Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
It was also why her presence and touch were like a cooling balm when he was ready to burn it all down.
The second he slid inside her for the first time, he knew he’d be doomed. That there’d be no one else for him. He’d want no one else.
It was both a goddamn curse and a blessing.
It was why he’d tried resisting. And, of course, failed.
Now he just needed to wrap his head around that fact. That future.
It would probably be a good time to clue her in on that.
Tucking a thumb under her chin, he lifted her face. “Gotta tell you somethin’.”
She tipped her brown eyes up to him. “What?”
“That ride to the fuckin’ hospital the day the Souls tangled with the Angels of Fury was one of the hardest ones I ever hadta make. But the one today? Not knowin’ exactly where the fuck you were? Not knowin’ what shape you were in? Or if the Souls…” His breath hissed from him. “So much fuckin’ worse, baby. So. Much. Fuckin’. Worse.” He emphasized his words with a shake of his head. “Had the worst goddamn images in my head as we were tryin’ to find you. Never wanna deal with that shit again.”
Her brown eyes went soft and she cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry you were worried.”
“Lyric.”
“Yes?”
“Just found you, baby. Don’t wanna lose you already.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “What are you saying? We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
“Not like we do now.”
“Simply because we had sex a couple of times?”
“No. Ain’t ‘cause of havin’ sex. Bottom line is, ain’t just sex. That’s the fuckin’ problem. Heard my father—hell, even my uncle—say that they became so much more vulnerable once they found their ol’ ladies.”
They were more than ol’ ladies, their women were soulmates. And if something happened to half of their soul, it would be devastating.
“Ol’ ladies,” she repeated. “But I’m not your ol’ lady.”
His heart was thumping like a bass drum in his chest. “Yeah. Know it. But ain’t stupid enough to deny we’re headin’ down that road.”
Her lips parted and a breath rushed from her. “We are? Did you forget to tell me this?”
“You don’t want that?” Was he wrong?
“Of course I do, but I’ve had to convince you to make a move on me. Twice.”
Of course, fucking Lyric twice wasn’t enough. He wanted to do it every day for the rest of his life.
Or for as long as they were both capable of doing it.
Was he ready for Lyric to wear his cut tonight? No. They needed more time before he claimed her at the table.
Because once he claimed her, it needed to stick.
He wanted them to be rock solid first since he had a feeling with what was coming between La Cosa Nostra and the Twisted Souls, their lives were about to become pretty damn rocky.
“Yeah, well, you made me see what I want, just by bein’ you.”
“Ash…” she whispered.
Before she could say anything else, a cell phone began to ring.
Since it wasn’t his, he glanced over at hers.
Who the fuck was calling her at this hour? He knew it had to be long after midnight. Possibly even closer to two in the morning.
Her eyes sliced to him. “It’s late. Maybe it’s important.” She went over to her phone where it was charging, glanced at the screen, and sent the caller immediately to voicemail instead of picking up.
That caused the hair on the back of his neck to prickle. “Who the fuck was that?”
She flapped a hand toward the phone that beeped, notifying them that someone left a voicemail. “Nobody.”
He had her phone in his hand within a couple long strides. He pulled up her call history and his eyes narrowed on the name.
Dave the Dancer?
What the actual fuck?
He pinned her with a glare. “Who the fuck’s Dave?”
She carefully locked down her expression. “A dancer.”
He inhaled a slow, chest-expanding breath. “Lyric,” he growled on the exhale. “I can goddamn read.”
“He probably wants to make an appointment for a tattoo.”
He double checked her cell phone again. Yeah, it was two-fifteen in the goddamn morning. Who called for an appointment at that time?
“Never figured you for a fuckin’ liar.”
“Well, the guy has a bunch of tattoos. He complimented mine. When it was explained that I’m an artist, he wanted my phone number.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s all he fuckin’ wants.”
“Who cares if that’s true?”
“Who cares? Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“I’m not interested in him in any way other than him becoming a client,” she insisted.
“Dave the fuckin’ Dancer ain’t gonna be a client.” He deleted the contact info and tossed her phone on the bed.
“Do you plan on approving all my customers?”
“No. Just the ones wantin’ to dip their dick in my pussy.”
Her head snapped back. “Your pussy?”
“You wanted to make it mine. I did. Now that’s that.”