBI agent has its perks. Like being able to get away with murder. Several murders.

“So, you’re going to interrogate my mother?”

Richard sighs, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ll have to. Along with Victor. We need her statement.”

I nod, feeling a pit of guilt in my stomach. “I drugged her, you know. Just to get her out of the basement. I feel like shit about it.”

Richard glances at me. “You did what you had to do to save her. Your mom’s fine, Izel. Luna’s taken it upon herself to look after her.”

I cringe at Luna’s name. “Great. I have to apologize to Luna too.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand.”

I nod, but before I can say anything else, my phone rings. Richard had retrieved it from Victor. I glance at the screen—Martin.

“Hey, Martin.”

“Izel, thank God. Are you okay?”.

“I’m fine,” I say, glancing at Richard. “Just dealing with everything. What’s going on?”

“The mansion is swarming with fed agents and cops,” Martin says. “They found the hidden room Victor had built in the basement.”

I take a deep breath. “How’s Grandma?”

“She’s... not great,” Martin admits. “But Mom’s here, looking after her.”

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” I say, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on me. “Tell Grandma I love her, okay?”

“Of course. Just take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, I will.” I hang up and notice Richard’s jaw clenching.

“Something wrong?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Just Martin,” he mutters, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“Are you jealous?” I tease, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Maybe a little,” he admits, his tone begrudging. “I don’t like the idea of anyone else swooping in when you’re vulnerable.”

“You don’t need to be jealous, Richard. You’re the one I love. Martin’s just looking out for me.”

“I know,” he says, glancing at me sideways.

I raise an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

He hesitates, then says, “I may have read your chats with Martin.”

“You what? Richard, that’s so nosy!”

He grins, looking a bit sheepish. “Hey, I was just looking out for you. Had to make sure he wasn’t some creep.”

“Martin, a creep? You clearly haven’t met him. He’s the biggest dork ever.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” Richard defends himself. “All I saw were the messages.”

“Which were totally innocent,” I point out, nudging him playfully. “You’re such a worrywart.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks, his eyes softening. “I care about you.”

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “I know, and I love that about you. But next time, maybe just ask instead of snooping?”

He laughs, a genuine sound that lightens the mood. “Alright, I’ll ask. But you have to promise you’ll be honest with me.”

I look away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Which I haven’t been.”

He furrows his brow. “Hey, don’t—”

“No, I get it,” I cut him off. “I have lied to you. About a lot of things.”

His expression shifts to something more serious. “Izel...”

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? You’re always going to suspect me, question everything I do.”

Richard reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I want to trust you.”

“But you can’t,” I insist, shaking my head. “And it’s not your fault because you can’t help it. It’s who you are. And I…”

I don’t get to finish my sentence as the car comes to a stop. I look out the window and realize we’ve pulled up at my front porch. The conversation gets cut short, just like that. Maybe we’ll never have it again. Maybe I don’t want to.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask, turning to Richard.

He looks at me. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure that I don’t want to be alone right now. And I don’t think you do either.”

Richard nods, and we get out of the car. The walk to the front door feels like it takes forever. As soon as we’re through the door, it’s like a dam breaks.

Before I can even lock the door behind us, Richard’s hands are on my waist, pulling me close. I tilt my head up, and his lips crash against mine. It’s not gentle or sweet; it’s desperate and hungry, like we’re both trying to erase the terror of the past few hours.

“Fuck, Izel,” he breathes. “I thought I was going to lose you today.”

“I’m here,” I murmur against his mouth. “We’re both here.”

We barely make it to the living room. His jacket is the first to go, followed by my shirt. Buttons fly, and fabric tears as we claw at each other, needing to feel skin against skin. I push him onto the couch and straddle his lap, grinding against him as his hands move up my back, unhooking my bra.

Richard’s mouth is on my breasts in an instant, sucking and biting, leaving marks that sting and thrill me at the same time. His hands move down, tearing at my panties until they’re nothing but scraps on the floor.

“This couch isn’t exactly the best place to fuck,” I whisper.

“You won’t be thinking about the couch for long,” he growls, sliding his hand between my legs. His fingers brush my pussy, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

His fingers find my clit, rubbing circles that make my whole body shudder. I want him inside me so badly, but I know better than to rush him. Richard likes to take his time, to draw out every moment until I’m begging for him.

