Page 64 of Desperate Actions

“Alright, alright.” I grin down at her, grudgingly relenting.

Somehow, in our playful wrestling, I’ve flipped us, her body pinned beneath mine, her skin flushed, her hair wild, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

I can’t help it.

I need to kiss her.

So I do.

Slow at first.

Then deeper.

The taste of her is warm and sweet, and I swear, I could survive off her alone.

Her stomach growls again, and I smile against her mouth.

I pull back, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, my voice low, coaxing.

“Come on, Pixie. Let me feed you. Then we’ll dress for supper. Good?”

She studies me for a moment, her eyes soft, like she sees something in me I don’t even see in myself.

Then she smiles.

And fuck—the way she’s looking at me?

I feel ten feet tall.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Perfect.”

And it is. It really fucking is.

Chapter 18-Aella

So, Vegas with the family?

Fun. Super. Crazy.

Telling everyone Sammy and I got hitched?

Holy. Fucking. Anxiety.

I pause just outside the private dining room, the one Andrea reserved specifically for this gathering—because, you know, nothing screams low-key family dinner like a private dining experience complete with a karaoke DJ.

I can already hear them.

The laughter, the shouting, the chaos, and the godawful hair band music to which Andrea is painfully belting out the worst version ofSweet Child O’ Minethe world has ever heard.

Still, my stomach flip-flops violently, threatening to send me running back to the elevator.

Then I feel it. Sammy’s hand.

Big. Warm. Solid.

He’s got the most incredible hands. But it’s more than that. It is all of him.

Hero bod.

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