Chapter 6: Firelight Confessions
The fire had settled to throbbing embers, and the silence between them was wide and deep. Zariah traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips, her voice a soft intrusion into the quiet. "Did you ever... make love?" she asked, the words tentative. He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the shadowed ceiling. "I’ve fucked plenty," he said, the raw honesty coarser than the cabin’s air. "Never involved anything but skin."
She turned onto her side to face him, the old quilt whispering. "I never have either," she confessed. "Robert was the only one. There was no love there." He shifted then, rolling to face her, his emerald eyes capturing the dying firelight. "You asked if I ever made love," he murmured, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. "No. I was waiting for you to come back."
He kissed her then, a slow claiming that was all breath and shared longing. His hands, those capable, executive hands, moved over her with a possessive tenderness that made her bones feel liquid. His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, lingering over the faint, remembered shadow of the bruise. He continued down the column of her throat, his mouth worshipful and hot. When his tongue traced a thin, silvery line on her ribcage—an old mark from a ring catching skin—he whispered against it, his voice guttural and low. "Ti strapperò il cuore per questo."
"What does that mean?" she breathed, arching into his touch. "It means he’s a dead man," he said, moving to another scar, a small one near her hip. His promise was a dark caress against her skin. "Pezzo per pezzo." She understood enough. His vengeance was a liturgy whispered into every healed wound, a consecration. She pulled him up to meet her lips again, joining his quiet, furious prayer.
She pulled him up to meet her lips again, joining his quiet, furious prayer. His hands, which had mapped her scars with such lethal intent, now skimmed her skin with a reverence that made her shiver. The quilt was a tangled heap at their feet, and the fire popped softly, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls of the tiny cabin. "Dayne," she whispered against his mouth, her voice trembling with a hope she hadn't dared feel in fifteen years. He went utterly still above her, his breath warm on her cheek. Her eyes searched his in the near-darkness, wide and unmistakably clear.
Her eyes searched his in the near-darkness, wide and unmistakably clear."Will you make love to me?" she asked, the question hanging like a held breath between them. He answered by covering her mouth with his own, a deep, languid tongue kiss that tasted of coffee and shared history. His fingers slid under the hem of her thin cotton pajama top, skimming the taut skin of her stomach, the subtle dip of her navel, the delicate undersides of her breasts—everywhere but where she ached for him
He traced the faint, ridged line of an old scar along her ribs, a souvenir of another life. His touch was a deliberate, maddening circuit that burned paths across her nerves, making her hips twist up from the mattress in a silent plea.
Then, finally, his fingers slid lower, slipping past the waistband of her pants. They lightly traced the damp, vulnerable seam of her through the fabric, a whisper of friction that made her gasp into his mouth. He dipped his fingers into her, just past the fabric’s edge, and found her impossibly slick and hot.
"Holy fuck, Zee," he groaned against her lips, his voice shredded with awe. He pushed the pants down her hips, his movements urgent now, and slid two fingers inside her, curling them just so. Her entire body bowed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as he stroked that perfect, hidden place. "You're so goddamn wet for me," he muttered, watching her face as he worked his fingers deeper, fucking her with them in a slow, relentless rhythm.She reached for him, fumbling with his belt buckle with clumsy, desperate hands. "I need you inside me," she panted, her words slurred with pleasure. "Now, Dayne. Please."
He freed himself from his trousers, his cock springing thick and heavy against her stomach. Dayne tried to convince himself that she needed slow and romantic, that he should take his time to savor her but he’d been denied for 15 years. They both had. So when he entered her soaking cunt the moment she moaned, a raw, broken sound, his restraint left.
He pounded her pussy with reckless abandon, each deep, driving thrust a reclaiming of every lost year. He threw her legs over his shoulders, the new angle allowing him to bury himself to the hilt, and she screamed, her nails scoring his back. He wanted her close, to see what she looked like in ecstasy when she came all over his cock. “Look at me,” he growled, his voice ragged, and her tear-filled eyes locked on his, blazing with a need that mirrored his own. He should have made sure he had a condom but god, her cunt was milking his balls, a tight, slick rhythm pulling him deeper toward release. He knew he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to at this point, the animal need to claim her completely overwhelming every rational thought.
They locked lips again, a messy, breathless clash of teeth and tongue. She cradled his face, her thumbs sweeping his cheekbones, and told him she loved him. “I love how you make my pussy feel,” she gasped against his mouth, her hips meeting every savage thrust. “Please, Dayne.” Her breath hitched, her body tightening around him like a vise. “Please cum in my pussy,” she begged.
Those words shattered his last thread of control. "Fuck," he snarled, the raw curse lost in the wet sound of their joining. He pulled out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making her whimper in protest. He sat up against the rough-hewn headboard, his back to the cold wood, and hauled her into his lap, impaling her on his thick length with a single, brutal motion that forced a sharp cry from her throat.
"Look," he growled into her ear, his voice hoarse, as he settled her fully onto him. The large, dusty wall mirror across the room reflected the raw fuck: her dark skin gleaming against his, her back arched, his hands splayed possessively on her hips. He began to bounce her, driving her body up and down his shaft in a relentless, piston-like rhythm. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure ownership, and she screamed with every jarring bounce, her head thrown back, her breasts flopping with the violent motion.
