Page 49 of Little Deaths

She didn’t dare breathe. His long legs were standing in the middle of the doorframe. She saw them shift as he paused, as if he were taking in the sight of his old room.

Despite the adrenaline pounding through her veins, she wondered what he was thinking.

And then she sneezed again, and Rafe swooped to his knees. “Found you.”

Another little scream escaped her as he reached beneath the bed and gripped her ankle. She clawed at the carpet, getting ancient dust under her fingernails and filling her mouth and throat with it so thickly that soon she was coughing instead of screaming.

Rafe jerked her to her feet, brushing the dust and cobwebs from her hair, his hands smoothing over her blouse, which had ridden up where it had gotten untucked from her skirt. “Nice choice,” he said, breath hot against her cheek. “I would have picked my room, too.”

She glanced at the bed nervously, piled high with coats and old boxes, but Rafe was herding her backwards, towards his desk. A spike of fear pounded through her when she realized he was still holding his knife. Noticing her glance, he said, “Lose the top, or I’m cutting it off.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said faintly.

A strange, hard smile played at his mouth. “I guess you’ll find out.”

That smile had her reaching for the buttons, her fingers stumbling under his watchful eyes. He let her get through half of them before knocking her hand aside and yanking her up against his chest, hooking the knife in the tulle in a neat, downward slash that sliced the shirt to her navel.

“Rafe!” she shrieked, and his arm tightened, keeping her from bucking into the knife. “Youasshole.” She surged forward and Rafe nearly lost his grip. But then he nudged her forward, shoving a box of Marco’s old workout gear off the desk with a loud, deafening clatter, before bending her over the desk, and kicking up another cloud of dust.

“All right,” he said calmly. “Now you’re losing the rest.”

He moved her hair aside, letting his fingers drag over her back, before cutting through each lace shoulder strap, and then the one at her back. She felt the bra slip, catching briefly on flesh before sliding out of what remained of her top. With a satisfied hum, he used his knee to jostle her legs apart and shove up her skirt, before cutting her panties away as well.

Fear curled through her when his palm swept possessively over her bared ass and she realized she couldn’t see what he was doing to her. He squeezed each cheek hard, before stepping closer, reaching around her hip to finger her as his chest bore down on her back.

“I think you’re enjoying this.”

“Fuck you,” she gasped.

He plunged two fingers into her, up to the third joint. A sound came out of her mouth, high and a little reedy. Rumbling his approval, he curled the rest of his fingers to make a partial fist, which he bumped lightly against her in a way that she took to mean that he wanted her to lift her hips. She did, sliding further over the desk, until she was forced to stand on tiptoe.

“What are you doing?” she said, with real fear. She gave another jerk but with his fingers inside her, it was hard to struggle. “Don’t youdare—”

He rubbed her clit furiously, making her grip the desk with an explosion of breath. “I know that voice,” he said, as she struggled to maintain balance. “You still think you can order me around.” He shifted behind her, and then she heard the drag of his zipper. “But here’s the thing, Donni. You’re not my mother.”

A shaky exhalation escaped her when he pulled his fingers out of her and used them to guide the blunt head of his cock to her entrance. Her grip on the desk tightened when he pushed. “Jesus,” she hissed, arching unconsciously in discomfort. “Ahh.”

“Yes. Take me. Every fucking inch.” His hand clamped down on the back of her neck. She drew in another sharp, pinched breath when she felt his flat abdomen lightly hit her backside, feelingfullin a way that made the pit of her stomach throb in discomfort. He pulled out, letting out an uneven breath, before he began to thrust. “Who’s handling who now, Donni?”

The words alarmed her, but not as much as they should have. He gave her neck another little squeeze and she felt the kiss of air on damp skin as the tension in her cunt abruptly slackened. She braced herself for a taunt, but he reached around again to spread her wider before gripping her by the hip and plunging into her so deeply that a little cry of pain escaped her.

“Fuck,” he said, somewhere close to her ear. “That’s so—”

But instead of finishing his sentence, he surged forward again. There was no hesitancy this time. Her breasts slid forward against the rough wood of the table. Her nipples immediately hardened, the friction sweetening the hot pressure building between her legs. When she felt his mouth replace the fingers on the back of her neck and his forearm hit the table beside her to brace himself, filling her nose with the sharp tang of his leather sleeve, a shiver melted over her like liquid silver, and she freed up an arm so she could touch her clit and finish what he’d started.

It shouldn’t have been good. He was very rough; he fucked the way the boys of her youth had fucked, pumping away with a cadence tuned solely for their own pleasure. But she liked the feel of his open jeans chafing her backside and the way the weight of him behind her made her feel both trapped and protected. And the slow circles she was drawing over her clit were helping to ease the passage of his considerable length. She could already tell she was going to be sore.

She moved her fingers faster, her free hand tightening as her legs began to buckle. “I’m slipping,” she choked out, grasping for purchase. “Rafe—”

He grunted, and his arm slid beneath her, keeping her pressed against his arm so that she was shielded from the sharp edge of the desk. She could feel the damp front of his T-shirt against her back, and all that straining muscle. Her cheek fell against the wood, and she felt the tendons in his forearm jump when she gasped.

“Donni,” he growled.

She was too distracted to respond, wrapped up in her own pleasure. His body was very tense now, and he was breathing very hard. When he said her name again, it sounded almost like a plea or a warning, and she thought, with a sudden viciousness,What’s the matter, honey, are you close?

“Rafe,” she cried, rubbing herself against his arm. “Please. It feels so good, but you’re hurting me.”

“Fuck.” His hand was a fist on the desk. She thought she smelled blood. “I can’t—”