Page 103 of The Rebel King

“I can’t wait anymore, Nix.” I pull her knees up and wide and plunge in.

“Dammit,” I groan, planting one hand on the bed by her head and flicking her nipple with the other. “It’s so good like this.”

“Yes, so good.” She rolls her hips to meet each thrust. “I missed your body.”

Her breasts bounce with the frenetic, fucking motion of our bodies. “I missed yours, too.”

I pull her legs down and lean in, needing to be closer to her, needing to feel her heart. I caress her arm and make my way over her wrist, the compass bracelet that signifies how we’ll always find each other, until I can link our fingers. Our eyes lock, and the love there, the acceptance and devotion—it’s too much. I close my eyes, sliding in and out but still seeing that love in her gaze.

Everything outside the door falls away, and my whole world is this room. This bed is our map, and we make love until it feels like we fall off the edge of the world. It’s just us, the longitude of our bodies aligned and locked and loving. The latitude of our hearts, crossed, pressed together.

Later we’re under the covers, the hotel comforter nowhere near as soft and fine as our bed in Wyoming, but I don’t really care because she’s with me.

“I needed this so much.” I kiss her shoulder, pull her back into my chest, and cup her breast. “I neededyouso much.”

She nods, capturing my hand and linking it with hers. “I knew seeing Millie and the kids would be rough.”

“It was so hard, but I think she’ll be okay.” I shrug. “We all will eventually. She misses him.”

Matches are being struck inside my throat, a betraying burn. I swallow, trying to keep the scorching emotion at bay, but it won’t be denied.

“Fuck,” I mutter into her hair, tears streaming from my eyes. “Dammit.”

She turns over, naked and beautiful, her eyes wet and concerned, searching mine in the lamp’s anemic light.

“Oh, Doc,” she whispers. “It’s okay. Oh, baby, please let it out. Please let it go.”

I grit my teeth, hoping to trap it, to cage it, but it roars out, wild and unwieldly.

“It’s my fault,” I mutter into her neck, squeezing her, needing something to hold on to when it seems the whole world is spinning. “God, Millie…she…the twins…it’s my fault. O would still be here if…”

“Shh, baby.” She rubs my back and kisses my jaw, my cheeks, my tears. “It’s not your fault. It’s his fault, and we can’t bring Owen back, but we’ll make Gregory pay, and we’ll be there for Millie and the kids. We will. I promise, Maxim. I promise.”

I don’t know how long the tears fall, and I’m not ashamed or self-conscious. Not with her. She’s an extension of me, and I’m an extension of her. She’s a layer of my skin, a chamber of my heart. She’s the tattoo on my chest.

Endurance.

I know what it meant when I got it, but Lennix brings new meaning to everything, even the word inked on my skin.Sheendures. This connection that started so many years ago,itendures. For the first time tonight, I think I can make it, as long as I have this. As long as I haveher.

CHAPTER 45

LENNIX

“Oh, hell.”

I jerk upright in Maxim’s hotel bed, naked as the day I was born. There’s light coming through the shades.

Light is bad. Very bad.

I throw the covers back and jump out of bed. We’re supposed to leave for Pittsburgh at eight. I snatch my phone from the bedside table.

“Six thirty. Not great, but not the end of the world.”

“Where are you going?” Maxim asks drowsily, grasping my wrist, his fingers catching in my bracelet. “Come back to bed. I’ll make us breakfast later.”

“Doc, we aren’t in Wyoming.” I pull away and search the floor for my clothes. “I have to go before someone sees. I’ll meet you at the bus.”

I speed out to the sitting room and locate my torn panties and jeans. Slipping the jeans on commando, I stuff the torn panties in my front pocket. I throw on the campaign tank top, not bothering with the bra but balling it into one hand and grabbing my shoes with the other. I have to make this the most discreet walk of shame in the history of hookups.

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