"You look so beautiful riding my cock," he panted, his eyes locked on their reflection. "This is where you fucking belong." The words weren't tender; they were a truth seared into the air. "Fifteen years, Zee!" His hips pistoned upward to meet her downward slams. "Do you know how many times we would have fucked by now?" Her answer was a broken sob of pleasure as the angle shifted, striking a deep, electrical core within her. "I plan to fuck you every single day," he vowed, his breath scalding her neck. "Multiple times. Until we make up for every second of that lost time."
Fueled by his words, she took over, bouncing harder, faster, driving herself onto him with a furious, conquering energy that made him cry out. "Oh fuck, Zee! My God, you feel so good on my cock!" His voice was ragged, stripped bare. "I know this pussy was made for me." He could feel the hot, heavy draw of his full balls tightening, the inevitable pulse starting deep in his groin. The sound of their flesh meeting echoed in the small room, a damp, rhythmic slap.
She trembled violently, a high, desperate keening escaping her lips. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, and fucked up into her with three final, brutal strokes. With their lips locked in a bruising, open-mouthed kiss and an unrelenting fury that tasted of salt and need, they groaned into each other's mouths as her body clenched and she squirted, a hot gush soaking his cock and thighs. The exquisite, convulsing grip of her cunt pulled his own release from him in a torrent, and he flooded her pussy with his copious load, shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside her.
He collapsed back against the headboard, pulling her with him, their sweat-slicked bodies still joined. “Jesus,” he breathed into her hair, his heart hammering against her spine. She felt him, still semi-hard and buried deep within her, his come a warm, leaking presence inside her.
For a long while, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the fire’s soft hiss. He shifted, his softening cock slipping from her with a wet, intimate sound. “Look at that,” he murmured, his voice husky as he glanced down at the mess glistening on her inner thigh. “My come leaking out of you.” He traced a finger through it, his touch possessive. “That’s where it belongs.”
She turned in his arms, her nose brushing his. “No regrets?” she whispered, searching his face. He kissed her, slow and deep. “Only that I didn’t find you sooner,” he said against her lips. His hand slid between her legs, his fingers gently pushing his own release back inside her.
She gasped, her hips jerking. “Dayne…” “Mine,” he stated simply, his emerald gaze holding hers. He worked his fingers slowly, thoroughly, ensuring every drop was sealed within her. “All mine.” He kissed her again, swallowing her soft moan.
The possessive act was more intimate than the fuck that preceded it. He held her close, their legs tangled in the ruined quilt. The northern lights had faded, leaving the cabin in near-total darkness. “We leave at dawn,” he finally said, his voice now all sober strategy. “We give Matthew his broken, distracted story.”
She nodded against his chest, the plan settling over them like a shield. He rolled her onto her back, his body a welcome weight. “One more time,” he whispered, his mouth finding her breast. “I need to feel you again before the world comes back.” He entered her slowly this time, with a languid, claiming pressure that made her eyes roll back.
He moved with a deliberate, deep rhythm, his gaze locked on hers. Each slow thrust was a vow, a counterspell to every brutal memory Robert had carved into her. “You’re my heart, Zariah,” he grunted, his pace increasing. “My only goddamn heart.” She wrapped her legs high around his waist, taking him deeper, and he groaned, burying his face in her neck.
His thrusts became harder, faster, a driving punctuation to his words. She clawed at his back, her cries muffled against his skin. “Fuck, right there,” she pleaded, and he obeyed, hammering into that perfect, swollen cunt.
.
He was still buried deep inside her cunt, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release, when her inner muscles fluttered around him again, a fresh, unexpected ripple of tightness. "You can't be serious," he groaned, his voice wrecked, feeling his own spent cock twitch in response to her involuntary clenching. She just tightened her legs around his hips, a raw, breathless laugh escaping her. "You said we were making up for lost time."
Her words were a challenge he felt in his blood. With a growl, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him again on the damp sheets. The evidence of their first coupling slicked her thighs, and the scent of sex was thick and primal in the air. He entered her in one deep, claiming stroke, the swollen, sensitive flesh yielding beautifully. "Every fucking second," he promised, his voice a low rasp against her ear as he began to move.
This time was slower, a grinding, deliberate possession that emphasized the sheer fullness of him inside her. Each deep drag of his cock was a physical reminder of his earlier vow. He watched her face, her lips parted, her eyes half-lidded and dark. "Tell me you feel how deep you are," he demanded, his rhythm unyielding. "Tell me you feel how much I fucking needed this."
"I feel it," she gasped, arching to meet him. "I feel all of you." Her nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring herself as the pleasure built again, coiling tighter and hotter than before. He shifted his angle, and she cried out, a sharp, broken sound that seemed to ignite him. His control splintered.
His pace became punishing, a hard, driving fuck that shook the bedframe against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of their joining filled the room, a soundtrack to their desperation. "Fuck, Zee, I'm gonna—" he choked out, his muscles locking.
HE THRUST INTO HER , THE SQUELCHING OF THEIR PREVIOUS ENCOUNTER LOUD, AND HE HE UNASHAMEDLY CAME WITH A DEEP TREMBLING MOAN, OH GOOD ZEE, I’M COMING AGAIN. His release was a hot, pulsing flood inside her, less a torrent than a deep, endless seep that seemed to pull his soul from his body. He collapsed, his full weight sinking into her, and she held him, her own silent tears mixing with the sweat on his temple.