Page 62 of Crimson Fate

“That’s right, show me how good my cock makes you feel, baby.”

“Please,” she whimpers. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

With that, I thrust harder and faster, our bodies moving in a perfect dance of lust and need. I feel my orgasm building, the pleasure overwhelming me.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Eva moans.

With one final thrust, I let out a primal scream as my orgasm takes over, my body shaking and convulsing with pleasure. My release fills her, and I collapse onto her, our bodies entwined as we are both left gasping for breath.

Eva’s arms wrap around me, pulling me closer as we lie there. We remain like that for a long while, basking in the afterglow of the intensity of what we just experienced.

Finally, I pull away and look at her, my eyes filled with love and admiration. “You are a fucking goddess, Eva. You have no idea how much I love you.”

She smiles, her eyes filled with happiness. “I love you too.”

I may have said the words in the heat of the moment, but it doesn’t change the fact that I meant them. As I lie with Eva in my arms, my mind settles on the fact that this is the first time I’ve ever exchanged these words with a woman, and while I thought my reaction would have been utter terror, it’s not. Instead, it was effortless. It’s simple. I want my future to be whatever it needs to be to have Eva be a part of it every single day.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sunlight filters through the blinds, casting lines of warmth across my face. The sheets fall away as I push myself out of bed, the memory of last night still playing in my mind like a sweet melody. I look over at Eva, who is still peacefully asleep. My heart swells with affection as I gaze at her delicate features.

Her chest rises and falls in a rhythm that matches the soft symphony of her slumber. Her lashes flutter ever so slightly against her cheeks, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch her face, not wanting to disturb her.

As gently as I can manage, I rise, slipping on a pair of joggers strewn across a nearby chair. Padding to the kitchen, I’m driven by a hunger left in my gut after a night of repeatedly enjoying everything our bodies had to offer.

The scent of coffee already brewing hits me before I cross the threshold. I find Marco in the kitchen, his back to the door. A slight frown tugs at my lips. I hadn’t expected company so early.

“Marco,” I say, keeping my tone light despite the intrusion on my plans.

“Vincent.” His response is clipped, his attention on the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear. He lifts a finger, motioning he will only be a moment.

I tell him to take his time as I reach for a skillet. Soon, the kitchen is filled with the sound of sizzling butter as I crack eggs into a bowl.

“Si, make sure you tell them if they notice anything, they bring it straight to me and nobody else. You got it?” Marco mutters into the phone, scribbling something on a notepad before hanging up.

“Trouble?” I ask without looking up. Whisking the eggs with a fork, I let the rhythm serve as a distraction.

“Just making some calls to ensure everyone is as loyal as they pretend to be to our faces.” He seems irritated.

I chuckle. “Fuck, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

As I pour the eggs into the pan, I watch them coalesce, a perfect blend forming before my eyes. If only everything else could come together easily and be controlled with a simple flick of the wrist.

“Wait, are you cooking?” Marco asks, not seeming to notice my remark. His piercing gaze searches for something behind my calm facade. “You never cook.”

“That’s not true. I cook, asshole.” I force a smile, returning my focus to the task at hand. “I’m just not very good at it. Besides, it’s just some eggs and toast. No big deal. I’m making enough for Eva and me, but I can toss in a couple more if you want some.” Eggs and toast may be a simple dish, but only because I learned from my last cooking experience with Eva not to take on too many things at a time.

“She’s coming over again?” His flat tone is unreadable, yet I can sense the weight behind the words.

“Actually, I made her stay the night after you left,” I reply, though my chest tightens with unspoken confessions. The spatula scraping against the skillet fills the void before I continue. “I didn’t think it was safe for her to leave.”

“I bet you didn’t.” His murmured remark is barely audible.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask as I plate the fluffy eggs. I drop a couple pieces of toast into the toaster before I go to the fridge, then grab a handful of ripe strawberries, rinse them, and add them to the plate. Their vibrant red is a stark contrast to the white porcelain.

“Nothing,” Marco replies, hinting at something I can’t quite place in his voice. “And I already ate, so no thanks.”

“Something on your mind?” I ask, my curiosity piqued by the intensity in his dark eyes.

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