Page 74 of Hunter

“You taste better than I remembered,” he murmurs against me. “I’ll never fucking forget again.”

My legs begin to tremble, my breath growing ragged. He doesn’t let up as my orgasm builds, his tongue relentless, his focus singular. He’s not trying to make me come. He’sensuringit. As if proving a point. As if the only way to make me believe in us again is to wring it from my soul, even though I’ve committed to him fully with words, he wants it in actions.

When it hits, it’s not gentle. My body arches, a cry ripping from my throat as I break apart beneath his mouth. My fingers clutch the sheets, my vision swimming. I swear I see stars.

He doesn’t move away. He keeps kissing me, softly now, gentle flicks and soothing licks until the tremors subside. Only then does he begin his ascent, trailing slow, reverent kisses up my stomach, my ribs, my breasts, my collarbone.

By the time he reaches my mouth again, I’m wrecked.

“Please,” I beg, wrapping my legs around him. “I need you.”

He lines himself up and pushes inside me in one long, deliberate thrust. I cry out, not from pain but from the overwhelming stretch of fullness, the way he holds nothing back. He’s inside me completely, body to body, soul to soul. Man and wife joined the way we are told we should be.

We move together like we were made for this. Like no time has passed. Like the twenty years apart were just a pause before this moment.

“I love you,” I breathe, cupping his face.

His eyes close, his thrusts faltering with emotion.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m worthy of it.”

He kisses me, desperate, tender, all-consuming and when we both come undone, it’s not just release, it’s a homecoming.

He doesn’t pull away afterward. He stays inside me, arms wrapped around my body like I’m the anchor he didn’t know he needed.

“You’re my savior, Bella. You always have been. Now, I want to be yours.”

Chapter thirty-four

St. Roman’s Church, London

February 2024

Hunter

Everyone who is anyone in London society is here to witness the wedding of Tilly Devane to the notorious Domenico Lombardi of Italy. Each invite had a purpose, bringing together friends, family, business associates, and enemies. No one is here just because they want to be.

The pews are packed—there’s not a seat to be had. Conversations in various dialects take place around us as we sit and wait for the bride. What everyone else in here doesn’t realize is the bride isn’t going to make it to the alter.

Isabella clasps my hand as we sit together. She’s in the most stunning shade of azure blue, dark hair pinned high. In these past six weeks she has become close to Tilly; the two women have become unexpected friends amidst the chaos of our lives. Her grip tightens on my fingers, and I glance down trying to give her a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure about this?” she whispers.

“I am,” I say simply, though I’m not one hundred percent sure what she’s asking as I never explained the full plan. She knew I had reservations, and she never hid her own opinion on the subject. Tilly is aware of the plot in place to free her from this marriage, but Bella and myself never discussed it openly. It was almost a silent understanding that I would fix this.

More guests pile in, and a look over my shoulder sees swatches of men in morning suits and women in extravagant gowns attempting to find a seat. The church itself is beautiful, opulent. The walls are covered in intricate paintings, the colors still sharp and bright despite their age. Excited voices echo off the stone walls as anticipation builds to see the bride. They don’t know they won’t.

As the organ begins to play and the crowd begins to settle, I lean in and place my lips at Bella’s ear. “Whatever happens, stay down until I tell you it’s safe to stand up again.” She glances at me warily, but there is no surprise on her face. “Your wish is my command. My life is to serve you, and I will do everything in my power to give you what you want.”

Her lips crack into an amused smile, then she pecks my cheek. “I’m delighted to hear that you’ve recognized your place.”

I laugh a little, shaking my head in disbelief at the cheek I take from this woman. But I would take whatever comes out her smart mouth from now until the end of time if it meant she was by my side.

“My place, my wife,” I murmur, sliding my hand up her thigh and resting it across her pussy, “is on my knees and at your mercy.” Sexual tension hits us hard, both of us catching our breath. A few guests around us glance in our direction, but I don’t fucking care. “What I would give to be buried inside you right now, pretty girl.”

Isabella chuckles, but the most stunning blush highlights the top of her breasts exposed above the deep neckline of her dress. My hand travels upward, finishing over her soft stomach. I squeeze gently, then drop a kiss on to her shoulder.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” I tell her.

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