Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I don’t care about pain, or bruises, or what comes after. Maybe I want to be marked. Maybe I want to look in the mirror tomorrow and see him on my flesh. Again.
He kneels in front of me and drags his tongue against a nipple. The hard marble tile hurts my knees when he yanks me down with him, but I arch into the hurt. The harder he bites, the harder I want him.
He doesn’t ask for permission. He never has.
He shoves my pajama bottoms down, his fingernails scraping my thighs as he goes, and then he has me, truly has me.
The cool marble, the silk bunched around my knees, the air on my skin—all of it collides with the heat of his mouth, the rough and urgent drag of his tongue. I throw my head back against the wall and let myself take it, arching into him, giving him everything he dares to claim. What else do I have to keep from him now?
He takes his time, which isn’t like him, but I know why. He’s telling me with the sharpness of his teeth and the bruising pressure of his hands that this is the choice I made.
He doesn’t need to tell me. I already know.
In a flash, he rises, pulling me with him. I step out of the silk bottoms, and then he lifts me, just enough, pressing me between the wall and his hard length. My legs go instinctively around his hips and I’m dizzy with it. With one hand he frees his cock, and then he’s inside me, thrusting upward.
I moan, loving the completion that I’ve only felt with him.
It isn’t sweet, and it isn’t gentle. It’s a collision. It’s the tearing down of all my walls, all the careful structures I built to protect myself.
I dig my fingers into his shoulders, through the fabric of his shirt.
He doesn’t speak. He just watches my face as he thrusts, his amber eyes fiery and unblinking, holding me captive. I don’t look away. I let him see every flicker of pleasure, every wince, every shudder that runs through me.
It’s over quickly, violently. He comes with a low groan, his body tensing against mine, and I follow, my own climax a sharp wave that leaves me trembling.
For a moment, we stay like that, pressed against the wall, breathing each other’s air.
Then he lowers me slowly, resting his forehead against mine.
“You still don’t understand where this will lead you,” he says.
“Then tell me.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“You’re still deciding what I get to know,” I say.
“Yes.”
At least he’s honest. “Then decide faster.”
He sighs. “My brother.”
“Nathaniel? Or Cain?”
“Nathaniel,” Samson says. “He’s the one who makes things disappear. Legal structures. financial pathways. Anything that needs to be contained.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“I did know.” He frowns. “But not like this. Not how far it went.”
“And now?”
He gazes out the window. “Now someone else is moving through those same channels.”
I wait a moment before voicing the thought I know we’re both having. Then, “Or he is.”
Samson doesn’t respond. Which is, in itself, a response.
“Say it,” I say.
“I don’t move on guesses.”
“Then what do you move on?”
He shakes his head, his jaw going rigid. “I was trained to look at what’s real. To put pieces together. That night was too precise. The access point. The timing. Everything already in place.”
A slow burn starts under my skin. “You think someone built it.”
“I know someone did.”
“And you think it was Nathaniel?”
He crosses his arms. “No. Nate doesn’t build anything. He fixes things. Covers them up.”
“Your father, then?” I say.
Samson lets out a breath. “Maybe. But it doesn’t fit his MO. The only other option is…”
“Cain,” I say.
He nods. “But he was sixteen that night. Still a kid.”
“So? That’s only two years away from legal age. He could have had a part in it.”
“He did have a part in it. He was there. But…” Samson shakes his head again. “He doesn’t fix things like Nate. He builds them. Situations. Outcomes. And if he engineered this whole thing, at that young age… Damn. Why? Why the hell would he want the wrong man dead?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But if it was Cain, and he had a reason, we’ll figure it out.”
He studies me as if he’s waiting for me to pull back.
I don’t.
Not now.
Not after this.
“Say it again,” he says.
“Which part?”
“That you choose me.”
I hold his gaze. “I choose you.’
He presses his forehead to mine again.
“Let’s finish it,” I say. “Together.”
49
SAMSON
I nod.
She’s all in now. And as much as I want to protect her from everything that’s coming next, I want her by my side more.
“I know what you did,” she says again. “I know what that means. And I still—”
I grip the back of her neck. “Don’t,” I say.
Her eyes widen slightly.
“Don’t say something you can’t take back.”