Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(60)

My heart clenched at the thought of a younger Philip, hustling to make his way in a harsh city, trying to win custody of his sister but still worried about a brother he’d just met. “You did all you could.”

“You have no idea what I can do,” he said sharply.

That was probably true. I hadn’t thought he would lock me in his bedroom, alone with no one to watch over me. I hadn’t thought I would feel like I was suffocating on his floor while he was miles away. I hadn’t thought he was a monster, even though he told me he was again and again.

“I know you saved my brother,” I said softly.

A longer silence this time, one that seemed to grow tighter and harder as the seconds ticked by. He shifted slightly, his body moving against rock, a whisper of strength against strength.

“I did save your brother,” he finally said, and there was a disturbing lightness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, as if his pain had evaporated, leaving only sharp and shiny crystals. “And I think I’d like to collect now.”

“Collect,” I echoed, a hollow pit in my stomach—as dark and cold as this caved-in tunnel.

“On the debt. Your debt.”

A shiver ran through me. “Now?”

“Of course,” he said. “Did you think I wouldn’t require payment on delivery? Those have always been my terms, from the time I sold pot on the street corner and solved problems in back alleys.”

Sex. He wanted sex. “We’re in a tunnel that almost came down. We almost died.”

“It’ll hold up a little longer,” he said, unconcerned. “The shooting is over.”

This was insane. And terrifying. “Philip, for God’s sake. We’re in a church. There’s a dead body on the other side of that rubble.”

“Which one of those things bothers you more?” he asked, sounding amused.

Deep inside I began to shake, trembling as hard as the rocks that had fallen around us. “Look. We don’t have to do this now. We don’t have to do this here. You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m simply trying to collect.” His voice got dangerously soft. “Unless you’re trying to get out of paying.”

“No,” I said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just … Why does it have to be here? They’re going to come for us.”

“Not for an hour. I’ll be finished with you before then.”

The words hit me like a slap to the face. The past few days he had taken me for hours, moving my body into every sexual position I knew about and many that I hadn’t. Even though I should have known better, I believed that he would keep me. I’d wanted to believe he would let me in, emotionally.

Except no, he wouldn’t. He wanted a quickie in a cold dark cave, and then he would be done with me. He wanted his debt paid on delivery.

“You’re crazy,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Am I?” he said in a mocking tone.

“Because I left the house. That’s why you’re doing this. You’re punishing me.”

A rush of air and then he was on me, pushing me up against the wall. His hands were around my wrists, pinning my arms to the cold wall. His breath was against my temple, harsh and heavy. “Punishing you,” he repeated slowly. “Is that what it feels like when I touch you?”

“No, I—” God, I hadn’t meant it like that, but it was. It was how I felt—punished and cherished all at once. “I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve taken it easy on you,” he murmured.

That was easy? I imagined him moving me, invading me, surrounding me. It had been overwhelming, so much more than I had ever thought sex could be. Not simply a kiss. Not merely intercourse. He had become my breath in those hours. He had owned me.

His zipper echoed loudly in the dark cavern. Then his hand fisted in my hair. He cocked my head to the side, and I waited, staring into the darkness, panting in fear and illicit arousal. We were under a church!

He patted my cheek, and I flinched—it wasn’t a slap, not really, but it was harder than a caress. Something in between, somehow both tender and harsh. That was Philip, a contradiction.

Then the hand in my hair tugged me down, and I sank to my knees. They landed on rough pebbles, and I cried out softly. He didn’t let up, instead guiding my mouth to his cock.

It came to me in a burst of salt flavor, in the velvet silk of his skin.

I couldn’t see. I could only taste and smell and feel, the sensations so much stronger because of it.

I sucked him as if I could apologize—for saying that being with him was a punishment, for breaking free of his bonds to come here, for pulling away and for wanting him all at once, using every ounce of skill I didn’t have. He tasted of salt and of the earthy dust swirling around us. He tasted of man and danger, and I pulsed with a primal desire to please.

“Take me,” he murmured. “Oh f*ck, take me deep, kitten. I need to feel your throat.”

And then I didn’t have a choice. He pushed deeper, until the head of his cock pressed against the soft flesh at the back of my mouth. I gagged once, and he pulled back—only to push forward again. I sucked in a breath, and then he was there again, pressing into my throat. It was all I could do to breathe and swallow, the muscles of my throat clenching around him until he groaned.