His fingers move faster, and I can’t control myself anymore. My hips buck against him, chasing that edge he always takes me to. My hands fly out, searching for something to hold on to, but instead of grabbing onto him or the couch, one of my fingers hits something hot.

The heat feels too familiar, and I’m not ready for it. The warmth licks at my skin, just like it used to, crawling up my arm like an old memory that I’d buried a decade ago.

You’d think after all these years, I’d have learned to stop reaching for things that burn. But no. I keep my hand there, letting the fire creep closer, daring it to hurt me again. That’s the thing about being human—we’re masochists at heart. We’d rather feel something, even pain, than feel nothing at all. It’s almost funny, in a tragic sort of way.

It isn’t until someone pulls us back, shakes us awake, that we realize just how close we were to destruction. We don’t see the danger until it’s too late, until the hand on our arm reminds us there’s still a way out. Just as the fire threatens to take me, I feel the grip on my wrist. It yanks me away, breaking the spell.

I open my eyes, snapping back to reality, and I find Richard staring at me. I glance to the side and find the candle I'd lit earlier. I don’t even know how it’s still burning after all this time. Richard pauses, his fingers stopping right on my clit, and I instantly regret getting distracted. He follows my gaze, his eyes locking onto the candle.

“Did that feel better?”

I almost laugh, but it comes out more like a shaky breath. I reach up, bringing my hand to his cheek, and he doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans into it, letting me trace the curve of his jaw. He just watches me, and it’s like he’s looking right through all my bullshit. He knows everything now, everything about the scars I’ve tried to hide, about the past I’ve kept buried. He knows the darkness and the damage, all the twisted shit I’ve done to cope. But there’s one thing he doesn’t know.

“How do you find the strength to keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He tilts his head slightly.

“Like you’re in love.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Because I am.”

“What makes you think I won’t hurt you again?”

It’s the most honest I’ve been with him in a long time.

“Oh, I know you will,” he says, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand, tracing the line where the candle’s heat kissed my skin. “But that’s the thrill, isn’t it? Knowing that you can destroy me, and that I’d let you.”

His thumb keeps brushing over my skin, and I feel every gentle stroke like a taunt, a reminder that he’s not backing down. “Just like I know you’d let me heal you.”

My hand drops from his cheek, and I frown. Heal me? He’s got it all wrong. I turn my head to the side, trying to make sense of what the fuck he’s talking about, but my eyes catch on him picking up the candle. The flame casts shadows across his face, and my breath catches in my throat. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at the candle. It’s like he’s in another world, and I can feel the panic rising in my chest. The memories slam into me, taking me back to when I was ten, to the nights I’d cry out, begging for it to stop. I was never scared of fire before—not until I knew the source of the pain it could bring.

I try to pull away, but he’s too quick. In a heartbeat he’s pinning me down. His hand is wrapped around my wrist again, holding me in place as he towers over me. “Let me go,” I whisper. I can’t do this. Not with him.

“Why?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, the flame still flickering dangerously close. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“Yes,” I breathe out. It’s not just a yes; it’s an admission of fear I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years. I try to yank my wrist free, but his grip tightens. The way he’s looking at me—fuck, it’s like he’s daring me to face it.

“I’m not him,” he says firmly. “But I need you to understand something. If you run, if you keep pushing me away, I’m going to keep coming back. Because I don’t give up that easy.”

“You’re scaring me,” I admit.

“Good,” he whispers. “Maybe you should be scared. Because I’m not like the others. I won’t let you hide behind your walls. I’m going to pull you out, kicking and screaming if I have to.”

He nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. I feel his lips peppering kisses along the length of my neck, and despite every fucking alarm bell ringing in my head, I arch into him. My body betrays me, pressing closer, craving his touch like a drug.

He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. And then, without a word, he tilts the candle. The wax drips onto my arm, right over one of the old burn scars, and I scream out. He dips his pinky into the hot wax, scooping a small drop. His eyes never leave mine as he starts tracing something on top of the still-warm wax, moving his finger slowly and carefully. The pain spreads, but there’s something about the way he’s doing it, the gentle focus in his eyes, that makes it hurt a little less.

