38
Luna
I can’t breathe.
Not because Cade is pressed against me but because of what he just said.
Love. From a man who kills with a rosary. A man who sees every broken piece of me and matches it with his own darkness.
In mere days, he’s become my shelter, my mirror, the only man who’s ever made me feel both safe and dangerous. Who trusts me with his demons while embracing mine.
His weight pins me as I try to process the words that just changed everything. His eyes haven’t left mine, that predator’s focus reading every micro-expression.
He must sense my panic because he tips up my chin.
“Relax. It’s not a shackle—I’m not proposing marriage. I’m just making sure we’re clear on who gets to hurt you or your family.”
“ Oh, right.” I force a laugh, fingers twisting in the sheet beside us. “I was worried there for a second.”
“Nah,” he smirks against my temple. “I don’t do organized anything. Relationships included.”
“Sounds like you do alright with Sophie and Phoenix and the folks in Harmony.” I trace the ink on his shoulder, this small touch already feeling like a right I’ve earned.
His muscles tense under my fingers though his voice stays casual. “I love them, and I’m there when they need me. Otherwise, it’s just easier not to hang around.”
“Why is it easier?”
The silence stretches. When his gaze finally meets mine, something in it makes my stomach drop.
“Because I’ve got an expiry date, baby.”
I’ve seen every shade of Cade now—ruthless, tender, playful, deadly. But this . . . this is new. “What do you mean?”
He shifts, propping himself on an elbow beside me. That simple movement makes me miss his weight already. His free hand runs through his hair. “When you said there’s no taking me down? It’s not true. I will be executed. It’s only a matter of when.”
My breath stills. “By the government?”
“Let’s just say that they don’t offer pension plans for their off-book weapons.”
It all makes sense now. Why he asked me not to get him hurt. Because the moment he’s seen as a liability, he becomes a target.
“And if you die . . .”
“Scar loses his identity and the life he loves,” Cade confirms.
This impossible man has been living with a death sentence, accepting it as part of who he is. And still, he opened himself to me.
“He must hate me for getting you hurt,” I muse
“ He’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Tell me about it. He seemed to be warning me not to get attached to you, yet he sounded like he wanted me to do just that.” I study the tension in Cade’s jaw. “It was almost like dealing with multiple people. How you can trust him is beyond me.”
“I trust that I know what he wants most.”
“Which is?”
“He wants to live.”
“Hmm. I don’t think that’s it, Cade.” I’m going out on a limb here; probably going to sound foolish, but I’m not about to hold back. “I think he wants to be you.”
His eyes search my face for so long that I start to squirm. Then he chuckles. “He is me, baby.”
Oh no. Not by a long shot. There was something more complex in the way Scar acted. He’s trapped in Cade’s shadow, playing a role that can never truly be his. Maybe that’s why he tried to warn me off. I’m suddenly too tired to figure out that whole dynamic right now.
My fingers drift to his side, slipping under his T-shirt to feel his skin. I pause. The bandage is gone; a strip of fancy dressing is in its place. “Did the doctor come?”
“About an hour ago.” His hand settles over mine.
I nod, tracing the edge of the dressing on the side, and then push up the sleeve over his right shoulder. “Can you . . . still work? You’re due in Moscow. I imagine it’ll be car chases and shootouts.”
“Nah. It’s never messy when it’s planned. And I’m in much better shape than I deserve.”
“Scar could go instead, couldn’t he?”
Something shifts in his expression—a flash of reluctance I can’t quite read, then his thumb traces my cheek. “I really can’t give a fuck about Moscow right now. Getting you to safety is my priority. Everything else can wait.”
Guilt churns in my stomach at the thought of how much he’s giving up. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”
His hand slides into my hair, those lethal fingers surprisingly gentle against my scalp. “And I shouldn’t have demanded that you trust me right off the bat. It’s hard-earned, and it takes time.”
But he managed it. Maybe it’s time I did the same.
This impossible, complicated, dangerous man has accepted that his time is short. I sigh as I feel that familiar dark pull between us.
“The expiry thing,” I whisper. “I . . . I get it.”
“You do?”
I nod. “I know what it’s like. To have . . . the possibility of a short life span hanging over your head.”
“What do you mean, Luciana?”
I let out another shaky breath. God, this is harder to say than I thought. “There’s a condition . . . a genetic condition,” I begin, struggling to find the words. “It runs in families, but the mutation was first discovered in my mother.”
His eyes stay locked on mine, silent but waiting.
