Page 78 of Vendetta Vows

"Troubled?" She turns her face toward me, concern flickering across her features. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

I drop my voice lower, meant only for her ears despite us being alone in the back seat. "Because a certain woman kept invading my thoughts. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing her sprawled across my dining table."

Her cheeks flush immediately, the color spreading down her neck. The reaction emboldens me.

"Every time I started to drift off, I'd remember the sounds she made when she came apart under my tongue."

"Ruslan..." Her voice is barely a whisper.

"Tell me the truth,zarechka. Did you sleep well?"

Aurora swallows hard, her eyes darting to Artyom in the driver's seat before returning to mine. "No," she finally admits. "I couldn't stop thinking about... what happened."

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin. "And what did you do about these thoughts?"

Her flush deepens, and she looks down at our intertwined hands. "I..." she starts, then stops.

"Tell me," I urge gently.

When she looks up, there's both embarrassment and defiance in her eyes. "I touched myself," she confesses, voice trembling slightly. "Remembering what you did to me."

The admission shoots straight to my groin. I inhale sharply, trying to maintain my composure.

"That makes two of us, then," I admit, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her lips part slightly. "Really?"

"Did you think you were the only one affected by what happened between us?"

A charged silence fills the interior and I'm suddenly glad for the partition that separates us from the driver. Aurora's hazel eyes lock onto mine, her pupils dilated so wide that they look almost black.

My heart pounds against my ribs in a way I've never experienced before.

Aurora is like no other woman I've ever been with.

With Aurora, my body burns for her, yes. The memory of her taste flooding my mouth last night is sweet. But what I want from her is so much more than sex.

When she's near me, and I catch that hint of coconut from her hair, I don't just want to fuck her. I want toknowher. All of her.

The parts she shows everyone, and especially those secret, broken pieces she hides from the world.

I want to gather those fragments in my hands and piece them back together so that I might treasure them.

Protect them.

Protect her.

The need roars through me like a physical force. I would kill for this woman. I would die for her. I would burn down all of Los Angeles for her.

My thumb brushes over her knuckles, and I'm struck by the contrast. My hands are weapons. They've hurt, they've threatened, and they've even killed. Yet they can only ever be gentle with her. They can only ever draw those breathless sounds from her lips.

They can only ever make her feel safe.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispers, her thumb mirroring mine as she traces patterns on my skin.

I could lie. I should lie. With anyone else, I would.

Instead, I tell her the truth.

---