When I finally manage crane my neck to see what he’s doing, my breath catches in my throat. It looks like he’s trying to draw a butterfly over the wax. It’s messy, unsteady, doesn’t even resemble a proper butterfly—just two uneven wings and a wavy line in the middle. But it’s beautiful in its own imperfect way, the way it covers part of my tattoo but leaves the scar untouched, like he’s acknowledging both without trying to hide either.

“How old were you?” he murmurs against my skin, his lips grazing my ear as he speaks.

“Ten,” I gasp.

His eyes darken with something unreadable, and he reaches up, pressing a kiss to my cheek like he’s trying to kiss away the years of pain. And then, just as I start to feel the comfort of his touch, he tips the candle again. More wax splashes onto another scar, and I scream, but he swallows it with a rough kiss. I’m panting, caught between the need to pull away and the need to press closer, when I feel his fingertip on the wax. Slowly he starts tracing another shape, dragging his finger in small, uneven loops. My skin tingles with every tiny stroke of his finger.

I manage to tilt my head down, trying to see what he’s doing. More butterflies. He’s drawing more fucking butterflies over my scars. They’re just as messy as the first, just as imperfect, but I can feel the intent behind them. His fingertip dips and swirls, and it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark of something new on top of all the old pain.

“Why?” I whisper, barely able to get the word out. “Why butterflies?”

His finger pauses for a second, then continues its slow, careful path. “Because they’re fragile, beautiful, and they’ve been through hell to get here. Just like you.”

“You’re making it hurt less,” I choke out.

He leans in, kissing the corner of my mouth softly, and I feel his fingertip lift off the wax. “That’s kinda the point.”

The next drop of wax lands close to my inner thigh, just inches from where my pussy is throbbing for him, and I flinch, but I don’t scream this time. The pain is there, but it’s like I can’t feel it fully. My mind is too tangled up in him. The burn of the wax fades into something almost sweet when I see the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m the most precious, broken thing he’s ever held in his hands. His thumb strokes over the skin of my inner thigh, right near the fresh mark.

He tilts the candle, letting another drop fall. It lands so fucking close to my clit that I flinch, jerking my hips upwards. “You know what this reminds me of?” he asks. “The first time I realized I was in love with you.”

I blink, trying to process what the hell he’s saying through the haze of pain and pleasure. “What?”

He smirks, dragging the candle lower, the heat of the flame so close I can feel it licking at my skin. “The first time I saw you protective. You were so fucking protective of Austin, so fierce, that it broke something in me. Because I knew then you’d never had someone look out for you like that.”

“Stop,” I whisper, but it’s weak. I don’t even know if I want him to stop.

“You never let anyone take your power,” he says, his voice softening just a fraction. “But right now, you’re helpless, and you’re letting me be the one to strip it from you.”

His hips shift against me, and I feel the hard drag of his cock pressing into my inner thigh through his jeans, the friction tearing a gasp from my throat.

“Why the fuck does that turn you on?” I gasp as he lets another drop of wax fall, this time right onto my clit. The burn is immediate and I scream. My thighs tremble as the pain melts into pure pleasure.

“Because it’s real,” he growls. He moves the candle to my pussy, spreading my lips apart, and he looks down at me. “I want every fucking part of you. The good, the bad, the broken. I want to feel it all.”

I can’t help the moan that slips from my lips. “Even the part of me that lied to you? Lied to so many others?” I swallow hard, the guilt and shame pouring out in a flood I can’t stop. “The part where I kept my mouth shut while people died because I didn’t say a fucking word?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps rubbing the candle up and down my slit, spreading my juices all over it. I can feel the cool, non-burning end pressing against my entrance now.

“What are you—” I start, but the words die on my lips as he pushes the candle inside me, the burning end brushing dangerously close to my inner thighs.

“It’s not burning you,” he murmurs, “but it’s close, isn’t it? Close enough to make you wonder what’ll happen if you move too much.”

“Richard,” I whisper.

He ignores the warning in my tone, his other hand sliding up to cup my breast, fingers pinching my nipple hard enough to make me arch into him. The movement makes the candle shift inside me, brushing against something that has me gasping.

Then I feel the first drop of hot wax, landing right above my pussy lips. Another drop follows, closer this time, and I can’t stop the startled cry that escapes me.

