Last Dance Redux 29

::TWENTY NINE::

“Riddick…”

Nothing but a murmur answers me, nuzzling over my cheek, as he carries me back to my quarters. My arms around his neck, pressed hard into his chest, arm under my knees. Carrying me back to bed. I’m not big. Theoretically, I guess, a guy could carry me pretty easily. Never happened in this context before.

“I’m okay to walk, Riddick. You don’t have to carry me.”

“Shut up, Jane.”

He’s grinning as he says it, the vibration of a chuckle underneath the words, if not the laugh itself. The both of us pull tighter together, my face buried in his neck for a moment, surrendering in the strength of him.

He stayed with me. The whole time. Pulled his goggles off in the darkened room, so I could see him. His eyes never left me, as I died on that table. His hand never dropped mine, not once. I had thought he might run. There was a moment in him, his features lined in pain, before I had even got up on that table, when I thought he might run. But he didn’t.

The quicksilver eyes are hard to read. So hard to gauge emotions in them. So easy for him to hide what he feels, even easier to do so when he has those goggles on. It would be easy to look and say the man had no soul, simply because it was harder to see it. Not because it wasn’t there though. Only because of what had been done to something on the surface.

What happened between us, in those brief moments as I died, tore all of that away. Stripped him bare of every defense time, and circumstance and the medical profession, had afforded him. His face lined in hurt, an ache I could feel with my whole body, at every point on mine where he touched me. To hold his eyes for a moment was to feel everything he felt, in exquisite detail, for those few moments as I died. As though a veil were ripped away, making me, making someone, see him. Fully and completely, with nothing to get in the way. No bravado, no studied air of menace, no attempt to intimidate or cow or frighten.

Maybe he’s incapable of the words. Maybe he just doesn’t know them, or doesn’t know what to do with them when they are out there. Maybe the thought of saying it strikes him as weak. I am his. I belong to him. Maybe another woman would get pissed off about those words, about somebody actually talking about her like she was a possession. Maybe with anyone other than Riddick I would too. There is something that flickers deep in him, when he says it though. You catch a glimpse, if you are watching, and he’s not wearing goggles. Just a glimpse, and it’s gone, as though he hides the feeling even from himself, fearing the weakness it would make him feel. With the poison coursing through my system, making everything numb, making me fight, all I could do was watch his eyes, as he held me. Held me as I died. Everything in him stripped bare. No thought to even throwing up a defense against what he felt. When he says I am his, he’s telling me he loves me, in the only way he knows how, in the only way the life he’s lived will let him. I am his, and I belong to him. But he’s mine, too, and he belongs to me just as much.

Even if he wasn’t holding me, as I woke, I think I would have cried out his name first. But he was with me. Not just holding me, but his breath brought me back. I understand what was done to me, I understand the syringe that Franks shot me with, to wake me. But I came back for Riddick.

He has to let me go, as we reach the door to my quarters, but does it regretfully, letting me down slowly. Holding me tight against him, the feel of his breath in my hair. With the door open, I turn to face him in the open doorway. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes for a moment. Am I turning him away? Good night Riddick, see ya tomorrow? Run my hands up over his chest, around his neck, pulling myself closer to him, standing on my toes.

“Are you going to leave me standing out here, Riddick?”

A huff of breath, leaning down into me to kiss me, the soft hum of his moan making my heart flutter, my knees weak. His hands are firm, running over my back, pressing every muscle, like he was reading me with his hands, skipping with a rough sound over the waist of my cargoes. Cupping my rear, a squeeze, before pulling me up to his waist. Toe the door closed, as he carries me, laying me down on the bed. Not letting go, sliding over me, settling between my thighs, the weight of him pressing hard into me.

The slightest of hesitations before each of his movements, wanting to be gentle, wanting to claim me fully at the same time, to bury himself in me. Just not wanting to hurt me to do it. Reach up, pulling his goggles off in the dark, slide my hands over the stubble of his jaw, pulling his face to mine. I don’t really trust my voice to speak, I know how I’ll sound. I don’t care.

“I need you, Riddick. All of you. I came back for YOU.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jane.”

His voice is deep, hoarse, full of need. Right now, that’s what’s right in front of us both. We need each other, like we need oxygen to live. I need him, more than I’ve ever needed anything, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. His need for me is evident in everything about him. His eyes first, his voice, his touch. His erection pressing into me is merely overkill.

Pull his jaw to me, biting first, a nip at the jawline, hard enough to have him hiss. Not painful. Or just not painful enough, his hips pressing hard into me at the assault. Bite his lower lip, not as hard. There is nothing gentle at all in the kiss. Brutal and life affirming. A savage fire burning in us both.

Our hands, pulling at our clothes in frustration. A growl, at having to break our kiss to pull shirts over our heads. I’m sure we could have just took off the bare minimum, just dropped our pants. Wouldn’t be the same though. I wanted him. I needed him, all of him. To feel his skin over mine, that electric tingle, where what was sensitive in us both touched. The coarse feel of the hair on his arms sliding over me. His hands hard, touching everything on me, that was now his. Fully.

That moment of frustration, when pants won’t come off, no matter the amount of pulling we were willing to do. Having to separate for a moment, pulling boots off first before stripping. At another time, we would probably have taken the time to undress each other slowly. Stripping quickly is the only practical, rational, thing in either of us right now.

