That night- 2[M]

Chapter 37: that night cont. [M]

Raina Langston hit the wall hard, the impact jolting through her spine—but the sting barely registered. Her breath caught in her throat, but not from pain. Mirelle Alden was kissing her like she meant to consume her, not just taste. There was no finesse, no gentle easing in—just teeth, lips, pressure, and heat, all of it urgent and unrelenting.

Raina could barely think. All she knew was that her hands were in Mirelle's hair, and Mirelle's hands were everywhere. Rough palms and calloused fingers dragging over her ribs, her waist, grabbing like they had every right, like they were mapping her body with intent and impatience.

Mirelle pressed in closer, her thigh sliding between Raina's legs, pinning her in place. Their bodies collided—an unsteady rhythm of push and pull, all heat and hatred and want.

Mirelle's mouth moved down her neck, biting hard at the sensitive skin just under her jaw. Raina let out a broken sound—half gasp, half growl—and tilted her head back, baring her throat like a challenge.

"You're out of your mind," Mirelle muttered against her skin, breath hot and uneven.

"You're the one pinning me to a wall," Raina shot back, her voice wrecked with want.

Mirelle's hands moved again—this time to her chest, groping through the fabric of her shirt with clear frustration. She growled in annoyance, fingers fumbling at the buttons before simply ripping them open in one aggressive pull. Buttons scattered across the motel floor, clinking against tile like falling teeth.

"Not sorry about the shirt," Mirelle said, her voice rough with need.

"Fuck the shirt," Raina breathed, eyes dark and electric. Her legs wrapped around Mirelle's waist, pulling her in, grounding herself in the press of muscle and rage and something so much more dangerous.

The air between them felt charged—like a storm had rolled in and settled right beneath their skin.

Mirelle stared at her for one breathless second. Her lips were parted, pupils blown wide. Raina's hair was a mess, her braid falling loose, and her chest rose and fell like she'd just run a race.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Mirelle said, voice low and trembling with restraint.

"Don't hold back," Raina whispered.

Her hands moved down, tracing the shape of Mirelle's chest before sliding lower, fingers moving with practiced confidence until she reached the pressure straining beneath her slacks. She gripped hard, enough to pull a groan from Mirelle's throat, breath stuttering against Raina's skin.

Mirelle didn't hesitate.

She dropped to her knees between Raina's thighs, tearing what little remained of the pantyhose with a single pull. Her fingers dragged Raina's underwear aside, and her breath hitched as she took in the sight of her—exposed, flushed, already trembling.

"You're soaked," Mirelle muttered, voice thick with disbelief and something darker. "Normally, I'd take my time—"

Her hand moved, deliberate and rough, a single finger pressing inside without warning.

"—preparing my partner."

She looked up, eyes gleaming like a threat.

"But not you, demon. You want it to hurt."

Raina gasped, but whether it was pain or pleasure—or the blur between—neither of them cared to name it. Her hand tightened in Mirelle's hair, pulling her closer.

"Yes," Raina gasped, her voice ragged. "Please—fuck—"

That was all it took.

Mirelle rose in a rush, lifting Raina up like she weighed nothing. Raina locked her legs around Mirelle's waist, her arms tightening around her shoulders. The two of them moved as one breathless tangle—heat, friction, fury.

Mirelle's fingers found the zipper of her slacks and pulled it down in one practiced motion.

And then—no hesitation, no warning—she thrust into her.

Hard. Rough. Immediate.

Raina arched with a gasp—no, a cry—as her head hit the wall again.

"Ahhh—!"

The sound tore out of her before she could think. Stars bloomed behind her eyes, pain mixing with pleasure so thick it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

In hindsight, she might've underestimated Mirelle's size. And now, there was no doubt—the entire motel would hear her. It hurt, yes, but it was the kind of hurt she needed. The kind that emptied her head, made her forget the world, her legacy, the shame of wanting this.

Mirelle bit into her neck—not gently, but to mark, to claim. Her breath was hot, shallow, and uneven against Raina's skin.

She was tight—too tight—and Mirelle had to steel herself, breathing through her nose like she was about to enter battle. No way in hell she was going to lose control after all that smug talk. She had a point to prove.

"You okay?" Mirelle asked through clenched teeth, her voice hoarse.

"Can you handle it?"

Raina looked down at her, dazed and flushed, her lips trembling around the ghost of another cry.

"Yeah," she managed, nodding.