“Richard, I can feel it,” I say, the panic lacing my voice. “It’s—it’s getting too close.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to come, won’t you?” His thumb circles my nipple, and I let out a soft moan. “Unless you want your pretty little cunt scorched.”

My hips roll instinctively, desperate for more friction even as I try to keep still. I hear the faint crackle of the wick burning down, the wax melting faster with every second. My breath catches in my throat as I realize the candle is getting shorter, the burning end creeping closer with every moment.

“Why did you keep your mouth shut?”

The abrupt shift in his tone makes my mind stutter. The question feels misplaced, jarring against the raw sensations flooding my senses.

But it’s not misplaced. Of course, it’s not. I was the one who said it, who blurted out my guilt like some confession under the weight of his touch. And now he’s weaponizing it. His hand tightens around the candle, and he presses it just a little deeper.

“I was scared of death.”

The wick crackles again, louder this time. Another drop falls as the molten wax kisses my swollen lips with a burn that has me gasping.

Richard thrusts the candle completely inside me. “Why were you scared of death?”

Tears sting my eyes as my mind frantically starts searching for a way out even as my body betrays me, chasing the release I know will end this exquisite torture. If I want to keep my pussy from burning, I have no choice—I have to come. He knows it and he’s going to drag it out until I’m wrecked beyond recognition.

“When I escaped the basement, I began to experience life for the first time,” I say. “My mother did her best to explain what life was like outside those walls, but until you actually live it, you can’t really understand. For the first seventeen years of my life, I only knew the world through stories and glimpses from the games mom and I played. I heard about sunshine and rain, but I had never felt them. When I finally stepped outside and felt the sun on my skin and the rain on my face, it was overwhelming. I was so afraid because I realized how fragile life is, how quickly it can be taken away. The more I experienced, the more I feared losing it all.”

“And now? Are you still scared of death?”

“I guess. Even more so when Victor made me kill Isla.”

His movements stop for a minute. Is he judging me? Is he going to arrest me now that I’ve confessed? I didn’t want to hide it from him, but I didn’t want to confess like this either. I’m scared to look at him, so I keep my eyes on the ground.

Suddenly, he thrusts the candle painfully inside me, the flame almost touching my pussy lips, and let out a yelp.

“Are you scared now, Izel?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He thrusts the candle deeper. The heat is unbearable, yet addictive. “You either fear it, or you don’t. Which is it?”

“Fuck, Richard—please.”

My fingers twitch between us, itching to reach for any part of him, but they stay pinned.

“Please what?” His voice is cruel, mocking. His free hand trails down my stomach. “You want me to stop?”

“No.” The word escapes before I can think. I hate myself for it, but the truth is undeniable. I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want him to fucking stop.

“That’s what I thought.”

He shifts the candle again, pressing the melted end deeper, and my pussy clenches hard. The flame dances dangerously close, a tease, a threat, and my body reacts with an urgency that leaves me breathless. My clit throbs, desperate for attention, and I know if I don’t come soon, I’ll break apart in a way that might leave me ruined.

“Touch yourself.” His grip loosens just enough, and I manage to slip one hand free. “Rub that cunt for me. I want to feel you drench this candle.”

I don’t hesitate. My hands find freedom and slide down between my thighs. The moment I touch my clit, a moan rips from my throat.

“That’s it,” Richard growls. “Look at you… a fucking mess. My mess.”

My fingers circle my clit faster, harder, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through me. I can feel the wax melting inside me, coating my walls, adding to the slickness that drips from me.

“You think you can come without putting that flame out?” His tone is a challenge, daring me to push further. “Prove me wrong. Or maybe…” He lets the words hang. “Maybe you like being a little too late. Maybe you want to burn for me.”

“Richard—fuck—I can’t—”

“Trying isn’t good enough. You’ve got seconds, Izel. Make them count. Unless…” He chuckles low. “Unless you’re willing to gamble that I’ll stop it in time.”

A small voice in the back of my mind reminds me Richard wouldn’t actually let me get hurt, but I’m not about to test that theory.

I rub harder, faster, my moans turning to cries as I chase the release he demands. Just when I think I can’t, the flame licks at my entrance, and that’s it. I fall—no, I fucking crash—into oblivion, my body starts convulsing as pleasure blinds me. My pussy clenches hard around the candle, the flame flickers once, twice, then dies out as a gush of liquid bursts from me, drenching the candle, his hand, the couch.

