by RuNyx .
Gritting her teeth as anger filled her, anger at being unable to shake off something as trivial as their hands side by side, something so stupid, Morana pushed her hips back, wanting him to just get it on.
She felt the tip of his cock prod at her opening, and she inhaled deeply, her heartbeat erratic, the water pouring down over them from the side.
With complete, utter ease, he slipped into her slowly, inch by deliberate inch, making her breath catch in her throat at the sheer size of him. Fuck, she’d forgotten what he felt like inside her, filling every empty ounce of space, spearing through her walls in a way she hadn’t thought possible, making her back arch even more to take in all of him. She’d thought he would thrust in like he’d done at the restaurant and be inside.
He didn’t.
Instead, he pulled back a little, before pushing in again, easing into her, making her feel, truly feel every inch of him.
Morana hung her head as her palms pressed into the wall, her body lifting on her toes to allow some leverage, her hips pushing back into him.
He entered her to the hilt, her walls clamping down on him, the new angle penetrating her in ways that made her see stars, pressing into spots inside her she hadn’t been aware of.
And all this time, she kept her eyes deliberately closed, feeling him inside her but not feeling his torso against her back, aware of the distance between their bodies.
She was glad for it.
Because at the restaurant, it had all been easy to explain to herself, to blame it mainly on the fact that she’d been defying her father right under his nose with his enemy. There, having him pressed into her had been an act of rebellion. But in the shower, there was nobody she could blame other than herself, having him close a desire she didn’t want to define.
He pulled out of her suddenly, making her acutely aware of her body, and thrust up inside her, hard, all traces of gentleness gone. Morana sucked in a breath, curling her hands into fists on the wall as pleasure shot through her core right down to the tips of her toes, her legs trembling with the effort to keep standing.
“You do something like that again, I’ll fucking shoot you in the heart.”
His guttural voice made her shiver even as her walls clenched around him.
“I decide when you die.”
Morana huffed a laugh that got strangled in her throat. “You’re crazy.”
Without a pause, his hips started snapping into hers rigorously, rolling on every thrust in a way that made her bite down on her lips to keep her moans to herself, sweat beading upon her brow, her breasts heaving as her head neck arched, her hair floating down her back in a tangle of wet strands.
“No. I’m fucking crazy.”
She moved back against his ardor, the friction inside her walls making her squeeze her muscles around him as the tip of his cock rubbed over that spot inside her over and over again. His hips never paused, the rhythm never breaking, and her jaw slackened as heat coiled deep in her belly. It was a snake coiling tighter and tighter around its prey, squeezing the very life out of it with such brutal strength, ready to sink its fangs in divine ecstasy.
Morana shook all over, her lips swollen from her own nipping teeth in an effort to keep her sounds to herself.
He’d had his hand covering her mouth the last times he’d made her come, muffling all the noises she’d made and in a convoluted way, granting her the freedom to let out all the noise inside her, knowing it wouldn’t be heard.
There was no hand muffling her response this time, and try as she might, moans escaped from deep in her throat as she felt him move in and out of her, over and over and over again, her legs trembling and hands aching but hips moving with his. She tried to bite the noise down, but couldn’t, not completely.
Suddenly, she felt him shift on his knees, changing the angle of the penetration. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he thrust in with such force her mouth parted on a loud moan, all sense, all control of her body lost to her as her vision blackened. The shaking in her body intensified, as did his movements, aggressive, fervent, but so removed from her body, not touching her anywhere except where they were joined.
Morana wanted to lean back into his solid mass, let him support her weight because her body felt too slack to do so anymore, have his palms cover her breasts and his face turn into her neck. She wanted every bite, every nibble, and utter dirty, dirty words into her ear as his cock sliced her open.
Her fingers dug into the wall with the effort not to do any of that as pleasure rocked over her body, washing over her with such suddenness she was stunned by its intensity, unable to hold back her scream that started as a moan and got increasingly louder. He pushed in, hitting that sweet spot inside her, over and over again, with such precision her head lolled into the wall, her body slacking completely against it as her orgasm snapped inside her. Her heart raced so hard she could feel it throb in her toes, in her core, in her fucking teeth. Her body shook all over, her walls clamping down on him, milking him, as he thrust in a last time and stilled, his breathing loud behind her.
They stayed standing like that, him caging her in without touching her and her trembling against the wall in bliss.
The sound of water penetrated her pleasure induced haze first.
She stood alone, despite him still being inside her. Her body had been sated but she could still feel something hungry gnawing inside her, trying to claw out and find satisfaction. She kept tamping it down. Would it ever be enough? Would anything ever be enough?
It was as he slipped out of her, as her heart stuttered to a quieter beat, that she realized the water had gone cold, flowing against her back because of the space between their bodies.
