Chapter Twenty-One #3
She nodded. “In exchange for a tidy sum, Osman shared the heist details.”
Spiker didn’t have to ask what happened next.
He seemed to already know how the story would end, though not the duplicitous details that had shaped how Nan would raise Vanka.
She swallowed hard. “If there was a lesson for Osman to learn, it would’ve been to ask more questions.
” She squared her shoulders and kept her chin steady, as if stabilizing her posture could help with the treacherous blow.
“Their target didn’t fortify and protect their illegally acquired possessions.
They simply arranged for their premeditated, cold-blooded murder.
” Her voice trembled. “All to protect an aristocrat’s art collection. ”
There was nothing Spiker could say. He reached for her cheek. His thumb swiped the damp, fading path that a tear had left as though erasing evidence of her pain might alleviate the hurt.
What had happened before—the secrets she hadn’t shared—had been hard for both of them, and he understood her timing. Love didn’t stand a chance without the truth. They had to, in the great words of Sun Tzu, sweat more during peace, and bleed less during war.
He cupped her chin. This was the work they had to do. Spiker would accept her past and what he hadn’t known. She would believe that he would never hurt her.
Vanka dropped her chin and pressed her lips into the palm of his hand. The touch reached into his soul. He loved her more than he wanted to take his next breath.
“I never told you about my family or what we do.” Her voice was as quiet as misting rain. “I never told anyone.”
Thanking her for that trust seemed entirely too trite.
“From the day Nan became my guardian, she ingrained in me a distrust.” Her eyes lifted to his. “It was to protect me.”
He understood and pulled Vanka to his chest. He had never felt anything so strong and vulnerable in his life. “I will never hurt you.”
“I know.” She smiled against his chest and eased back until she had his eyes. “I’ve always known that.” The corners of her lips twitched. “I think Nan knows that, too. I didn’t realize it at the time, but bringing you to the library was the equivalent of bringing you home to meet my mum and dad.”
He laughed. “I think she liked me.”
“No kidding.” Vanka blushed and laughed with him. “She wasn’t subtle.”
“There’s no being subtle around you.” He moved her onto his lap, so they were face-to-face. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He smiled at the lack of caveats. There was nothing she had to explain, nothing more he had to say.
Vanka slipped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as if she were absorbing their connection. He touched his lips to hers. The kiss melted her to him and fanned the ravenous spark that now always hummed. He needed more.
His tongue touched hers and worked her mouth open to his. She tasted like heaven, warm and giving and entirely his.
Spiker ran his hands down her back and lifted her up, barely breaking their kisses. Vanka ran her fingers through his hair, asking for as much as he needed also. He stripped her bra away and kneaded the muscles in her back.
“Take this off.” She pulled at the shoulders of his shirt until he’d ripped it overhead.
Her skin on his, the mounds of her breasts and pebbled nipples pressing to his chest—the sensation ran straight to his cock. Arousal thickened between her straddled legs, and a desperate shiver ran down his spine. The hell with taking his time.
Spiker lifted her off his lap and onto the couch. He tore away her clothes and stared. Her flushed skin, the perk of her breasts, the sweet softness that led to her pussy. “Fuck, you are amazing.”
She reached for him and wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling his face to hers. Vanka nipped his bottom lip and wrapped her calf around his thigh.
“Fuck,” he amended, “you are mine.”
“I like that better.” Her hips lifted, angling the blunt crown of his erection to her slick entrance.
Her heat enveloped him, and Spiker savored every inch of true bliss that gripped his length. Vanka’s breath hitched, testing his restraint. He eased back and slid into her again. Sweat prickled the back of his neck. His body throbbed for an instantaneous explosion.
Vanka gripped his biceps. Her fingernails dug into his flesh. Her body arched as he filled her again. “You’re mine.”
Their kisses tangled as though they had been starved for one another.
Spiker drove into his woman. She begged for his cock.
Their gasping breaths galloped, and when her muscles clenched around his shaft, rippling with the threat of orgasm, he thrust and retreated and thrust again until the only sound was her crying his name.
There was no noise as electrifying as her unbridled pleasure. Spiker demanded her climax again and again until he nearly lost his grip on reality. They came together, violent and chaotic and riotous as a tornado crashing into a hurricane.
When their wild waves quieted, he held her in his arms and made himself a vow. The rest of his life would be spent like this.