“There’s a fifty percent chance I inherited it. If I did . . .” My voice breaks. “I’d need surgeries—lots of them—if I want a shot at a normal life.”
“What’s this condition called?”
I close my eyes. “LS. Lynch Syndrome.”
“Baby . . .” Cade murmurs, the look in his eyes making mine blur with tears as I struggle to finish.
“Papa let me go to Paris to escape for a while, take my mind off it. He promised not to pressure me to get tested.”
“ That’s why your underage cousin is being trussed up for Antonov.”
I nod, tears slipping down my temples. “I might be a bad investment. Damaged goods. No Pakhan wants a wife who shouldn’t have children and might die young.” The words come out in a whisper, and my chest tightens as I admit my greatest fear aloud for the first time.
Cade’s expression shifts—something fierce and protective flickers in his eyes, and then he settles his weight over me again. His hands capture both of mine, pinning them beside my head as his fingers thread through mine.
“I have a confession, too,” he whispers against my throat. “I lied earlier.”
My heart stutters. “Lied about what?”
“When I said I loved you.” His lips brush my pulse. “It was a fucking shackle. I want to be with you.”
My chest tightens as his words sink in. They’re so simple, so unshakable, yet they hit me like a tidal wave. I pull back just enough to see his face, my gaze searching his, desperate for any sign of doubt—but all I find is raw desire.
“Luciana. You’re not damaged goods. You’re mine.”
My heart cracks wide open. I close my eyes and let his words wash over me, but the weight of what I’ve just told him still presses heavy on my chest.
“Cade . . .” I whisper, “I’m not going to get tested. I don’t want to know.”
His lips brush the corner of mine, then the other, soft and reverent, as if he’s sealing my broken edges back together. “That’s okay. You’re still mine.”
The conviction in his voice undoes me completely. With a choked cry, I surge forward, my lips crashing into his, opening under his with a desperation I can’t contain.
I n eed him—his warmth, his strength, his certainty—to drown out the fear inside me.
“Cade,” I whisper, breaking away from his mouth. “Take it off. All of it.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He releases my hands and, with one smooth motion, fists the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head, revealing the hard lines of his chest.
My eyes drift over him, cataloging every scar, every ridge on him that is mine. He strips off his pants, kicks them aside, and settles back between my thighs.
His lips return to my neck, brushing soft kisses over my pulse before he sucks gently on my skin, making me gasp. He moves lower and lower until his mouth closes over one rigid nipple, then the other, his tongue teasing my piercings until my back arches off the mattress.
The fire burning in my core is raging now, spreading through my limbs, making my skin too sensitive and my breath too shallow. “Cade,” I sob. “I need you inside me.”
His mouth moves back to mine as he shifts, lining himself up. The feel of his cock, thick and hot against my entrance, sends a shiver through me. I gasp as the broad head pushes in, my pussy rippling as he slides inch by agonizing inch.
“Fuck,” Cade groans. “Your cunt is so greedy.”
I can barely respond. My thighs are shaking, my breaths coming in broken gasps as he fills me, slowly. Every muscle in my body tightens as if in anticipation of something I’ve never done before. It feels new. Deeper. More intimate.
I moan, my head falling back as he bottoms out inside me, stretching me completely. I feel every inch of him, every ridge, every throb. It’s overwhelming, and my hips start to move on their own, instinctively seeking more.
“ Stay still, Luciana,” Cade orders, as if he’s barely holding it together too.
“I can’t,” I gasp as I try to obey. “It’s too good, too—” My words cut off in a moan as he pulls back and thrusts, slow and deep, ending with a grind on my clit.
Sparks of pleasure spread up my spine to my scalp like crackling fireworks, dousing me in endorphins. I moan as my fingers clutch the sheets, trying to hold on to something—anything.
Cade’s fingers thread through mine and drag my arms high above my head, grounding me in the storm of sensation.
“Look at me, Luciana,” he commands.
I force my eyes open and my world narrows to this moment. To the feel of his body against mine, the sound of our breathless cries, the unspoken connection in our eyes. We’re lost in each other as sensation builds, drowning everything except what we share.
“No more secrets,” Cade growls, his hand squeezing mine as my orgasm crests. “No more lies. Say it.”
“No secrets, no lies,” I promise as I tighten around him.
“Good girl,” he grunts as he watches me unravel beneath him. “Go on, Luciana. Come on your cock.”
The world blurs as his words tip me over the edge of awareness. My body bows, and my vision goes white-hot as wave after wave of pleasure steals the air from my lungs.