When I open my eyes, my whole body is trembling in the aftermath of my orgasm. My gaze drops, and that’s when I see the mess. My thighs are soaked, the couch is drenched, and his hand… oh, God.

I fucking squirted.

My face burns hotter than the candle ever did. “Uh… I didn’t mean to—shit—I didn’t know I could—”

My words die on my tongue as his fingers dip down, sliding through the mess I’ve made. The slow, deliberate drag of his fingertips through my soaked thighs makes my entire body clench.

He pulls his hand up, the shine of my release glistening on his fingers under the dim light. My breath catches as he brings them to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste me. The sight is filthy, unapologetic, and so goddamn erotic it makes my pussy clench all over again.

His eyes stay locked on mine as he sucks his fingers into his mouth. His lips close around his fingers with a quiet, obscene groan.

“If you think that little mess is the end, you’re wrong, baby. I’m going to wring every last fucking drop out of you. So, get comfortable—or don’t. Either way, I’m not stopping until I’ve got nothing left to take.”

His hand wraps around the base of the candle and he pulls it out of me slowly. I gasp at the stretch as my walls clench around the absence. The moment it’s free, he tosses it aside carelessly, and I barely have time to register the loss before his hands are on me again. His hand snakes around my waist as he lifts me, turning me onto my stomach with a fluid motion. I’m kneeling on the couch now, my knees digging into the cushions while my torso drapes over the armrest. The position leaves me half on the couch and half dangling off it, my breasts brushing against the cool leather, and my ass pushed up into the air.

He adjusts me, making sure my pussy is perfectly aligned with the armrest. The pressure against my clit from the position is intense, a delicious friction that has me instinctively pushing back against him. I still when the cushion dips under his weight as he braces one knee on the couch. I can feel the heat of him, his chest brushing against my back as he aligns himself perfectly with me. The extra pressure from the sinking cushion makes my clit grind harder against the armrest.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he murmurs against the shell of my ear. “Are you still scared of death?”

“I told you…” My voice is muffled against the cushion, but it doesn’t stop the trembling edge in it. “I don’t know.”

“Not good enough,” he murmurs as his nail trails teasingly along my wet slit. “I need a real answer. And if you don’t know… I guess I’ll just have to help you figure it out.”

I have no idea what he means, and I don’t get to ask when he thrusts fully inside me. It’s a good thing I’m sandwiched between the couch and him, or else I would have toppled over. When did he undress? Well, that isn’t even concerning, but what is concerning is his hand coming across my throat.

“Fuck, Richard!” I gasp, my body reacting to his every move. “What are you—”

“How does it feel knowing I can take your life away with a flick of my wrist?”

“I don’t care,” I manage to spit out.

“How does it feel knowing that I can toss you away in prison for the rest of your life?”

He thrusts harder, and I can’t form a coherent response. The only thing I manage to say is something unintelligible because he feels so damn good. He can go to hell for all I care.

I reach behind me to steady myself, gripping his arm on my hip. I feel the blood rushing through every single nerve under my fingertips, and my eyes flutter at the absence of oxygen in my veins. It’s as if he’s bleeding me dry to fill himself. With another powerful thrust, he asks, “How does it feel knowing you’ll never be able to taste the sun, feel the rain?”

My eyes roll back. God, I’m so close that I can’t articulate a response. I’m glad I’m not saying it out loud because, yeah, I feel scared.

He continues, “How does it feel knowing that you’ll never be able to love me?”

Before Richard, I had never actually felt true love. My mother’s love was there, yes, but it was different—gentle, nurturing, like a soft blanket on a cold night. Richard’s love, though, is something else entirely. His love ignites a ravenous hunger within me, an insatiable desire that consumes me whole. He makes me carnivorous for love, something I devour greedily, like a beast hungry for every last morsel, gnawing it down to the bone.

He asks again, “How does it really feel?”

