Epilogue
WHEN I FELT her slick heat against my cock, I let my eyes drift open lazily. Her movements were unhurried, relaxed, and that was how I felt.
Sure, there was an urgency stirring inside me, sure, I wanted to come, but more than that, I liked that this was the first time she’d taken the initiative.
Adored that she wanted me enough just to lazily ride me like this.
Loved, even more, that she was getting over what that bastard had done to her, and was starting to own her body once more.
“Morning, baby,” she rasped, her voice still husky from sleep.
“Morning, sweetheart,” I greeted her back, letting my hands come up to cup her waist, not to steer or to stop her, just to hold on to her.
With each rock of her hips, she was coating my cock in her cream, and each time, her clit came into contact with the piercings on the tip.
And every time she bit her lip harder, I knew the feeling was electric, and I knew, just as much, that the laziness would disappear and be replaced with the fire that always consumed us.
The inferno that would devour us until our last breath left our lungs, and we were nothing more than the ash our passion had forged.
I sighed with relief when she grabbed my dick after a good few minutes of this delicious torment, and sighed again when she pressed the tip to her entrance.
This part was always agonizing, and it was particularly excruciating with her, because she was so fucking tight.
In all the time we’d been together, she’d never ridden me, never managed it, and I wasn’t sure she’d be able to today either.
Her tits shook as she tried to get me inside her, and I reached up, cupping the underside of one that showed her brand.
She had “Property of Nyx” tattooed in cursive under there, but it was the devil’s head that I truly appreciated. It was a match to the one I had on my back, only instead of the blood and the gore that I had on mine, hers was decorated in Indiana’s signature mandalas.
It was quirky rather than gruesome, but that was more of a brand than anything else.
My touch inspired her to rub my own mark. Brothers didn’t usually get branded, but I was one and done, and I wanted her to know that.
I had a past, and it was dirty and grimy. I’d fucked more women than most men could dream of, but I wasn’t about to let what we had be tinged by the bitterness that could be stirred from my history.
So I wore her mark with pride.
Carly’s songbird on my throat had a partner now, a mirror image that reflected Giulia’s importance in my life.
“I can’t get it in,” she grumbled after another minute.
“I know,” I told her dryly, wondering how sex could be funny with this woman. It had always been a need, an urge, but now? It had taken on a life of its own.
“Aren’t you going to do something about it?” she demanded with a huff, her glassy eyes and pink cheeks telling me she was more than ready for me to take things further.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I growled, and grabbing her, I twisted us around so that she was on her back and I was above her.
Her squeal was badly timed. It meant I missed the sharp knock on the door, but after her giggle died down, I heard the pounding fist and, cursing, I pressed my forehead to hers and shouted out, “Who the fuck is it?”
“It’s me. Rex.”
Growling under my breath, I grated out, “I’m sorry, babe.”
Though she was pouting, she knew the score as only a brat reared in the club ever could.
I grabbed the PJ shirt she’d tossed onto the floor this morning before she’d attacked me and used it to cover my junk. I opened the door a sliver so Rex could only see my glowering face as I answered his call.
“What is it?” I groused. “Church isn’t for another few hours.”
His face was tense, his eyes loaded with strain as he told me, “We’ve found Lancaster’s hostages.”