Page 34 of Final Vendetta

Each one proof that the man I knew as Samuel had been irrevocably changed by what he endured.

Just like I had.

As my hand reached the angry scar marring his side where he’d been shot, he scooped it up and brought it to his lips, touching a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

“Get some sleep, Imogene. You’ve had a long day.”

I pulled my hand from his, pressing it to his cheek and forcing his eyes to mine. “But I don’t want to sleep, Gideon.” I inched my lips toward his, touching my mouth to his, my tongue slipping inside.

He groaned, the sound reverberating through my body and reminding me of all the things this man made me feel. Not as Samuel, but as Gideon. The heights he was able to bring me to were unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

And right now, that was what I needed.

Not considerate, loving Samuel Tate.

But passionate, possessive Gideon Saint.

Deepening the exchange, I attempted to pull him closer, hooking a leg over his waist and slowly circling my hips.

“Imogene,” he moaned, his raspy voice full of need and frustration at the same time.

“I need to feel you,” I whispered breathlessly against his mouth, trailing my hand down his chest until it slipped beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms. “It’s been too long.”

He caught my wrist before I could to wrap my hand around his hardening erection, his turmoil evident in his eyes, despite the fact that he was ready to do this hours ago.

The break-in changed that.

I feared it would change everything.

“I need this.Weneed this.”

With increasing determination, I moved my mouth against his again, trying to remind him of the passion and desire we once shared. Unlike before, he didn’t immediately part his lips for me, his restraint and reluctance palpable.

“Please, Samuel,” I murmured, using his real name for the first time in ages.

His grip on my hip hardened, his fingers digging into my skin. I could feel the heat of his body pressed against mine, but he still didn’t move. He didn’t retreat, either. He just held me in place, the tension between us growing with each passing second.

Finally, he exhaled a long breath and gently pushed me onto my back. When I felt his erection hit that spot I’d been dying to feel him for over a month now, I released a whimper.

“God, I love that sound.” He pulled back, meeting my eyes. “I always have. Love knowing the effect I have on you.”

“Only you,” I murmured, my skin prickling with heat as he ran his hand along the contours of my frame, his finger slipping under the waistband of my shorts.

His eyes flicked to mine, an unspoken question within.

But it wasn’t even a question.

I needed this connection. Needed to silence the turmoil that had been plaguing me since we came home from the hospital.

Hell, since I woke up and he swore Gideon Saint was dead.

I lifted my hips, swallowing down the subtle ache from the movement.

His eyes never left mine as he slowly dragged my shorts down my legs, tossing them to the side. When I lifted my tank top over my head, his pupils flamed, his gaze focusing on my breasts.

I loved that, despite all the times he’d seen me like this, I still affected him this way. Loved that all these years later, we were still as desperate to feel each other as we were in the beginning.

His mouth covered mine in a heated kiss, his tongue swiping against mine. But despite the depth of his need, it felt…lacking. Like he was purposefully holding back.

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