Acutely aware of him behind her, Morana remained standing the way she was, not moving, not turning, not certain she wanted to face him at that moment. This had been the first time they’d been together physically just with themselves, no external factors into play, and it had been just as removed, if not more. It made something inside her chest feel tight before she shook it off and agreed. Distance was needed.
She opened her eyes, only to see those hands, clenched into fists against the wall – tight fists that made his arms shake.
“Why?”
One word.
Guttural.
Spoken in that low voice. The voice that shook. Asked so, so many questions in that one word. She understood some of them.
Why had she not sold him out when she’d had the chance? Why was she still not out of his system? Why was this mad lust not sated despite their bodies having found completion? Why had she followed him? Why…
There were many other questions in there, questions she didn’t understand, questions she was certain he wasn’t even aware he’d asked.
Why?
Why was this happening? Why did she feel this connection to the one man she should run away from? Why did he make her so alive when he’d told her he wanted her dead? Why hadn’t he killed her yet?
Why?
Why?
Morana looked at his fists, swallowing down the sudden wave of emotions inside her, and replied softly, with one word.
“Why?”
Silence.
For long, long moments, she felt nothing but his breaths at her back, saw nothing but his hands beside hers, so close yet so far.
And then suddenly, he pulled back his hand and punched the wall above her hand, hard.
“God damn it!”
Morana stood utterly still, stunned at the way he went at it.
Once, twice, thrice.
“Fuck!”
Such utter frustration bled from his voice. Such pain.
He kept cursing until she heard nothing but foul words. Pained words. Aggravated words.
He kept punching the wall until his knuckles cracked until the wall dented and plaster became smudged with red.
And through it all, through that entire display of rage, he never touched her, not once.
Despite her answer having triggere
d this, despite his desire to kill her, she remained untouched.
“Motherfucker!”
And it was over as soon as it had begun.
Before she could blink, she was completely alone in the stall, his body gone from behind her, his hands gone from beside hers.
Morana stood there, breathing hard, just watching the place where his hands had been.
The once smooth white wall beside her hands was cracked, fissures appearing in small grooves in it, the clean white space painted crimson.
She swallowed, her eyes latching on to a drop of blood sliding down that wall, leaving a streak on scar behind it, marring the pristine white.
A drop of blood rolling down.
He was bleeding.
She went to bed later that night, after taking care of her wound, lying down silently, trying to understand what had happened, when her phone chimed.
It was a message, from an unknown number, with a multimedia file attached. Morana looked at it, her heart picking up as she sat up in the bed and saw the number.
It was the same number which had sent her the article; the same number she’d been unable to track.
Taking a deep breath, uncertain of what she would find next, Morana tapped on the multimedia icon, to find a folder. Squinting, Morana looked at the small fonts, reading the name of the folder.
Luna Evelyn Caine.
Her breath caught. With shaky hands, Morana clicked on the icon and found out why he was bleeding.
She couldn’t stop trembling.
Something had moved inside her again, shifted, been replaced, been awakened and deadened. Turmoil coiled in her belly like a hungry beast salivating for food.
Morana closed the bedroom door behind her and stepped out into the pale morning light that flooded the living room. Her eyes looking out the tall windows, she took in the sun that was barely out in the sky. The clouds were roiling along the horizon, headed towards the city, giving the skyline a majestic albeit morose backdrop as the wind whipped the sea into currents.
It was barely four in the morning, and she hadn’t slept a wink the entire night. Hadn’t even tried to.
And it wasn’t because of her arm.
It was because of what she’d discovered.
Morana didn’t know who the anonymous man or woman was, or if it was even a single person rather than a group, who had sent her the article a few hours ago, but they were resourceful, finding things she hadn’t even had an inkling of, from sources she hadn’t known existed.
Personal things.
Things that had twisted her stomach into knots and made bile rise in her throat.
According to the information in the folder titled ‘Luna Evelyn Caine’, Morana had found out, to an extent, truths that made a whole lot of sense but she had never known about.
She’d already known about the girls who’d gone missing never to be found again in Tenebrae and nearby areas about twenty years ago. She’d also known that Tristan Caine’s baby sister had been one of the missing girls.
What she hadn’t known were the speculations about the kidnappings. How the authorities had suspected one, or maybe two people working together, with no clue as to what purpose. But the anonymous source had given her enough evidence – which she’d pored over for hours – to make her realize it had been much bigger than one or two men. It had been the work of a group of very strong, very powerful people. What for, she didn’t know. What could young, little girls ever get anyone if not ransom?
There had been enough lewd details to make her want to be sick, but still, it hadn’t been that which had brought her to the edge.
It had been about her.
The fact that she’d been one of the little girls too.
She’d seen her own photograph staring back at her, her chubby cheeks wet with tears as she sat along with two other little girls.
One of whom had been Luna Caine. Dark red cap of hair, just a little older than her, rosy mouth, bright green eyes sparkling with tears of her own. There had been another toddler in the picture between them.
Three girls in the picture.
