Ownership - (The Ruiz Brothers - Part 8)
(...)It was too late for him to stop the fire he had fanned, even if he wanted to. Her warmth erased reason. And so, he took ownership of what he had unleashed.
Kachine gripped the front of his shirt, fingers curling tightly, holding him close as if afraid he would vanish through this fragile truce. Eyes closed, lips greedily pressed onto his, the memories of his warmth bloomed back to life. She cautiously tugged at his belt, an unmistakable bold statement.
Although he knew instantly what it meant, Lucian broke the kiss and pulled back just enough to read it in her eyes— they were dark, daring, but desperate. He flicked the buckle of his belt open with practiced ease. Kachine hummed softly in anticipation. With both hands along his waistline, she untucked his shirt. He cupped her face, fingers playfully reaching through her dark hair, he gently tugged at her long locks, as the tension rose. Her skin was as soft as he remembered it. He let his lips trail along her neckline, taking in the familiar vanilla scent of her hair.
He soon inhaled sharply as her touch lingered below his waistline, sending pulses through his core. A sudden wave of panic—or perhaps clarity—scrambled through his mind. He realized there would be no taking any of it back should they cross that bridge.
"This changes nothing..." he whispered against her skin, as a loose attempt to rationalize the moment.
She echoed the same words back to him before walking him into a shelf, now bold and determined.
A twisted agreement in denial. Deep down, they both knew nothing would be the same after this.
Her chest deliberately pressed against his, her hands cradled his face—unspoken tension written all over—she gazed through him then locked her lips onto his, tenderly this time. She shut her eyes, savoring every nudge of his fingers, greedily pulling her pants and undergarments down her backside, letting them slip right off, without resistance.
His fingers hungrily dug into her skin as he lifted her, keeping her straddled to his waist. She gasped and swallowed; his touch sent warm flutters down her thigh—she was craving him beyond reason.
Kachine held onto the shelf behind him, bust practically in his face, she anchored herself as she heard the soft thud of his pants drop to the floor. Leaning back, he met her lips again. Hands firmly gripping her waist, he pulled her down around him every tingly step at a time.
The whole world instantly came into focus as he collided into her.
Their breath stretched beyond understanding as time froze.
He paused.
Throbbing uncontrollably.
Deliberately trapped along her walls.
Her willful squeeze around his stiffness sent intense pulses through his mind.
He took a moment to settle into an intoxicating sensation he hadn't experienced in what felt like forever.
Kachine sighed faintly, her muscles continued to close around him, like a clam, in feverish expectation. She slowly pried herself up, then down, eyes locked, she gauged his reaction.
He met her halfway.
His hips steadily started to move with her, measured enough.
He didn't want to rush any of it, but the urge turned greedier with every part of him lighting up recklessly.
He let out a low grunt, somewhere between pleasure and torment.
This was probably a mistake, but he couldn't—
Wouldn't—
Stop
Any of it.
He pushed back into the shelf, grounding himself with every growing, calculated, urgent thrust.
The shelf creaked faintly, and soon the photographs capturing sweet memories of their past toppled off one by one.
The surge between them sharply flooded their senses, and seemingly consumed everything around them in a ravenous vortex— themselves included.
Every boundary momentarily shattered piece by piece, frame by frame, with every push and pull.
They may as well have been destroying themselves, building anew, or maybe it was truly as he had said:
'It wouldn't change anything.'
They gave in to the chaos regardless of the outcome.
Flashes of the infamous night—the one responsible for their brokenness—unexpectedly came rushing through his mind, and with it a different type of heat. He kicked his head back, eyebrows pressed into a frown, he groaned sharply.
Derailed, he slowed down, almost coming to a full stop.
Kachine interpreted his hesitation as a lustful spell wearing out, but the cause ran deeper than that—it was about his pride. He looked into her eyes, attempting to mentally close the door on that night. He occasionally stirred the fire between them, still groaning with every tiny movement. Determined not to let it smolder in his thoughts, he leaned in, pressing his lips fiercely onto hers while focusing on her warmth—almost as if reclaiming it from the mistakes of the past. He thrust hard through his thoughts, reclaiming every inch of her for himself in the selfishness of the moment—who was the possessive one now?
Her breath caught in short gasps. She wrapped her arms around him, holding tight—he was still hers for the next few minutes.
Her whimpers grew louder, filling the room along with the rhythmic thump of his body ramming back and forth. They shared a glance, a mutual acknowledgement of their connection in this storm as they ignited, completely consumed by the thrill.
Lucian's breath burned and dragged rough against her skin.
Urgency built into an inevitable rush of need for both of them.
Heart racing through his chest, he sighed her name.
A verbal acknowledgement before sliding his hand down her back, he pulled her down onto him,
Hard,
Deliberate,
Precise, as he uncontrollably jolted into her.
Messy lightning bolts splitting all sense of reason wide open...
Until there was nothing left.
Past, present, and future all fractured in one decisive moment of euphoria.
Comments
Post a Comment