Epilogue
The sun streamed through the blinds, casting streaks of warm light across the plain white bedspread.
Cecilia watched the dawn light creep across Sloane’s restful face. The glow followed the dips and curves of his sloping forehead, proud nose, and softened lips. It sparkled in the pale tips of his eyelashes and the barely there hint of stubble on his strong chin.
He was beautiful. Astonishingly, brutally beautiful. There hadn’t been a moment to truly appreciate it before, so she took every soft second of his slumber into her hands and held fast.
His bruises and cuts had been healed. The dark circles under his eyes had faded.
The tension around his mouth melted away.
Even in sleep, he was that young, hopeful creature she met in the interrogation room.
As soon as Captain Le Roy explained that they wouldn’t be separated — after he calmly asked her to lower her knife — Sloane had been in something of a daze.
She understood that well enough. Cecilia was in something of a daze herself.
I have a mate, she thought for the thousandth time. I have a mate and he’s my phantom and he’s broken and he’s perfect because he’s mine.
Cecilia watched his eyelashes flutter, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Good morning,” she whispered, tracing one pale brow with the tips of her fingers.
Sloane eyes opened slowly, revealing those sad eyes that haunted her. Except they didn’t seem quite so sad anymore when they widened with surprise then crinkled with obvious pleasure.
“You’re still here,” he rasped. The arm draped over her middle tightened.
Trailing her fingers down over his cheek to brush his lips, she replied, “I’m still here, champ.”
Sloane sucked in a deep, deep breath. It was a fascinating thing, watching his pupils expand up close. It was similar to how her cat Oyster looked when he gazed at her, too. All big, dark pupils and devotion.
Oyster would’ve loved you, she thought wistfully.
“I worried you might leave.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I thought you might change your mind.”
“I’m pretty stubborn,” she informed him, “and when I decide on something, I like to stick to it.”
Sloane found her lips with his own. “Thank you for choosing me, doe.”
“Thank you for choosing me first,” she answered, smiling against his mouth. “And thank you for ruining all my dates.”
For the first time, Cecilia had the privilege of hearing Sloane laugh.
It wasn’t a belly laugh or even what most people would consider a chuckle, but it was real. It was a soft, husky thing — all smoke and bass. It was toe-curling and delicious and she needed to hear it again and again and again.
“They were threats,” he insisted.
Heart lighter than it’d been in… she couldn’t even remember how long, Cecilia teased, “To you, maybe.”
Sloane nipped her lip. A bolt of electricity ran through her with that gentle punishment. “Correct.”
They were supposed to report to Captain Le Roy at seven, which she was certain was rapidly approaching, but she didn’t really care.
The captain seemed fine enough, she supposed, but she’d reserve any respect for him until she was absolutely certain Sloane wouldn’t be punished for what he’d done out of very justifiable fear.
If they were a little late for their meeting, then so be it.
Officially, this was her first morning with a mate. She intended to savor it.
Cecilia threaded her fingers through his silken hair and deepened their kiss. Desire rose, soft and insistent, as their tongues tangled.
Her mate’s hands were big and possessive as they roamed her back and down her thigh. Gently guiding him to drape himself over her, she spread her legs and welcomed him home.
Sloane’s breath escaped him in a hot gasp as she trailed her hands down his bare back to dip her fingers into his briefs. A taut backside met her fingers. It flexed with her touch, just as the rest of his powerful body did when he rolled his hips into hers.
The heavy bar of his erection pressed into her, already wet at the tip and demanding her attention. When her fingers slid around the sharp edges of his hip bones, she found it straining for her touch.
A deep, rattling purr shook his chest as she stroked him with exploratory touches. It wasn’t hurried. It was indulgent. She traced every silky ridge and thick vein, memorizing the topography of the heavy cock in her hand. It was a thing of beauty, just like the rest of him.
Sloane braced his elbows on either side of her. He bowed over her, hips rolling in slow waves into her hands. His eyes squeezed shut as his lips trailed over her cheek and jaw. “This is torture,” he murmured into her damp skin. “I never want it to end.”
Cecilia turned her head to the side, exposing more of her neck to his exploratory kisses. “Did you ever dream of this when you were on that rooftop?”
He reached down to begin unbuttoning her pajama top.
Fangs dragging over her pulse, his greedy fingers closed over her breast with a possessive squeeze.
A hot pulse beat between her thighs when he answered, “Touching you is better than anything I dreamed of. Smelling you is better. Tasting you is better. It’s everything. ”
Sloane rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger with just enough pressure to make her back arch. The weight of him pressed her into the mattress again immediately, almost like he thought she was trying to get away. A sharp, terrifying growl reverberated through her as he pinned her down.
Her danger sense roared to life with a needy pulse.
There was a predator above her. There was a predator who needed her, wanted her, and would happily devour her.
The bone-deep knowledge of just how dangerous he truly was twined with the unshakable certainty that he was hers to command. Nothing had ever stoked her desire like that.
When his fangs closed over her throat, she moaned and dug her nails into his hips, begging him for more.
That small bite from her nails seemed to spur him on. Sloane’s growl grew louder, sharper. He abandoned her breast to yank aside her sleep shorts like they’d personally offended him. Thick fingers drove through the slick mess she’d made to stroke her with ruthless, tight circles.
Cecilia’s hips bucked involuntarily. Instantly, Sloane tightened his jaws on her throat. His free hand bunched in her hair, holding her still.
“Sloane,” she breathed, sweat dewing on her chest.
Her orgasm built quickly from a deep ache to a taut string pulled through her spine, ready to snap. Just when she thought he’d let it happen, he pulled his hand away.
Cecilia gasped, bucking sharply beneath him in reflexive protest. Sloane ripped his razor-sharp fangs away from her throat and used his grip in her hair to firmly turn her head to face him.
“You’re mine, Cece,” he snarled, lining up the swollen head of his cock with her cunt. The stretch of him was intense. The fullness burned, but it was also the rightest anything had ever felt in her life.
“You’re mine,” he said again, a groan into her waiting mouth this time. He bottomed out with a wet, hungry sound of their bodies coming together. “I can’t let you go.”
“Don’t,” she gasped, lifting her hips. “Don’t let me go.”
His hips ground into hers, almost like he refused to put even an inch of space between them. Looping her arms under his, she anchored him to her, reminding him without words that she wasn’t going anywhere.
Sloane exhaled shakily into her lips. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he drew his hips back. When he rolled forward, it was like two puzzle pieces slotting together — a perfect, tight fit.
Stroke by stroke, every stress of the last few days dissolved. Pleasure was thick and syrupy, as unhurried as his thrusts. They found a steady rhythm that ended as all things needed to: with them together, predator and prey.
When his free hand slipped between their bodies to stroke her in time with those languid strokes, her orgasm wasn’t explosive. The string snapped. She fell, slow and soft, into him.
“That’s it,” she whispered, dragging his sweaty chest against hers. His rhythm picked up as her cunt clenched around him, holding him in a vice she refused to release. “Come for me, baby.”
Sloane turned his face into her hair and breathed deep. His back flexed hard under her hands as he picked up his pace, his rhythm faltering with every increasingly desperate thrust. He locked them together, burying himself as deep as he could as he filled her up.
Cecilia turned her head as much as she could to press soft, comforting kisses to the pulse hammering in his throat. “It’s you and me for good,” she whispered.
A softer purr vibrated his chest as he stirred his hips. “Promise?”
She laughed, soft and giddy. “Promise. I can’t let you go now. What if I require assistance?”
“Then you’ll have it,” he sighed. “Always.”