Page 109 of Blue Line Lust

I let out a snarl and do the first thing that comes to mind.

I yank her to me and kiss the hell out of her.

I haven’t tasted her in days. She’s like a cool spring at the peak of a burning hot summer. Relief fills me and I can’t help sighing like I’m letting go of a breath I’ve held in for way too long. She tugs on my shirt like she’s going to shove me away.

Instead, she keeps me close.

Olivia’s lips part over my mouth and let my tongue slip in. I grip her. Her body feels so good and tight against mine. I’ve been craving her without even knowing how deep the feeling ran. It’s in my bones, in my blood, in every inhale and exhale.

I want to make her mine.

I hoist her up. Tumbling back, I set her on the desk behind us. It puts me between those juicy, thick thighs of hers that I’ve been craving. My cock twitches, eager for more. It knows I want to do exactly what Bastian said I hadn’t done: brand her as mine so the whole goddamn world knows to stay the hell away.

My teeth sink into her throat. Her moans drive me to do it more. Bite her harder. Hold her in place. Pain melts into pleasure and pleasure into pain.

“Reese, Reese, Reese…”

My name spills off her lips and I pull off her throat, panting. I’ve left a massive red and blue hickey on her. Whoops.

“Tell me you won’t talk to him again, Olivia.”

“W-What?—”

I bite at her again, making her jump with the sensation. “I said, tell me you won’t talk to him again. You’re mine. And when you’re mine, you have nothing to say to him or any other man who thinks he can come anywhere near you.”

Her breath wavers. It hangs in the balance, as the whole world waits to see whether she’ll tell me yes or no. My heart stills. It’s waiting, too. All the parts of me that want her so fucking bad I can’t breathe are waiting for her answer.

Her lips part. “I’ll never speak to him again.”

Her words are so clear. There’s truth in them. It’s an honest declaration and it has me pulling her into me, embracing her. I nuzzle my nose into her neck, the soft skin of it, the warmth of it, the smell of her. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to smell me on her skin.

“I missed you, Reese.”

Her voice comes, soft. It whispers against my neck. I tighten my hold on her. Damn, I’m in way too deep.

Too bad I no longer give a damn.

“I missed you, too.”

50

OLIVIA

Reese makes me feel like a completely different woman.

Words so simple as You’re mine have turned me into a puddle of endorphins and absolute bliss for the last week. The bruise he branded on my throat hasn’t gone away, and neither has the cloud nine I’ve been floating on. It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t even one of those sweeping, overly romantic gestures you see in the movies.

It was carnal, and primal, and claiming, and messy.

And it was more than enough for me.

Perhaps it would be silly, outside looking in. I know that I would probably roll my eyes at any woman who found herself in a similar position. Lord knows I’ve done exactly that to Quinn plenty of times, when she’s giving me the debrief on some late-night hookup or other. Even now, the bells and whistles are firing off in my brain, along with a chorus of doubtful, skeptical haters to call into question everything about this.

To which I say, in the words of the youths: Not today, Satan.

This bubbly attitude propels me through Reese’s home, which has begun to feel more and more like my own. That process had started long before Reese’s declaration under the stadium, but things have changed now. They’re moving faster than I can keep up with.

After all, Reese is here, and so is Violet. This precious little girl that had snatched up my heart and held it tight in her tiny hand.

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