Pushing me back on the bed, his hand spanning my belly to hold me still. He doesn’t need to push my thighs. I willingly spread, more than just willing, an offering, all of me. This is no less savage than the kiss we just shared. His tongue exploring forcefully, the deep growl, a vibration over me that makes me whimper. Part of me wanting to pull at him to stop. My fists tangled in the bedsheets, fighting the urge to do just that.

The flat of his tongue moving up, pulling up my clitoris, already hard. Press my head into the mattress, feeling the scream building. He sucks hard once, making my back arch hard enough that, if not for his hand on my belly, I might have bucked him off me. Nothing tentative, two fingers plunged deep, pressing hard along the upperside, seeking the hidden heart of my clitoris, my g-spot, as he pulls on the outer nub with his tongue. Skilled fingers curl up, pressing hard, pulling back, pressing again. His tongue, a swirl over swollen flesh, in counterpoint, setting up a wave in me.

Every moan, louder and sharper than the one before it. Begging him, without even being fully aware that I’m doing it. A stream of “oh please…Riddick…” escaping me, in between the short cries. He’s merciless, pinning me as I push back, gasping, as the first scream is ripped from me. The pressure on my clitoris even greater, to extend my orgasm beyond it’s flash of burning white fire. My scream dying in whimpers, my thighs a puddle, the muscles on the inside twitching.

Only then is he gentle, pulling back, the palm of his hand against the swollen nub, gentle pressure, diffuse. His other hand, wet from being inside me, slides over the muscles in my thigh, soothing them. Helping me to sit up. Reaching for him, to reciprocate. He’s stopping me, bringing my face to his instead.

“Some other time, baby. I need YOU more.”

“What do you want?” My voice breathless and shaky. Doesn’t make any difference. Everything in me wants to please him.

“Kneel.”

Manipulating me where he wants me, pulling me back against him. Reaching out, folding the pillow, and putting it in front of my hips. Pushing my thighs apart with his knees, the feel of his erection pressing against me making me shiver involuntarily. My thighs spread almost painfully, almost touching the pillow in front of me now. Almost a relief, as he pushes me over, pressing my chest to the bed. Turning my head to the side, feeling completely exposed, completely helpless. Completely aroused.

The weight of him behind me, having to lower himself, in my awkward position. The feel of just the head on my slick entrance makes me arch my hips to him, exposing myself even more. Holding my hips, a slow rocking motion, testing. Halfway. The pressure, the pleasure, is exquisite. Pinned, both by Riddick above me, and my own strained muscles, my spread thighs keeping me from squirming out of reach of the pleasure. Almost more than I can bear. My hands in fists. Wanting to escape. Pushing myself back into him, my body knowing what it wants, even if it’s too much. I want all of him.

His hands fidget on my hips, with the force of his restraint. Rocking a little deeper. A gasp, biting the sheet, everything going white in my head. So full, and he’s still pushing. Another orgasm washes over me, making everything in me tighten again, which intensifies the feeling of fullness, making the reaction feed on itself. A deep chuckle from behind me. Nothing cruel. He rests for a moment, before bringing his weight over my back. Changing the angle. Pressing into my back. The pillow, and my own strained thighs, keeping me from just sinking into the bed. His elbows down beside me, close to my shoulders. He’s waiting for me, kissing my neck, my back. Push back into him, bracing myself against his elbows.

The first thrust makes me scream. As does every one after it. Not gentle, not tentative or testing any longer. Panting hard above me, his every exhale a deep savage growl. His face buried in my neck, the space between us growing slick with sweat. The heat, the wet of it, bringing us even closer together, if that were possible, like the very moisture of our bodies was reaching out to each other.

Turning to bite the pillow, the sound of my own screams rattling even me. His voice, a torn whisper in my ear, in between his own hard growls.

“Don’t, Jane. I need to hear you. Scream for me. Tell me you’re mine.”

Struggling to say the words, to tell him I’m his. Even the ability to speak has left me, nothing left but this animal voice. A nip on my shoulder, a bite. I try to speak, and he slams back into me. Hard. His voice a hard growl. I don’t need to see him to know his teeth are bared, feeling it in the change in his voice.

“Don’t speak, Jane. Tell me you’re mine.”

His body hunched over mine, making my back arch even more awkwardly, his elbows pushing my shoulders back. His hips buck hard into me, immobile beneath him. His every driving thrust making me scream. I lost count of how often I came. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. I screamed and screamed, telling him the only way I could all the ways that I was his, with the only voice I had left.

I screamed until I couldn’t anymore, until nothing but strangled moans and finally sobs were all I had left. The whimpers in his own voice, unable to stop them, although I’m sure he’d never recognize them. The ragged moan winning out over the growl. Losing his rhythm, as his need overtook his abilities. Feeling him grow impossibly hard within me, his entire body flex with the power of his own impending orgasm. Hips slamming hard into mine, the roar almost deafening. Hips bucking, almost with a will of their own, answered by my own aftershocks.

So painful to disengage, everything painfully arched, and cramped. His shaking hands trying to ease me over, pressing my belly down, my back wanting to stay in the weird new shape it had been in for what felt like forever. A gasp, a whimper, from us both, as he settled beside me, leaning in to kiss me. Still breathing too hard to kiss deeply, we share a kiss that’s almost chaste, sweet, delicate.

Finally having a voice with which to speak, if a little hoarser than it was at the start, I slip my hand over his jaw, pulling his chin up to look at me. His eyes softer than I had seen them, ever.

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