Covenant of Loss (Destructive Ties #3)

Chapter 1 Jane

JANE

Electricity jolts up my spine as strong hands wrap around me from behind, closing like iron around my waist.

I can feel the strong chest that presses against my shoulder blades, the warm breath whispering across the back of my neck and raising goosebumps along my flesh.

“You look positively delectable in that dress,” the man whispers against the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

My heart races, my breath catching in my throat as his hand starts to wander down my hip, his fingers gathering the fabric of my dress as he slowly exposes my thighs.

I should be scared because I don’t know the man.

I can’t see his face.

But his deep, soothing voice is so soft and familiar that instead, it sends a thrill through my body.

“What if someone sees?” I gasp, looking around at the open landscape that surrounds us. I can’t quite tell if it’s a quiet stretch of the Chicago Riverwalk or somewhere more remote, but as far as I can tell, we’re alone.

“No one’s coming,” he promises, his hand straying further down until his fingertips brush the inside of my thigh. “No one will see.”

I gasp as he boldly reaches between my thighs, stroking the bare folds of my pussy.

My stomach tightens, and I grip the railing in front of me as my knees go suddenly weak.

“So soft and wet and perfect,” the man rasps, desire dripping from his tone. “Tell me I can have you. Here. Now.”

There’s no mistaking the command in his voice, and yet, if I told him not to, I feel strangely confident that he wouldn’t push things further.

But the molten excitement surging through my belly sends all my inhibitions out the window.

If his fingers can feel that good, I want to know what it would feel like to have all of him inside me.

And I’m not so sure I would care if someone happened upon us now.

“Yes,” I breathe, my pulse hammering through my veins.

The man groans, the sound tortured and ravenous all at once, and it makes my body throb.

Then his fingers dip inside me.

The pleasure that crashes through me is heady and breathtaking.

I cry out, gripping the railing harder as the soft sound of fabric shifting warns me that he’s undoing his pants.

But I can hardly focus on the fact as his fingers expertly work in and out of my, his thumb tracing circles around my clit.

It feels so good.

And when his fingers slide out of me, I whimper with disappointment.

“Don’t worry, vita mia. I’m not done with you,” he rasps. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I was put on this earth for your pleasure.”

Then I feel the adamant press of his cock sliding between my thighs, the silken tip parting my slick seam, and as he plunges inside me from behind, fireworks explode inside me.

White stars fill my vision, and I clench around him as he buries himself deep inside my core.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he says as he rocks in and out of me, one arm like a vise around my waist as he continues to tease my clit with the fingers of his other hand. “I could do this forever and die a happy man.”

“That would significantly increase our odds of someone finding us,” I tease, but the bite of my joke is lost in the sounds of pleasure that rush past my lips unchecked, leaving my words breathy and weak.

His low chuckle vibrates through my ribcage, and I clench around him as the sexy sound excites me.

He must feel it, too, because his thrusts grow more urgent, his grip on me tightening as he hovers on the brink of losing control.

I can feel my release building inside me as the passion intensifies. The sound of his ragged breaths, the sensation of his body wrapped protectively around me, like he intends to shield me from the world he’s claiming me in front of.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands.

I don’t even know this man, but if this is what it feels like to belong to him, I’m ready to sign on the dotted line. “I’m yours,” I agree, letting my head fall back against his muscular shoulder as the tantalizing stimulation overwhelms me.

“Come for me, amore,” he murmurs against my throat, his lips working the sensitive skin below my jaw. “I want to feel you fall apart in my arms.”

My back arches, my hips rocking back into him as my body takes charge, obeying him without question.

He knows just where to touch, just what to say to drive me out of my mind, and I gasp as an explosive orgasm rips through me—

And sit bolt upright in bed.

It isn’t the first time my mystery man has visited me in my dreams.

And I’m embarrassed to admit it’s not the first time I’ve been woken mid-orgasm because of him either.

As I look around my bedroom, orienting myself, warmth floods my cheeks—a rich combination of mortification and deep satisfaction.

But my body isn’t quite ready to follow me into the waking world just yet, and I throb with the memory of having my faceless man inside me.

I couldn’t say if it’s some long-lost memory or a figment of my imagination.

But that doesn’t stop the recurring dream that makes my mouth dry and my heart race.

