Page 34 of He is… Creed: Part Three

The doctor points Tad toward a free bed, and Tad rushes that direction. My wife whirls on Lucian, fury in her eyes. “What have you done, Lucian? Never have we come back from battle with injuries like these. If her male dies, so does she, and so does our chance of breeding them! Already, we struggle to replace the lost females.”

Lucian settles his hands on his hips, his jaw a tight band. “You got double-crossed,” he snaps. “Your supplier handed over Green Hornets to the Renegades.”

Ava’s gaze rockets to mine. “Is this true?”

I give a nod, and she turns her eyes back on Lucian. “Did we get his mate? If we have her, we control Creed, and we need to control Creed.”

“He windwalked her to safety.”

“Then he didn’t care if she lived or died,” Tad suggests, rejoining us. “They aren’t lifebonded. She’s probably dead.”

“If there is even a slight chance they’re lifebonds,” Ava argues, “we need them both alive. Creed is powerful. His children would be powerful.” She turns to me. “With Red Dart, you will control him and his offspring. Think of the many ways you might torture Creed with Addie in captivity.”

She’s right, of course. He’s too powerful not to control. “Perhaps I should go get him myself. Be done with all of this.”

“No!” Ava insists, pressing my hand to her belly. “You risk my life and our child’s.” She eyes Lucian. “If Lucian cannot get the job done this time, then we’ll let Tad try.”

Lucian grinds his teeth, and I can read his expression. He hates her. He thinks she’s a bitch. He’s not wrong, but he better remember she’s my bitch.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Addie

Creed walks me backward into the room, kicking the door shut, a light from somewhere above illuminating the space around us. But I don’t care about the room or about the hell outside the room, either. Not now. Not in this moment when I’m finally with Creed.

All I care about is him, the moment, the next kiss.

He tangles his fingers through my weather-tossed hair, his mouth pressing to mine, his tongue licking into my mouth, and he kisses me as if he has never kissed me before, as if he would never kiss me again. Need blossoms inside me—more need than I’ve ever thought possible for another human being.

My hands slip beneath his T-shirt, skimming hard muscle and warm, taut skin. Obliging me, he reaches up and tugs it over his head. Before it ever hits the ground, my fingers are on his hard body, exploring muscle and warm skin. He kisses me again—a long, drugging, perfect kiss that brings me to my toes, reaching for more. Needing more. Needing him. My tongue caresses his with soft, hungry licks. A kiss that deepens as his hands slide under my shirt, calloused fingers rasping against delicate skin with the promise of pleasure—so much pleasure.

My shirt lands on the floor next to his.

He draws my hand into his bigger one and leads me forward, and only then do I scan my surroundings. We are in what is one rather large room divided into pieces. A granite bar frames the small kitchen. The front half of the living area has a couch, two chairs, and a big-screen television. The bedroom is toward the back of the space, with a bed framed by a black leather headboard. There are no pictures anywhere. No personal items. Nothing that says—this was Creed’s home. I remind myself he was undercover, living as a Zodius soldier somewhere else, but I’m not sure that’s the reason this place reads like a hotel and not a place he calls home.

I know him. I know him better than he thinks I know him, and he’s always planning to die, so in his mind, what’s the point in having more? He thinks that’s what he deserves, and my heart bleeds for the self-hate that creates in him.

He guides me to the foot of the mattress. We face each other, and it’s all I can do not to double down and be clear about loving him. But I hesitate, not sure how he’ll respond, afraid of ruining the here and now. Creed releases my hand, and we stand together in silent communication, in understanding of a decision between us that’s profoundly important.

This is the first time since we’ve found each other again that we’ve chosen intimacy with a clear mind rather than allowing passion and emotion to drive us here. It’s us, trying to find a way to the other side of all that has divided us. And yes, we’re risking the bond forming and the risks that come with it, but I know now that he needs me to be fearless. He needs me to want him more than I want to be human.

And I do.

“I can still walk out that door,” he says softly. “This doesn’t have to happen.”

This is one of those moments when he needs me to be crystal clear on where I stand, and boldness rises inside me. I reach up and unhook my bra, tossing it to the side. “Or you can stay.”

For an instant, his gaze holds mine before skimming downward in a slow, deliberate inspection of my breasts, a stark passion etched on his face. My nipples tighten, pleasure stealing a path from the tips straight to my core. “You have the most beautiful nipples I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs softly.

Wet heat clings to my panties and my thighs. He’s always spoken boldly to me—said things that heat my cheeks, that arouse me in a deep way—and now was no exception. No one else could do so and receive my same reaction. But Creed is arrogantly confident and rawly male, in all the right ways.

“And you,” I murmur, my voice raspy with arousal, “have on too many clothes.” My voice was gravelly with passion, unfamiliar to my own ears.

In response, he unsnaps his jeans. I reach for mine as well, and a frenzy of undressing follows. Excitement courses through my veins, my hands trembling with the intensity of what I’m feeling, much like the first time we’d been together. My mind travels there now, to my crazy nerves and the tenderness he’s shown me, retracing the path that brings us here tonight.

I finish undressing, and he does too, and I find myself willing my heart to calm. I’m like a silly schoolgirl on a first date. No one has ever excited me in this way—no one but Creed.

We face one another again, and he’s a work of art, the ultimate man in my eyes, with rippling muscles and masculine perfection. My lips part at the sight of his jutting, thick erection, and my breath lodges in my throat at the erotic promise of once again having him inside me.

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