Page 86 of Was I Ever Free

I would rather not tell him, protect him from his own demons but the bruises I know will bloom around my throat by morning will nonetheless tell the truth if I’m unable to.

So I tell him. He grows quiet and so still that he might as well have turned into the marble statue I used to compare him to. I feel him mentally withdraw as if his body is walking away from me, and I can’t bear that either.

“Don’t Bastian,please.” Because I can already hear the words out of his mouth.

“That was—” He clears his throat. “That’s unforgivable.”

My body is suddenly bone tired but I manage to find the strength to pull myself out of his grasp, straddling him once again. My palms cup his face much gentler than the last time my hands were on him, but my voice is sharp when I speak, determined yet shaky. “You need help, Bastian… that’s all.” He avoids my gaze and irritation mixes in with the sorrow still coating my insides black. “Look at me when I speak to you,” I scold him like a child, and the look he gives me is shockingly reminiscent of one—a lost boy with the depth of lifetimes of hurt in his gaze. “You will get through this,” I say, my kiss just as soft as the words I’m speaking. “We will get through this.”

I repeat the words over and over, through wet, desperate kisses and I’m not sure if the tears I’m tasting on my tongue are only mine. His hands are sliding up my back, fisting my shirt as our embrace deepens, our harrowing emotions clawing at each other, threatening to take over.

I break away, tugging my shirt off, my panties still torn and in shreds somewhere on the floor of his loft.

“I’m so sorry, Luce. I’m so fucking sorry,” Bastian says despairingly, his fingers trailing delicately over my bruised throat.

“I’m not leaving,” I tell him once again, spoken like a prayer. Fervently. Zealously.

My skin is suddenly just as overheated as his, my tongue finding his neck, licking my way up to his ear, sucking his lobe into my mouth, my core grinding hard on his rapidly hardening length and I wonder if having sex with Bastian will always feel like this. As if we might die if we deny ourselves. As if the cure for all this ache is feeling the rush of him slowly push himself inside of me—a craving so insatiable, it’s almost unbearable.

It’s just as unbearable now.

Bastian lifts his hips, pulling his boxers down and without another word, I’m sinking down on his cock. The sensation of him stretching me so full somehow mutes every other feeling, and suddenly I can breathe freely, my lungs full of life-giving air as I start rocking my hips back and forth. His piercing hits the perfect spot as always, while I mindlessly grind against him. Bastian groans loudly, his forehead falling on my heaving chest, his hands never stopping their caresses all over my body as if he still needs the constant reminder of my presence.

His gaze lifts up, eagerly seeking mine. The words left unspoken behind his loaded stare could fill a thousand books but he doesn’t utter a single one. Instead, he kisses me with every fiber of his splintered soul and I return it with the same fervor.

My climax feels like uncovering a new religion, suddenly unaware of how I’ll ever be the same again when I can put all my faith in something so potent—a feeling of peace so powerful that it’s only created when Bastian is inside of me.

While I tumble over the edge of reality, he trails his tongue over my collarbone, pressing heated kisses to the skin where my shoulders and neck meet.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers urgently. “So perfect. So fucking mine,” he continues, his lips on my skin, again and again. Softly. Lovingly.

I feel Bastian’s own orgasm ripple through his body, tremors wracking his limbs as he holds me tightly, his mouth still ravenously seeking mine as we finally come down from whatever just happened between us.

And I honestly don’t know if I even want to.

However, the soul-deep exhaustion returns and I fall into Bastian’s arms. My heart pounds in my chest while my head rests heavily in the crook of his neck, breathing in his warm skin and hope I’m right—that we will get through this.

Without a word, Bastian pulls out, flipping us to our sides, and curling around me while drawing me as close as possible into his chest. He gently kisses my neck, goosebumps breaking out all over my body. I fall asleep not long after, his lips still peppering an unsung story across my skin.

45

Leaving Byzantine’s house, I drive just a few streets east and arrive at Connor’s. The gate slowly yawns open, letting me into the long driveaway. Parking, I make my way up into the large mansion, past the marbled foyer, through the kitchen, and out the sliding doors to the back of the house. I find Connor doing laps in the pool and I sit down in one of the chairs while he finishes.

I’m on my phone catching up on work, when he finally gets out of the water, his red swim trunks stuck to his tattooed thighs. Slicking his wet hair back, he quickly dries himself off and sits beside me, popping his black shades on.

“Where’s Lenix?” I ask, my gaze still on my phone.

“How should I know?” he answers gruffly.

I give him a blank stare, looking at him like he’s an idiot.

“Bedroom.” His smile is bright and arrogant, and a melancholic pang hits me in the chest. The question is on the tip of my tongue: How did you know it was love? But I swallow it back down, cringing at the thought of ever saying that out loud to Connor.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead and pretend it’s only from the heat and not the withdrawals, my hand shaky as I do so. I took a handful of painkillers before I left the house to evade the brunt of it but I need to execute my plan soon before the worst catches up with me.

Which is why I’m here.

I don’t beat around the bush. “I need to borrow the plane.”