I know if I reached between my thighs right now, I would find my panties soaked for a man I may have never even met.

But then, I can’t be sure he’s a stranger, and I have to wonder if my dreams have any foundation in reality at all. It almost feels like they might because of how vivid they always are.

Not that it would matter much even if he were a real person or generated because of my complete lack of a sex life.

Between running the shop and taking care of Jackson, I just don’t have time to think about dating an actual person.

So my faceless dream man will have to do.

The thought of Jackson sparks an alarm bell in my brain as I finally note the bright sunlight filtering in through my bedroom window.

My eyes fly to the clock on my bedside table.

Damn it, we’re going to be late.

Throwing off my covers, I scramble to get out of bed, stripping off my pajamas as I cross the room.

“Jackson!” I call. “Get up, honey. You’re going to be late for school!” I listen for a response as I quickly pull on a colorful flower-print summer dress and comb my hair, and when I don’t get one, I briskly cross my bedroom to open the door and lean into the hall. “Jackson?”

“I’m up,” comes the sleepy voice from behind the door at the top of the stairs.

“Good boy. You have ten minutes to get dressed and have your stuff ready by the front door.” In the meantime, I dip back into my bathroom to grab my toothbrush.

Gobbing on the toothpaste, I give them a thorough scrub as I rush downstairs to the kitchen to pull together something Jackson can eat for breakfast on the go.

Precisely nine minutes later, I can hear the patter of footsteps racing down the stairs, and I smile. I couldn’t ask for a better little boy.

Jackson is my heart and soul, and I have no doubt he would be regardless of who he grew to be, but I’m blessed with a son who actually likes school.

He enjoys learning and, as far as his teachers report, he’s a top-notch student—smart, well-behaved, and what I care most about, kind.

“I’m ready,” he says breathlessly as he comes skidding to a stop in the kitchen doorway.

“Perfect timing,” I say, handing him the egg-and-cheese breakfast burrito I just finished wrapping in some tinfoil.

He takes it without argument and peels it open as he follows me to the front door, Spider-Man backpack well secured over both shoulders.

“You have all your homework?” I confirm as I turn to lock up our modest inner-city townhome.

It has a sweet yellow door and white shutters to contrast the dark-gray paint—a major part of the appeal that drew me to it in the first place.

The gate and white picket fence that surround our own tiny little yard and garden don’t hurt, either.

They make it easier for me to let Jackson play outside without worrying he might get too close to the street.

“Yep,” Jackson confirms around a bite of eggs.

I don’t know why I bother asking anymore.

My little boy is more organized than I am when it comes to his schoolwork.

His hair, on the other hand, is a tangled mess of dark locks, and I comb my fingers through it, trying to bring it into a semblance of order as we start the three-block walk to his elementary school.

“Now, you’re sure you don’t want me to come pick you up from school today?” I ask for probably the hundredth time since Jackson begged me to let him walk home with his friends, Tanner and Chase.

“Moooom,” he groans, rolling his eyes at me.

“Just checking.” I hold up my hands in self-defense, relenting, though I’m pretty sure giving Jackson the new responsibility and freedom has given me more than a few gray hairs.

It’s not my son I don’t trust.

It’s the rest of the world.

But he’s right.

We live in a safe neighborhood, and most of the kids from his class have started to walk home without adult supervision by now.

I just have to keep reminding myself it’s only three blocks. He’ll be safe walking with his friends that far. Right?

“You don’t have to worry about me, you know,” he promises, his annoyance dwindling as he shifts into his usual space of understanding. I swear, when it comes to empathy, Jackson has a majority share.

“I know, Jay. But that’s my job.” Draping my arm across his shoulders, I pull him into my side and plant a kiss on the top of his head as we turn the corner and the school comes into sight.

Cramming the last of his burrito into his mouth, he crumples his tinfoil and passes it to me with a mumbled thanks, then he wraps his arms around my waist for a quick hug before he dashes the last of the distance to the red brick building just as the muted sound of the warning bell rings.

“I love you!” I call, cupping my hands around my mouth as he disappears inside the door.

I take a moment just to appreciate my little boy. Then I turn to head toward the nearest platform to get on the L.

It’s just a twenty-minute train ride into the city from Jackson’s school, and I arrive at the flower shop I opened blocks from the Magnificent Mile.