Page 76 of Widow's Walk

His breath is hot in my ear as he moves inside me. Then he groans in my ear, and it’s the most beautiful sound. It has me seeing stars and gushing all over him. His hips move faster, his cock slamming into me harder, and the fleshly fulfillment again has me limp.

His fingers flex around my throat, and his nails dig into my hip. I bite through the pain, and it sends me an aftershock. It rocks me, and I scream out and convulse. He groans more and then pistons his hips faster and harder until he exhales on a shaky breath, stilling behind me. He sucks in sharply when he pulls out, barely, then slides back in. Two more times, twitching here and there, then he finally stops.

We’re both breathing hard, his chest bumping into the back of my shoulders. His hands are still holding my neck and hip, as if he’s unable to let go. That we both might crumble if he does.

Then his lips find my shoulder, placing soft, sensual kisses along the ridge of it. When he pulls out, I feel wetness dripping down my inner thighs. His hands soften before both of them go to my hips to guide my feet to the floor, and I slowly turn around to face him.

His shoulders are still rising and falling with labored breath, and his body is slick with sweat. I cannot believe how fucking devastatingly handsome he is. How sexy he is. How evil he is not.

I can feel my head spinning, and I begin to spiral like I always do when things get too heavy between us. He must sense it because he takes me around the waist and lowers his head to hover his lips over mine. My eyes automatically close, and my breath stills, as does the world around us. Everything falls silent.

It feels like an eternity before he kisses me.

We don’t speak, we don’t leave the office. We end up curling up on the small loveseat, his fingers toying with my hair, my body draped over his, and I fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart with my head on his chest.

Chapter thirty-five

Blackwell

The sun is just beginning to bleed in through the curtains when I wake.

The office is still dark, still quiet, save for the slow, even rhythm of her breathing, steady against my chest.

Sinclair’s body molds to mine, fitting like she belongs there. Her bare leg hooked possessively around my waist, one hand splayed over the heart she carved out as if to anchor herself in place. Her skin is warm, flushed from sleep, and she hasn’t stirred once. I wonder if sleep hasn’t come easily these last several days, like it’s been for me.

Last night’s memories still burn beneath my skin. Her hands, her mouth, her softness, fury, and surrender. All tangled together, building up until we finally collapsed into sleep. The first time in so long, I felt at peace.

The thin lines of dried blood on her hip catches my eye. I drag my thumb over the four crescent-shaped reminders of where my nails dug in. They edged the old scar her brother left behindwhen he tried to brand her. She claimed it back, making it hers. My touch left its own markings behind, and I should feel guilt or shame. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

I brush a knuckle gently across her temple. “Sinclair,” I murmur softly, then press a kiss to her head, taking in her scent. Her eyes flutter, lashes twitching before she peeks up at me with the haze of sleep still veiling her gaze. “We’re going to bed,” I tell her quietly.

She blinks a few times, slowly coming to. She doesn’t speak. Her nod is barely a movement, but I feel it move against my chest.

I reach for the lace robe discarded on the floor and carefully drape it over her shoulders, slipping her arms through the sleeves like she’s the most fragile thing. She doesn’t protest, just watches me with a strange softness I’ve rarely ever witnessed.

After pulling on a pair of briefs, I turn back to her and offer her my hand. For a moment, she stares at it, brows faintly drawn together as if it’s something she’s unsure of how to accept. Or like it has teeth. Although hesitantly, she reaches for it.

Her fingers slide into mine, tentative but warm. Slightly stiff, but steady. Something feels different, as if we’re finally unified. Like something has been repaired or at least patched enough to hold for now.

We pad through our estate, silent, and our hands still clasped like something sacred. When we reach the stairs, she starts to move ahead, but I stop her. Her eyes lift right before I scoop her up into my arms.

She lets out a squeal of surprise that turns into a giggle, girlish and unfiltered. It’s so unlike her and so unguarded that I grin down at her like a fucking fool as I carry her.

Her arms loop around my neck, and she tries hiding her grin, but it’s wide and uncontainable. So fucking beautiful.

“Brute,” she mutters, her voice light and breathy.

“Never denied it,” I murmur back.

By the time we reach our bed, the sun has continued to climb. I lower her onto the bed we should have been sharing all along. The one I’ve left her alone in. But never again.

I slide in beside her, where I belong.

As soon as my skin is flush with hers, her breathing begins to quicken and her skin heats. That fire only we can make starts. Soon it will engulf us both in the flames.

I can’t keep my lips off her skin, my hands off her curves, my nose buried in her dark hair. God, I love her dark hair. It’s as if she’s shed a layer of her armor. Giving me more of her authentic self.

I turn her on her back, my body over hers, and I stare down at her. “Lanati, to kheili zibayi,”Fuck, you’re so beautiful, I whisper. Her hazel eyes have never looked so soft. They bounce around my face, and she remains docile.

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