Page 114 of Inked Adonis

I stroke her into a puddle on the mattress.

She’s panting, her chest heaving to catch her breath. It takes me a second to realize she’s crying. Her cheeks are wet.

“Nova—”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I was st-stupid to listen to her. I should’ve c-come to you.”

I brush her hair away from her face. “I want to protect you. Ineedto. So let me.”

“If I’d known, I never would’ve— I wouldn’t have—” She hiccups, her wet lashes fluttering as she looks up at me. “Do you believe me, Sam?”

I look into her glassy eyes, and I would give her anything right now. My body, my trust, my last name, my baby.

I spread her legs and push into her with a growl, imagining my ring on her finger. I never thought I’d want to get married again, but it was because I’ve never met someone I wanted to claim. Not like this.

I stretch her arms over her head, driving into her in deep, hard strokes. “I believe you.”

She bucks into my hold, and I taste her chest. I coax her nipples into hard points with my tongue. I savor every inch of skin I can reach.

“You have to trust me.” I hook her leg over my hip to deepen our connection. “I need to know everything, Nova.”

Who she talks to.

Where she goes.

What makes her desperate for me.

How to touch her so she screams only my name.

“Everything,” she agrees in a gasp.

She lifts her hips to meet me, and we crash together again and again.

Nova falls first, tightening around me in rhythmic pulses that turn the edges of my vision black. Scarcely seconds later, I spill into her with a roar.

And for the first time in two days, I’m not thinking about security or threats.

I’m not thinking about revenge or my father or my brother.

I’m sure as fuck not thinking about Kat.

There’s one thought and one thought only in my head.

If all I had was this… I’d be happy.

39

NOVA

There’s a bruise on my hip.

It’s still forming, blooming like a flower that’s not quite sure if springtime is here yet. I can relate—none of this feels trustworthy to me yet, either.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was sure it was winter. It was cold, harsh, unrelenting. Sam’s eyes were arctic as he sneered in my face and called me an unredeemable liar.

And now, there’s a bruise on my hip that he left there when he held me close to him and shattered me apart, again and again. I begged for that stupid bruise, didn’t I? I wanted it so fucking bad.

I still do. Even now, I can’t stop tracing the outline of it, poking it just to feel the dull, pleasant ache.

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