Page 161 of Traitor

He buries his face in my neck, his lips at my ear. "You feel like heaven, baby," he groans, dragging his teeth along my pulse point. "Fucking heaven."

One of his hands goes between us, playing with my clit and I don't even realize I'm climbing until the pressure explodes, my body locking up, my vision whiting out as I shatter around him, my climax tearing through me like a fucking storm.

He doesn't stop.

Not until his own rhythm stutters, his muscles locking, his groan ragged as he jerks into me one last time.

For a moment, we just stay there, my back against the door, his body pressed to mine, both of us breathless, spent, still tangled together like we're afraid to let go.

My heartbeat barely comes back to normal when I feel him hardening again.

Oh, yes! We're not done.

I smirk, unwrapping my legs from his waist. "Give me more, Bones." My voice is hoarse, my throat raw from screaming his name.

His lazy, fucked-out grin is devastating. "Greedy little thing."

He carries me to the bed, dropping me onto the mattress. I stretch, watching as he rids himself of his clothes and the used condom, grabs another and throws it at me. His body is a fucking work of art.

"Put it on me." His voice is thick, dark, pure fucking command.

A delicious shiver runs down my spine. He gets on the bed and I take my time, rolling the condom on slowly, my nails dragging along his length, watching the way his jaw tightens, his body tensing beneath my touch.

And then I straddle him.

His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in, but he lets me set the pace, lets me take control, his head falling back against the pillows as I sink down onto him.

"Fuck," he hisses, his hands tightening, his muscles going rigid as I take every inch of him.

I roll my hips, grinding, teasing, relishing in the way his abs flex, in the way his fingers twitch against my skin like he's seconds from losing control.

"Ely," he grits out, his voice a warning.

I smirk, dragging my nails down his chest, loving the way he tenses beneath me. "What's wrong, Bones?" I tease, rocking slowly, tempting him further. "Can't handle it?"

His eyes snap open, burning blue-gray, and suddenly, I'm on my back, his body above me, his mouth crashing into mine as he drives into me with a force that steals every ounce of breath from my lungs.

"I'll show you what I can handle," he growls against my lips.

And then he fucks me so hard I forget my own damn name.

I wake up from the dream peacefully. So fucking peacefully. No gasp. No twitch.

I stay in silence, staring at the ceiling, for at least an hour.

It's been a month since I last saw him.

29. Panic

Bones

Ipush the whiskey glass to the side, untouched, and lean forward, cutting straight to the point. I don't have time to waste, and the second this meeting is done, I'm back on my bike, riding straight to Silverpine.

"I need Operation Nemesis to happen as soon as fucking possible. A few of the Riders — the low-rank bastards who cut a deal — are getting out next year." My voice is steel, leaving no room for negotiation.

Arcangelo leans back in his chair, watching me, calculating. He's always done this — analyzing, dissecting, looking for angles. Ever since the day we met, over ten years ago, when I pulled his and Luca's asses out of a bloodbath. Bullets were tearing through the air, but even then, the motherfucker had that same look in his eyes. Cold. Measuring.

Luca and him are identical twins, but I learned to tell them apart real fucking fast. Where Luca's eyes are dead, Angelo's are ice — sharp enough to cut, lethal enough to kill without hesitation. The kind of cold that burns before it turns you into a rotting corpse.

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