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“Look down at the carnival.” I bite the shell of her ear, my voice dropping into a dark, filthy command. “I’m sure everyone heard you scream.”
Her chest heaves as her eyes stay pinned to the trailers and tents below.
I pump my hips, burying myself so deep our bones grind together. “You are a queen. You hold the knife thrower’s heart in your hands. You own me. Every single piece of me belongs to you.”
“Cole.” She chokes on the air, her spine bowing in a wicked arc.
“Take it.” I stroke her clit faster, the friction generating a slick, wet sound. “Fall apart for me right here in the sky. Show me what happens when you let go.”
Her inner walls clamp down like a vise.
The sensation is absolute agony. The muscles ripple and clench along the length of my shaft, dragging a guttural roar straight out of my chest. I increase my speed, abandoning any lingering shred of technique or restraint. I pound into her, a frantic, desperate blur of motion, letting the animal take the reins.
The Ferris wheel carriage sways like a pendulum. We exist in a suspended universe, eighty feet above the dirt, isolated from the chaos of the carnival below.
Sloane shatters.
The climax hits her with the force of a detonating bomb. She throws her head back against my collarbone, a harsh, jagged cry ripping through her lips. Her thighs tremble violently against my legs. The orgasm tears through her core in massive, rolling spasms, her pussy milking my cock with unrelenting, crushing pressure.
I lose my grip on reality.
My balls tighten, and I drive my hips up one final, brutal time, burying myself to the hilt, and hold the angle.
I erupt.
Thick, hot ropes of cum shoot from my dick, flooding her tight, throbbing center. The release blinds me. My vision goes white. I lock my left arm tighter around her waist, crushing her spine against my chest as wave after wave of searing pleasure empties me out. A harsh shout tears from my throat, the adrenaline frying every nerve ending in my body.
We ride out the aftershocks in the swaying metal cage.
My chest heaves, dragging the cold night air into my burning lungs. Sloane sags back against me, entirely boneless. Her hands release their death grip on the safety bar, dropping limp onto her bare thighs.
The wind whips through the carriage, chilling the sweat slicking our skin.
I don’t pull out. I stay buried deep inside her, relishing the intimate weight of our connected bodies. I rest my chin on the crown of her head, closing my eyes, letting the chaotic roar of my pulse slow to a steady drumbeat.
“You are insane,” she whispers. Her voice lacks any actual heat, raspy and completely wrecked.
“I am a man of my word.” I press a kiss into her tangled blonde hair. “I told you I was going to ruin you up here.”
A low, breathy laugh vibrates through her ribs, transferring the movement directly into my chest. She turns her head, brushing a kiss against the side of my neck.
“You didn’t ruin me.” She rests her cheek against my Henley. “You put me back together.”
The words strike the absolute center of my heart. The lingering ghosts of the Sanctum of Ash, the fire, the decades of hunting monsters in the dark—they all fade into the background. The blood on my hands doesn’t matter. The scar on her palm doesn’t dictate the future.
We sit in the dark, suspended over the sleeping carnival lot. We built a kingdom out of the ashes of our ruined childhoods.
When she shivers, I pull Sloane tighter against my chest.
“We need to tell Ben to start the engine,” she murmurs, tracing the dark ink curling around my forearm. “I can’t feel my toes.”
“Wonderful idea. I’ll worship you again in our new trailer.” I rest my hand over hers, lacing our fingers together. “Did you remember to bring your phone?”
EPILOGUE – SLOANE
The late November wind bites through my wool coat. Dead leaves scrape across the concrete paths of the city park, kicked up by the harsh coastal breeze. My hand rests engulfed in Cole’s grip, his long, calloused fingers interlocking with mine. The pad of his thumb drags a slow, familiar rhythm over the raised scar on my palm.
A few months ago, an open public space required constant surveillance. I mapped sightlines. I tracked the erratic movements of strangers. I plotted the fastest route to the tree line. Survival meant treating every single shadow like a threat.
