Chapter 3: Dawn and Devouring
Arami woke slowly, drifting up from a deep, dreamless sleep. She felt warm, comfortable, the rough blanket soft against her skin. For a fleeting moment, she forgot where she was. Then she felt the solid, unyielding heat of a body pressed against her back, the weight of an arm draped over her hip.
A sigh escaped her as consciousness fully returned, bringing with it the sensation of Reaper’s fingers already moving between her legs. His hand cupped her from behind, his palm a firm pressure against her ass cheek, while his fingertips traced lazy, maddening circles over her folds. They wandered from the sensitive nub of her clit down to her entrance, spreading the wetness that had gathered there without her even realizing.
She took a sharp breath as one thick finger finally slid into her, sinking deep. He moved it slowly, lazily, a gentle in-and-out that was more tease than promise. Arami buried her face into the pillow, a soft moan muffled by the fabric as she pushed her hips back against his hand, seeking more.
Reaper withdrew his finger. She felt him shift behind her, the rasp of fabric. Then the blunt, heavy head of his cock was there, not entering her, but sliding into the cleft of her ass, nestled against her panties. He rutted against her, a slow, grinding simulation of penetration, the hard length of him dragging through her slickness, stroking along her outer lips.
The friction was exquisite torture. He kept at it, a relentless, teasing rhythm that made her ache. Every time the crown of his cock caught against her clit, she jerked, a spark shooting through her. He did it again. And again.
“Reaper,” she whimpered into the pillow, the word stretched thin with need.
After tormenting her like that for what felt like an eternity, Arami let out a broken, pleading whimper.
He moved then, his hand gripping her hip to adjust her. He nudged her panties aside with his cock, the tip pressing right at her entrance. With one smooth, steady push, he entered her. He filled her completely, that same overwhelming, perfect stretch. He began to move, a slow, deep roll of his hips that made her toes curl.
It was good, so good, but it wasn’t enough. The slow burn was driving her insane. As if reading her mind, Reaper’s hand left her hip. He grasped the blanket and yanked it down, exposing them to the cool, damp air of the room. The sudden exposure made her skin prickle. Then his hand was on her thigh, hiking her leg up and back, hooking it over his. The angle changed drastically, became deeper, more intense.
He began to fuck her in earnest. No more slow rolls. These were hard, savage drives, pounding into her with a force that shook the bed frame against the wall. Each thrust pushed a ragged cry from her throat.
“Oh god! Yes, right there, fuck!”
Her moans were loud, unfiltered, echoing in the Spartan room. His other hand came up, clamping over her mouth, silencing her. His palm was rough, smelling of gun oil and skin.
“Quiet,” he growled into her ear, never breaking his ruthless rhythm. The command was guttural, a vibration against her neck. “They’ll hear you.”
Arami shuddered, a violent tremor of submission racking her. The feeling of being so thoroughly dominated—his hand sealing her cries, her leg pinned up and open, her body utterly at the mercy of his punishing thrusts—unlocked something dark and desperate inside her. With her mouth covered, her leg held aloft, all she could do was take what he gave her. And he gave her everything. Each deep, hammering stroke seemed to reach a part of her that had never been touched, a raw, primal core. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of skin, his ragged breaths, her own muffled screams vibrating against his palm.
The coil snapped. Her climax ripped through her without warning, a silent, seizing earthquake that clenched around him, milking his cock in violent pulses. She saw sparks behind her eyelids, her body convulsing.
Feeling her convulse around him tipped him over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and stilled. A harsh, choked groan was torn from his throat as he emptied into her, hot and deep, his own body shuddering against hers.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their labored breathing. Slowly, his hand slipped from her mouth. He lowered her leg, his touch almost gentle now. He slid out of her, the aftermath wet and warm between her thighs. He collapsed onto his back beside her, the bed groaning.
Arami lay on her side, facing away from him, trying to catch her breath. The reality of the base, of her missing friends, of the captain’s cold eyes and the loaded pistol, came seeping back into the quiet. The scent of sex and sweat was thick in the air, mixing with the ever-present smells of diesel and damp concrete.
“My friends,” she whispered to the gray wall. “They’ll be looking for a way in. Or a way to signal me.”
Reaper was silent for so long she thought he might have fallen asleep. Then his voice came, low and rough. “The west perimeter gate. It’s the least watched. Shift change at dawn is sloppy. A distraction there… could work.”
Arami rolled over to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling, his profile stark in the faint light from the high window. The scars were shadows on his skin.
“You’d tell me that?”
He turned his head, his grey eyes meeting hers. “Cap said your problems are my problems. Your friends being outside, trying stupid shit to get to you… that’s a problem for my perimeter.”
It wasn’t kindness. It was tactical. But it was something. A thread of hope.
Before she could reply, a fist hammered against the metal door, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room.
“Reaper! Cap wants you in the comms shack. Now. Scavenger team’s reporting in on channel three, and it’s not good.”
It was Jhonny’s voice, tense and uncharacteristically devoid of humor.
Reaper was moving before the words faded, swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing his pants. He dressed with swift, efficient motions. He looked at Arami, a quick, assessing glance. “Stay here. Don’t open the door.”
He pulled his balaclava on, the familiar, fearsome mask settling into place, erasing the man who had just been inside her. In an instant, he was gone, the door closing with a solid thud, the lock engaging from the outside.
Arami was alone, the echo of the savage fucking still humming in her muscles, the news of a troubled scavenger team a new chill in the air. She pulled the rough blanket up to her chin, listening to the distant, rising chaos of the base scrambling to respond. Dawn, and the west gate, felt a very long way away.