Page 91 of When Hearts Collide

Chapter 36

Oh fuck. I’m so fucked on so many levels.

The chant is on repeat in my mind as I sweep her up in my arms and stride toward the staff corridors hidden throughout the building after I zipped up my pants and rearranged her tattered clothes. My mind is a mess of rioting thoughts ranging from how can I ever walk away from her now that I know how it feels to be with her to what have I done?

I’m riding on the highest of highs from the most intense sex I’ve ever had in my life, and I don’t want anyone to see her like this but me. Her knees are all battered and bruised, the hem of her dress ripped and dirty from the damp earth underneath us moments ago.

She emits a satisfied moan, her body softening against mine, and my heart flutters in response. Her warmth, her yielding, her softness in my arms.

It feels so right. Even though this is decidedly wrong.

I didn’t even fucking use a condom. And I don’t think I can ever have anything in between us now that I know how it feels to be inside her bare.

I push open the hidden doors and step into the corridor, which is flooded with bright lights. My lungs seize when I take in her face and neck—swollen lips, dreamy eyes, a soft smile, hickeys, and scratches dotting her pale skin. She looks thoroughly fucked, used, so thoroughly mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

My cock twitches again.

Fuck.

She was so perfect. Exceeded all my fantasies when I fucked my fist in the shower to the thoughts of her, wrenching out one unsatisfying orgasm after another, unable to slake my desire for her.

She submitted to me so beautifully and I still remember every clench of her walls against my cock, the passion in her fight, the anger and strength in her eyes. The connection between us moved beyond the physical. It was a cathartic release of emotions, purging the poison accumulated in the deepest crevices of our hearts.

I’ve never experienced anything remotely like it.

I came undone, and she didn’t run away. She wasn’t scared or disgusted. She took it and she bore it so perfectly.

My beautiful lark, a phoenix in disguise.

My heart riots inside my chest, each thump sending an intoxicated warmth through my veins, much like the first sip of perfectly aged whiskey washing down my throat. The heat spreads from my cold chest to my extremities until all my senses are all filled with her—her smell, her taste, her touch.

And if this is a dream, I never want to wake up.

I want to stay in this utopia with her, where the real world doesn’t matter, where there are no stakes, no ethics, no morals, no responsibilities, and no unimpeachable reputation to uphold.

No prison.

Just her and me in this heaven, our hearts pounding in unison, our breathing intertwining and in sync. That’s all I need in life.

Her eyes blink open, her lush lashes fluttering, and she bestows me with the most breathtaking smile. My heart lurches in my chest. She’s the first ray of sunrise to my dark twilight. She’s the first sign of life poking through the thick snow after a harsh and dreary winter.

My voice is stuck in my throat, the words at the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her everything; I want to show her all my scars, all my darkness and burdens. I want to bare my soul to her and let her see every ugly corner, every corrupted edge, all the festering wounds and poisonous thoughts.

My selfish, ungrateful thoughts.

“Ryland,” she whispers, and lets out a breathy sigh. She presses her hand to my chest.

“Yes, little lark?”

Her cheeks pinken at my endearment. Like that’s the thing that’ll embarrass her after the savage lovemaking in Noire just now. She’s so cute and sexy it hurts for me to look at her sometimes.

But my gaze doesn’t turn away from hers as I carry us to the employee elevators. The staff, all taught to be seen and not heard in this exclusive establishment, duck back into the rooms and corridors they came from, everyone giving me a wide berth as they see me carrying the most precious thing I’ve ever held in my arms.

Normally, I take care of my partners after a scene in one of the standard Rose floors suites designated for aftercare, where I ensure the person has access to the spa amenities in the suite, any healing ointments if needed, or admission to the several full-range luxury spas on the other floors. I don’t stay for long, but I’ll thank them for their service or participation. There will be a hefty tip waiting for them in the embossed linen envelope after they exit from the bathroom post cleaning up. It’ll be civil. Unemotional.

But with Millie, everything is different. The burgeoning feelings inside me are far from civil and are most definitely not unemotional.

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