Chapter 29
RAZOR
We reach home in the early hours, and I only have one destination in mind.
The well-trodden path to her room is a short one, and as I knock gently on the door, I wait, hoping like hell she heard it.
The door opens almost immediately, and it’s obvious she’s not slept well. Huge shadows darken her eyes, and her worried frown breaks into a smile of relief as she falls into my arms.
“Thank God.”
I hold her close, breathing in her familiar scent, content for this, relaxing almost on impact.
She clings to me hard and whispers, “Are they safe?”
“Yeah. They are at the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
She pulls back, her gaze searching mine anxiously. “Are they hurt?”
“Not to my knowledge. Imogen was drugged and lucky we got to them in time, and Cassie and Jack are shaken and worried for their friend and refuse to leave her side.”
“But she’ll be okay?”
She bites her lip, and I nod. “Should be. The doctor is keeping her in for observation along with the poor girl who suffered the same fate.”
“Another girl?”
She stares at me in horror, and I sigh. “Yeah, that place was a fucking freak show. Thankfully, we closed it down so there will be no repeat performances.”
She shivers, but a proud gleam sparkles in her eyes as she nods. “Good.”
I kick off my boots. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. It’s well—”
“What, Razor?”
A soft smile curls on her sweet lips, and I roll my eyes. “Well nothing. I didn’t want to be alone.”
She nods, but the smile remains, and she sits beside me on the edge of the bed; her fingers laced with mine, and lays her head on my shoulder. “You must be exhausted.”
“I am.”
It was a hard ride back, especially as my brother didn’t return with me and I huff, “Blade stayed behind. He was assigned the girl to protect. I had word Ryder wants him to take her to one of the safe cabins in the mountains to heal while they figure out what shit she’s in.”
“I see.”
Sunday squeezes my hand. “It’s probably for the best. I hope she’s okay.”
“She will be.”
My eyes are stinging from lack of sleep, and the adrenaline wore off hours ago, and a deep yawn alerts Sunday to my position right now. She says almost fiercely, “Get into bed. I’ll fetch you a coffee and then you must sleep.”
“I’m not gonna argue with you.”
She points to her small bathroom.
“Take a shower, wash the dirt off while I fetch the coffee.”
I glance down, noting the blood staining my hands, and remember the guy whose head exploded on it tonight.
Sunday obviously saw it too, but she doesn’t reference it, which is probably for the best.
As she heads off, I make use of her shower, loving the feminine touches dotted around, the opposite to mine.
I kind of love sleeping over at Sunday’s. It reminds me of her; her scent lingers in the air, and it’s less oppressive than my condo. I love everything about it because it’s her place. It reeks of her and settles my heart.
As I crawl into her bed, the pillow sinks under my head, and as soon as my eyes close, I sink into oblivion.
* * *
When I wake the next morning, the sun is already high in the sky. My limbs are stiff, my mouth parched, and yet there is a satisfied smile on my face. Sunday is naked and her body pressed against mine. Her leg draped over me; her hand pressed against my chest.
I take a moment to enjoy her even breathing, the soft sounds of satisfaction occasionally breaking the silence.
I could wake up beside Sunday for eternity; it would never get old, and sometimes I imagine a different sort of life for us. One that doesn’t involve the past, threats, and violence. Where we are happy, a normal couple with none of the ghosts of our past to haunt us.
Normal life will never be part of my world. Living at the Rubicon is as normal as it gets, and as Sunday stirs, my heart breaks a little because one day this may be a sweet yet bitter memory to remind me of a time when I had it all.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven, if your clock is right.”
“Wow, we overslept.”
She makes to sit up, but I pull her down, not wanting to break the spell she has me under.
“What’s the hurry?”
Her voice softens. “There isn’t one.”
She turns and reaching out, strokes my face, her gaze searching, her concern evident, and she whispers, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t talk.”
I remind her of the rules and she sighs. “Will you ever talk about it?”
“No.”
I shut the conversation down. I’m aware she is referencing my past. The one I keep bottled up where it belongs. I have no past, not one I’m happy to revisit anyway, and I say nothing but grip her chin lightly and replace words with a soft kiss, loving how it settles my mind.
She kisses me back, soft, slow and sensual, and my cock is ready, primed and desperate. She pulls away and smiles, a dreamy expression in her eyes, and as her fingers close around my shaft, I lean back and accept everything she wants to give me.
Her mouth soon replaces her fingers, and as she sucks me good and slow, I hit the back of her throat with a groan of contentment. I am never happier than when I am inside some part of Sunday’s body and as she sucks me dry, I shoot my load straight down her throat.
“Fuck, baby.”
My breathing is ragged, my skin burning from her touch, and she kisses her way up my body, reaching my mouth, her kisses laced with my cum.
She is one sexy woman and I will never stop wanting her, and as we kiss like the lovers we are, it’s good to be home.