CHAPTER 31 #2
Relief crashed across his features, the release of a man who’d been holding his breath for years and finally let it go. His forehead pressed to mine, and his eyes closed again as a shudder moved through him.
“Thank fuck,” he breathed roughly. He kissed me again, like he was trying to pour every unspoken vow into the press of his lips against mine.
I kissed him back with the same fragile intensity, sliding my hands into his hair and pulling him closer until there was no space left between us.
The tears kept coming, but they weren’t the sad kind.
They were from relief.
From finally letting myself want something—someone—and believing I might actually not be disappointed by it.
When he drew back, he rested his forehead against mine again, breathing hard.
“I—” He stopped himself, his throat working. The word hung there, unfinished, but I heard it anyway. I felt it. The almost-confession he swallowed back because we both knew it was too big and too soon to say out loud yet.
He exhaled shakily, then shifted above me, guiding me gently down until my back met the silk sheets.
The cool fabric kissed my overheated skin as he settled between my thighs, his weight braced on his forearms so he didn’t crush me.
His eyes searched mine—dark, intense, almost pleading—as he nudged my legs wider with his hips.
Jagger lined himself up slowly, the thick head of his cock brushing my entrance. I felt the stretch begin again, that perfect, aching fullness as he pushed in until he was seated deep. I gasped at the sensation, and my walls throbbed around him, still sensitive from earlier.
And as he began to move, pushing me toward pleasure with every roll of his hips, I couldn’t help but wish that he’d said it . . .
Because I was falling in love with him, too.
Jagger
I lay on my side, propped on one elbow, watching Eden sleep.
The Vegas lights coming in from the windows reflected on her face, catching on her dark lashes, the faint freckles across her nose, and her swollen lips.
She was curled toward me, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting loosely on my chest like she’d claimed the spot even in dreams. Her breathing was slow and even, peaceful in a way I’d never seen on her before.
And that made the rage in my chest burn even hotter.
Claudia’s voice kept playing in my head, her Irish curl telling Eden not to trust me. I may not have been present, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the scene.
I wanted her to die all over again.
I wanted to walk back into that boutique, drag her into the back room by her perfect chignon, and peel her apart the way Gage had taught me. Cyanide had been too easy of a death.
I was well aware that my enemies were going to try to get to Eden. I just hadn’t foreseen it being while she was trying on lingerie. The question in her eyes this afternoon . . . I never wanted to see it again.
Yes, I was well aware that there were all sorts of things that Eden should question me about, and there were all kinds of reasons that she shouldn’t trust me.
I just didn’t give a fuck.
Brushing my fingers against her cheek, I traced the line of her jaw before resting my thumb on the soft pulse in her throat.
She sighed in her sleep and turned her face into my palm.
The rage quieted . . . a little. Until I thought about what I’d do if anyone ever actually got to her and she tried to leave me.
I could see it clearly . . . Eden packing a bag in secret, slipping out the door while I was in a meeting, disappearing into the city with nothing but a phone and whatever cash she could scrape together.
I could picture her looking over her shoulder, heart pounding, waiting for me to find her. Because I would. I always would.
I’d track her phone first. I’d had that software installed since before I gave it to her.
Then I’d use the cameras on every corner of the Strip, the facial recognition we’d paid a fortune to have back-doored into the city’s system, and I’d have her location within minutes.
There would be men on every exit out of Vegas before she even reached the city limits.
And if she somehow slipped through—if she got on a plane, if she changed her name, if she hid in some small town in the middle of nowhere—I’d still find her.
I’d tear the world apart looking for her.
I’d burn every bridge she tried to cross, bribe every landlord who rented to her, and threaten every friend who tried to shelter her. I’d make sure there was nowhere left for her to run. I’d make sure every door she knocked on led back to me.
The minute I found her—because I would find her, no matter how far she ran—I’d throw her over my shoulder and haul her back to the penthouse, and back to the bed where she belonged.
I’d lock the doors and I’d chain her to the bed if that’s what it took until she stopped fighting and started remembering how good it felt to be mine.
I’d remind her every day. Every hour. Every minute.
I’d make her come so many times she’d lose count until her body craved me like air, until every time she tried to stand, her legs gave out and she fell back into my arms.