When I finally come down, he’s under me, and I’m draped across his chest, his warmth wrapping around me like a shield and the sticky evidence of our orgasm slicking my thighs.
Cade’s fingers stroke lazily up and down my back, his breathing uneven against my hair. “I can’t wait to get you to Harmony.”
My throat clogs with emotion, making it impossible to respond. For a man who doesn’t let himself live in a home or get close to family, Harmony feels like a gift I don’t deserve. But it’s one I’ll take anyway.
“Turn around, Caden,” I whisper, sitting up.
“Why?”
“I want to look at your back tattoo.”
He tenses, and for a moment, I think he’s going to shut me out. But then, with a slow, deliberate breath, he rolls onto his front. The movement feels monumental—like he’s handing me a key to a locked door no one else has been allowed to open.
I rise onto my knees, and my heart stutters as my eyes fall on the ink spread across his back.
It’s mesmerizing. The skull stares back at me, its flaming eyes matching the emerald gem sitting within the intricate Celtic knot. The ink is black and gray, but the detail—every shadow, every stroke—makes it come alive.
My fingers tremble as I reach out, skimming lightly over the ridges of ink and scars. Cade sucks in a sharp breath at my touch, reminding me of the first time I ever laid my hands on him.
“You’re sensitive,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
“Don’t get used to it,” he bites out.
I smile widely, already knowing I will absolutely get used to this particular quirk of his.
My fingers trace every curve of the design. “What’s the name of the motorcycle club?”
Cade doesn’t answer right away. His face is turned to me, his eyes shut tight, and his arms crossed under the pillow. “Reaper Druids,” he says finally.
I blink, my fingers pausing on the emerald gem. “Druids, as in . . . wizards and mystical beings?”
“Yep. We trace our origin from the Irish Celtic druids . Or so the myth goes.”
I glance back at the tattoo, my fingertips brushing over the emerald again. Something pulses beneath my touch—a subtle vibration that makes my skin tingle. I shake off the feeling and murmur, “I believe it.”
He stiffens. “You do?”
I lean down and press my lips to the gem. Then I kiss another spot. And another. “Yeah. I do. There’s something about you, Caden. Something almost . . . otherworldly.”
I can’t resist flicking my tongue along the edge of his shoulder blades, savoring the way his muscles—those perfectly defined lats and rhomboids—bunch in response.
His muscle definition is something else. I straddle him, letting my hair cascade over his back, my hard nipples grazing his skin as my tongue follows the swells and dips of his body.
Cade’s fists clench in the sheets, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest.
I smile against his skin. “My God, Caden, I don’t think anyone’s ever taken their time with you.”
Dragging the flat of my tongue along his back, I’m no longer tracing the tattoo. I’m tasting him. Worshipping him.
His response is raw, primal—a continuous purring sound that catches me completely off guard. It’s like the low, resonant growl of a big cat. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. A rush of wetness pools between my thighs as my arousal spikes.
I kiss my way lower, savoring every ridge and hollow until I reach the twin swell of his buttocks. Still, I don’t stop. I can’t. I want every dark, hidden part of him he’s never shared with anyone.
“Luciana,” he shudders.
“God . . . the sounds you make,” I whisper, my voice thick with need. “I’m so wet for you.”
He flips onto his back so fast it makes my head spin. His hands fist in my hair, pulling me up to meet his blazing gaze. “You’re killing me,” he rasps, his voice taut with restraint.
I smile and trail my fingers down his chest as I start to slide lower. His grip tightens in my hair, but he doesn’t stop me.
When my lips close around his leaking cock, a guttural curse rips from his throat.
“Fuck—”
One deep suck. Two. His abs flex, the muscles rippling beneath my hands. I take him deeper, cupping his balls as his body bows off the mattress. His fingers tighten painfully in my hair, and then he’s spilling into my mouth.
I moan, relishing his explosive response, swallowing repeatedly as he shudders beneath me. Only when he’s spent do his hands loosen their grip.
Cade collapses back against the mattress, his chest heaving, his dark eyes pinned on mine. He looks wrecked—in the best way—and the sight makes my lips curve into a smug smile.
“Wow, Cade, if that felt remotely as good as it looked . . .”
He returns my wicked smile, but there’s something darker, hungrier behind his. “Why don’t I show you just how good it felt?”
Then he’s moving, rolling on top of me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his heat seeping into my skin as his mouth claims me all over again.
We don’t stop until the sun climbs high in the sky. Until we’re too spent to resist the pull of sleep, only to wake, reaching for each other again.