Twenty-five girls gone missing.
And Morana was the only one to have been found.
How? Why? Why only her and nobody else?
Legs shaking, Morana collapsed onto the stool in the kitchen, staring out the window, trying to remember something, anything from years ago.
She couldn’t.
She’d tried for hours to think back, to recall even the tiniest detail of being abducted, but she’d come up absolutely empty with only a mild headache to answer for it. Was it because she’d been barely three years old at the time, or because she’d buried the memory like people did sometimes? Could she even do that?
And was that why Tristan Caine hated her so much? Because she’d come back while his sister hadn’t? She’d lived life while his sister probably hadn’t? Was that why?
Her hands were trembling. They’d been trembling all night and no matter what she tried, it just wouldn’t stop.
God, she was breaking down.
Why had her father never told her about it? When it had been a part of serial disappearances? Why hadn’t anyone told her? The Alliance had mysteriously ended around the same time and someone had sent her this?
Her head hurt.
The sudden sound of a throat clearing made her jump in her seat. She turned around quickly to see Tristan Caine standing at the foot of the stairs, without a shirt but in unbuttoned jeans, his hair sticking up like he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly, his eyes slightly red.
Either he’d been crying or he hadn’t slept either.
She’d bet her degree it wasn’t the former.
His face was his usual neutral, controlled mask as he took her in, his eyes lingering for a split second on her shaking hands before coming back to hers.
God, she couldn’t do this. This intense eye contact game they played. She just couldn’t do it right now, not with the way she was barely keeping down the scream that had been building in her throat. It wasn’t a scream of fear, or devastation, or desperation. Not even frustration, truly. It was trapped somewhere between them all, bouncing from one to the other while they laughed in her face.
She turned back to face the window.
“Did I hurt you?”
The question, asked in that low, rough tone, caught her off guard.
Keeping her back towards him, her hands knotted together in her lap, Morana scoffed deliberately. “Why do you care?”
Silence.
He still stood exactly where he’d been. She was so completely attuned to his movements that her body tensed with awareness, spine straightening and shoulders rolling back even as she kept her gaze at the skyline.
“Did I hurt you?”
Low. Rough. Again.
“You did shoot me,” Morana pointed out with a lightness she didn’t feel.
Before she could take another breath, he was suddenly beside her, his fingers on her chin, the calloused edges pressing into her, his hold firm but gentle as he turned her to face him.
Morana blinked up at his sleep-deprived, yet magnificent blue eyes boring down into her, his warm musky scent even more prominent, not a hint of his cologne anywhere, his Adam’s apple bobbing once as he swallowed in her peripheral vision.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked again, his voice barely a whisper, his breath warm on her face as his eyes scanned hers.
She knew what he was asking. He’d not hurt her physically in the shower, he knew that too. It was another kind of hurt he wanted to know about, another kind of hurt which frankly, she hadn’t even considered in the light of the information that had flooded her.
So, she thought about it as he waited for her answer. She thought about how she’d felt when he’d seen her naked, how she’d felt when she’d pulled him closer, how she’d felt when he’d asserted the intensity that was as much a part of him as that limb holding her.
How had she felt? He’d been surprisingl
y possessive and unsurprisingly angry. In the light of the day, she could understand why. Not to say she agreed with a lot of shit that he’d said, but she could understand the anger. She felt for that pain.
But was she hurt?
She was thicker than that.
“No,” she told him quietly.
He waited a beat, blinking once before pulling back, dropping his hand and stepping towards the stairs without another word.
Morana looked at his retreating back, the beast in her chest clawing tighter and tighter until she thought it would choke her, and before she could even think about it, the words left her mouth.
“I know about your sister.”
Morana watched as he ground to a stop suddenly. He stilled, his arm on the railing, the muscles on his scarred back bunching, one lone muscle by one as he completely coiled his body, the action of his naked skin visible to her eyes. Her words were louder than bullets fired between them, confirming his worst suspicions and revealing her hand.
She didn’t know if she should have told him or not. She hadn’t even thought before speaking.
God, she was tired of thinking, of trying to decode every damn thing.
She swallowed, her bravado making her slowly get to her feet, her need to know, to finally know if that was why he hated her so acute it tightened every air cavity in her chest to the point of pain.
Because if he hated her for being alive when his sister most likely wasn’t, she really didn’t see any way forward for them. And looking at his back, at the multitude of scars littering his flesh like a lover’s kisses, after witnessing that moment of utter pain and agony bleeding from him not hours earlier, she wanted a way forward.
She clenched her shaking hands into fists.
“I know she was taken and never came back.”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t even breathe.
His back remained completely motionless.
Her heart clenched for him, for the pain he must have felt, still evidently felt. She remembered the softness with which he’d spoken of his sister.
Biting her lip, she took a step closer to him. “I know I was taken too.”
Another step.
“But I came back.”