He releases my throat, and I gulp in air desperately, as if it’s the only thing keeping me alive. It’s like I’ve been submerged underwater for too long, my lungs burning and my vision fading, and now I’ve broken the surface, gasping for the life-giving breath I was so brutally denied. Our eyes meet, and I say, “Like a bird with clipped wings, fluttering futilely against the cage of my own emotions. Every flutter is a whisper of devotion, while every beat of my heart is a silent scream for freedom from the chains of my love for you. Yet, breaking free feels like an impossible dream, overshadowed by the circling vultures in the sky.”

He tightens his hand around my throat again. “That’s because, baby, you were never scared of death. You were scared of not living enough.”

I start to protest, but his grip tightens. “No, that’s not—”

“Shhh,” he demands.

The pressure on my throat makes it hard to think, hard to do anything but feel. “Richard,” I choke out. “Please…”

“Please what?” he asks, thrusting harder, making my body tremble. “Please fuck you harder? Please let you breathe?”

“Please, let me…” I can’t finish the sentence, the pleasure and the lack of air making me dizzy.

“You don’t need air to come,” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. “You just need me.”

He’s right. I’m so close, and I can feel the orgasm building, ready to crash over me like a wave. Just as I’m about to topple over the edge, he stops moving inside me. My entire body radiates anger and frustration. I try to express my need, but his grip on my neck is too tight. I manage to look at him, desperation in my eyes.

“Please,” I gasp.

When he doesn’t move, I realize it’s not what he wants to hear this time. He wants me to confess my love for him, but I’m not about to give in that easily. I bite my lip, searching for something that’ll be close enough to satisfy him without completely surrendering.

Summoning every bit of strength, I choke out, “There’s no heaven waiting for my soul, but when you’re inside me, it’s the closest I’ll ever get.”

He tightens his grip on my neck, and I can feel the pressure building, like he’s trying to force the words out of me. He bends closer to my ear, and whispers, “I’m not here to save your soul; I’m here to fuck it out of you.”

He picks up his pace, thrusting into me with a renewed intensity. He shifts our bodies so my clit is rubbing against the armrest, and the sensation is incredible.

My mind is a haze of pleasure and pain, and all I can do is hold on as he drives into me like a madman. “Oh god,” I moan, the words barely escaping my lips.

“Yeah,” Richard growls. His hands grip my hips tighter, holding me in place as he slams into me with unrelenting force. “There—right there.”

He angles his hips, his cock hitting a spot so deep and devastating it makes me cry out. “Is that it, baby?” he taunts. “Is that where you want me to answer your prayers?”

His words push me over the edge. I feel the orgasm building like a storm. When it hits, it’s like the world explodes in a burst of white-hot pleasure. My body convulses and my muscles tighten around him as waves of ecstasy ripple through me.

He releases my throat, and as liberated as that feels, he picks up the pace, not giving me enough room to steady my breathing.

“Oh, fuck!” I scream.

“Don’t swear,” he chides with a wicked grin on his face. “God’s listening.”

I crane my neck to look at him. “He can watch,” I gasp, though I’m sure it comes out as gibberish.

Richard leans down and captures my lips, murmuring against them, “He’s probably learning a thing or two.”

The angle makes my neck hurt, but I don’t care. My entire body is still convulsing with the force of my orgasm, and somehow, another is already building low in my belly.

“Fuck, Izel, you feel so good,” he groans. “You’re going to make me come.”

“Richard,” I pant, the pleasure mounting again, “I can’t… I’m…”

“Yes, you can,” he insists, thrusting deeper.

His movements become more frantic, his grip on my hips is almost bruising as he drives into me. Each thrust sends shockwaves through my body, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. The intensity is unbearable, and I feel like I’m going to break apart.

I can’t hold back any longer. My entire body tenses, then shatters around him as the orgasm rips through me. My vision blurs, and I scream his name.

Richard isn’t far behind. With a final, deep thrust, he groans loudly, his body shaking as he releases inside me. The warmth of his cum fills me, adding to the overwhelming sensation. He keeps thrusting, riding out both our orgasms until we’re both spent and trembling.

We collapse together on the couch, our bodies slick with sweat and trembling from the intensity. He’s still inside me, our breaths mingling as we try to catch them.

“That was… incredible,” he murmurs against my skin.

I nod, unable to find the words to respond. My body is still tingling, the aftershocks of pleasure making me shiver. He pulls out of me gently, and I feel the loss keenly, but he doesn’t go far. He wraps me in his arms, holding me close.