Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
"Oh god, Mack... I love you," she gasps, her hands fisting the sheets. The words hit me like a wave, mixing with the dirtiness, making it all deeper and more intense.
I add two fingers, curling them to hit that spot inside her, pumping slow while I suck her clit. "I love you too, princess. Come for me. Soak my face like the good girl you are." She shatters, her walls clenching around my fingers, back arching as she screams my name. I draw it out, lapping every drop, until she's trembling.
But I'm not done. I crawl up her body, shedding my boxers, my cock hard and aching against her thigh. "Feel that?" I grind against her, letting her feel every hard inch. "That's what loving you does to me. Hard as steel, needing to be buried deep inside you."
She reaches down, stroking me, her touch electric. "Then take me. Make love to me, Mack. Dirty and deep."
I position myself at her entrance, rubbing the head through her slickness. "Eyes on me, baby." She locks gazes, love shining there amid the lust. I thrust in slow—one long, deep slide until I'm fully seated. We both groan, the connection perfect, profound. "Fuck, you're tight. Made for me. This pussy grips like it never wants me to leave."
"I don't," she whispers, wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. "I love you so much."
I start moving—slow rolls at first, grinding against her clit with every thrust. "I love you more. You're my everything." Emotion thickens my voice, but I amp the dirty to balance it. "Gonna fuck you slow, then hard. Make you feel every inch of how much I need you."
"Yes... harder," she begs, her nails raking down my back.
I pick up my pace, pounding deeper, the slap of skin echoing. "That's it, take my cock like the dirty princess you are. Clench around me—milk me dry." But even as the filth spills out, I kiss her tenderly, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling. "You're mine, Indigo. Forever."
She comes again, shattering around me, her cries muffled against my shoulder. The pulse of her walls drags me over the edge—I thrust deep, spilling inside her with a groan, marking her as mine in the most primal way.
We collapse together, panting, limbs entwined. I hold her close, stroking her hair. "Tomorrow's just a detour," I murmur. "I'll be back. We start our life then."
She snuggles closer, whispering, "I know. I love you."
As sleep pulls us under, her in my arms, I know this is it. It’s the love I've waited for. Dirty, romantic, real. And nothing's taking it away.
The airport hums with the usual chaos—rolling suitcases, muffled announcements, families hugging goodbye—but it all fades to static as I stand there with Indigo in my arms. Three days. That's all it's been since the warehouse nightmare, since I held her trembling body and swore I'd never let go again. We've spent every second tangled up in that penthouse suite—laughing, loving, healing. Her bruises are fading, the fear in her eyes replaced by that fiery spark I fell for. But now? Now it's time for me to go.
She pulls back from our embrace, her hands framing my face, those supermodel eyes locking on mine with an intensity that still knocks the air out of me. "You sure about this, Mack? Chasing ghosts with your brothers?"
I nod, covering her hands with mine. "Nash's lead is solid. Dad's been gone since I was fifteen—presumed dead, but we've got proof otherwise. I have to see it through. For all of us."
She bites her lip, and nods back. "Okay. But as soon as you're home—wherever home ends up being—I'm there. No more goodbyes. We've got a life to start, you and me."
My chest tightens. God, I love her. This woman who stormed into my world like a hurricane, turning enemies into forever. I kiss her deep, tasting vanilla and promise, ignoring the stares from passersby. "Deal. I'll call every night. And Indigo? Stay safe. No more stalkers without me around to tackle 'em."
She laughs—that throaty sound that lights me up. "Promise. Now go, before I drag you back to the hotel."
One last kiss, and I shoulder my duffel, heading for security. But something pulls me back—a prickle on my neck, like eyes on me. I glance over my shoulder, scanning the crowd.
And freeze.
Mom.
She's standing there, twenty feet away, looking older than I remember—silver streaking her dark hair, lines etched deeper around her eyes. But it's her. No doubt. The woman who raised seven rowdy Hawthorne boys after Dad vanished. She hasn't traveled in years, not since the funeral-that-wasn't. What the hell is she doing here?
"Mom?" The word comes out rough, disbelieving. I drop my bag, striding toward her. Indigo's eyes widen behind me.
Mom steps forward, her gaze steady but shadowed with something I can't place. Worry? Fear? "Mack. We need to talk. Now."