Page 172 of Brutal Savage

His touch rolls against my clit, and I buck and groan, yanking his hair. His mouth drops to the underside of my jaw, teeth sinking, biting into my sensitive flesh. Every inch of me comes alive, dying for his touch.

“Because the thought of you with someone else…fuck, Elara, you have no idea what I’d do to him,” he grits through clenched teeth, his breath warm, skimming over my skin.

His gaze zeroes on mine, dark and hungry and almost possessed.

“You’re mine,” I tell him with conviction, holding his face between my hands. “All mine. I will never share you, Tynan Quinn.”

He inhales deep, pinning me further into the wall, his lips drawing near. “I am yours, mo ghrá.”

Then he crushes my mouth with his.

My God, he devours me.

His tongue roughly enters my mouth while my fingers unbutton his jacket, ripping his shirt open, buttons scattering everywhere, and he slips my shirt over my head. With hurried fingers, I start undoing his belt, but something instantly catches my eye, my hands slowing in my state of confusion.

“What’s that?” I whisper, staring at my name in the middle of his chest.

My heartbeats quicken, and I slowly reach out to hover a fingertip above each letter, his skin red and raw.

“It’s a tattoo.” He laughs. “Do you like it?”

“Yes…”

Paralyzing emotions overtake me. And the more I look into his eyes, softening for me, the more I wanna hold on to him and never let go.

“H-h-how…when did you get it?” My tone is low, my gaze returning to the beautiful artwork.

Thorny vines wrap around each letter, black roses on both sides of the tattoo.

He feathers his thumb across my lips, his eyes on mine. “There was a guy at the club. He was a tattoo artist. I asked him to create something worthy of you. I wanted to wear you on my skin. I wanted it so fucking badly, I couldn’t wait.”

“Why?” I ask again. “It’s so permanent.”

Yet I can’t help the way my stomach clenches at the sentiment. Why would he get it if he swore that he’d never love me? Why do that to himself if all we’re supposed to be is married friends who sleep together? People can care about one another and still not be in love with each other.

But this? The tattoo? Why would he need it if he doesn’t love me? Doesn’t want to love me.

“Because…” He cups my face, his brows furrowing. “You fucking own me, Elara Quinn. Never felt a damn thing like this before.”

Tears fill my eyes, until they overflow.

What does it mean?

I desperately want to ask him, yet I’m afraid of the answer. Because if he was falling in love with me, he’d say it.

“I’m crazy about you.” His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “I’ve been crazy about you from the moment I met you at the café. I wanted you right then.”

My heartbeats thunder at the confession.

“But it wasn’t until tonight while I was at this meeting, wanting to come home to you, that I truly realized how insane I am for you.”

He shakes his head like he himself can’t fully grasp what he’s saying. That he too doesn’t know what this all means.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call you, baby. There was no reception at the club, then some drunk Russian broke my phone.” He chuckles dryly. “I didn’t want to be there longer than I had to, but Konstantin is…well, Konstantin. Yet all I could think about was seeing you.”

He touches his forehead to mine, kissing the tip of my nose, while I stand there, a complete mess for this man.

“You promise you didn’t touch anyone?” I swallow the thick ball of nerves in my throat, needing to hear him say he didn’t one more time.

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