Page 92 of Shackled

I stretch and put my feet on the hardwood floor, the memory of what happened the night before plaguing me.

I should feel more remorse for killing my brother. It was brutal, it was savage… and it had to happen. I knew it did. I’d practiced for that moment for years, and when the time came, I did not hesitate.

But that doesn’t mean I liked it.

The door to the bedroom creaks open. Lev stands there, shadowed in the doorway, a silhouette against the frame.

“Morning,” he says in that deep rumble of a voice that makes me shiver.

“Morning.” I stifle a yawn.

“Coffee?”

“You know it.”

A beat passes where the silence hangs between us, and neither of us moves. We have so much to say that it seems words fail us.

Then both of us talk at once.

“I should be pissed at you?—”

“I fucked up—” His voice is choked. Repentant.

“I know why you did it, but you shouldn’t have?—”

“I did what I thought I had to, but?—”

“Maybe having a baby isn’t the worst thing?—”

“I love you.”

Well. That does it.

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Guess you just pulled the ace. Dealer takes all.”

The corner of his lip quirks up, but then he sobers. “I promise you. I’ll be the best husband and father I can.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I can’t speak above a whisper. “You already are.”

I reach for him as he crosses the room with his big strides, invading my space and pushing me back. I welcome the weight of his body on mine. I cherish the taste of his lips. I sigh, sinking into this one stolen moment of peace and forgiveness, such rarities in families like ours.

He tangles his fingers in my hair and gathers my wrists in his strong, rough hands.

“I’ve missed you,” I murmur, my body waking up as if he waved a magic wand in front of me. My pussy tightens, and a low hum of need vibrates through me.

“I’ve been right here.”

I reach for him and pull him over to me. We roll over together. Slowly, our clothes fall to the floor in a heap until we’re stripped. I revel in the hard planes of his abs and the broad expanse of his shoulders. The way he looks at me as if I’m the most precious person in the world.

The heat of his gaze, dark and intense, never leaves mine as he lowers himself on me. The warmth of his skin sears mine, every touch a promise. His mouth on mine underscores the way he feels about me and my response acquiescent… to us.

My breath catches as his hands roam over my body as if committing every curve and angle to memory. I stifle a moan when his fingers trace the curve of my breasts, my peaked nipples, easing me closer as I arch into him, a silent plea for more.

His hand spans the full length of my back as he holds me to him, and his lips trail a path down my neck. Pausing at my collarbone, he nips the sensitive skin before continuing his journey lower. Every kiss he bestows on me feels like a silent plea for forgiveness. Every sigh I release is a step closer to surrender.

My hands find his back, my fingers digging into the firmness of his tattooed muscles, pulling him closer. The tattered remains of my resistance fall away like ash, gone with the hint of a breeze. Here, it’s just us, lost to the world. Lost to the differences that divide us and the friction between us. Here, we become one.

When his mouth fastens on my nipple, I gasp, and my hips rise, crying for more. I relish the dark, utterly masculine sound of his chuckle against my skin.

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