Page 163 of Dangerous King
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod, turning from the window where I've been staring out into the dusk. "Just thinking."
He steps up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and presses his chin to my shoulder. "That sounds dangerous."
I smile faintly. "A little."
We stand there in the quiet for a beat. His breath is warm against my neck. His hands rest low on my stomach, tucked under the hem of the shirt I'd kept on to ward off the chill while I waited.
"You've been carrying a lot," he murmurs. "And I've been letting you."
I don't respond because there's nothing to say that wouldn't unravel me.
"I don't want you to carry things alone anymore," he says, kissing the spot just beneath my ear. "You're not alone, Cat. Not ever again."
I turn in his arms, looking up at him. There's still weariness in his face. The weight of everything we've lost, and everything we still don't know. But under that, there's love. So much love, it makes my chest ache.
"You've been my anchor through all of this," I say softly. "Even when I couldn't breathe."
He lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over my cheek. "You don't know what you've done for me. What it means to have you here.Alive. Mine."
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
"Then show me," I whisper. "Not just with words."
His eyes darken, voice low and reverent. "Come here."
Gently, he pulls off my shirt, as if he's afraid I'll break, even though he knows better. Having sex has been a little tricky lately, but thankfully, I have a very experienced husband, who isn't afraid to teach me things that make both of us moan with passion.
As always, his eyes darken, and a faraway look comes to his face when he sees the taped-up place where the stitches are almost ready to come out, like he's blaming himself.
"Hey," I say, "turning his head to face me, "eyes here, or…" I point his face down toward my breasts, "… there."
A slow smile spreads over his sinful lips. Lips that know how to ruin me. "They're still the most beautiful tits I've ever seen."
Shivers of pleasure roll through me, and my whole body sparks awake, blood rushes everywhere. He's always been good at that, making me feel like the center of the universe, like nobody else has ever or will ever exist for him.
For a second, he just drinks me in, lips parted, hand splayed wide over my stomach as if it already contains precious cargo. "Fuck, I love you," he says, the words hoarse, almost broken.
"Show me," I whisper again, and this time there's nothing left of shyness or distance between us, not after everything we've been through, not now that it's us against the world.
Without another word, I take off his jacket, his tie. He opens his belt and zipper, and working together, we get him as naked as I already am.
When he—this incredible piece of sculpted art—is finally bare in front of me, I take a moment to take him in. I bite my lip and let my eyes roam over him until he laughs in something like disbelief and shakes his head.
He acts like no one's ever looked at him like this before. Like he's only ever been seen as muscle, or a monster, but never just as a man that someone wants every inch of. But I do want every inch, and then some. He's beautiful in the way only somethingdangerous can be beautiful, every muscle mapped under taut, olive skin, pecs, and abs. He's a sight so beautiful from shoulders to thighs, it makes my brain short-circuit. He's always been a force, but undressed, he's nothing but raw power softened by the faint light from the moon. Even the bruises on his ribs and the fading scabs along his jaw only make him look more deliberate, more present. Every muscle is a map of intent. His body is the proof of a life spent fighting—winning—every battle except the quiet ones inside himself. His cock is flushed, hanging almost arrogantly above beautiful thighs. I reach for it—because how can I not? He's already hard for me, thick and curved and almost too much, even relaxed. The dark head gleams where he's leaking, and the sight goes straight to my own ache. I blink, swallow, and curl my fingers around him. He's heavy, hot, and twitches at the first touch. I look up at Enrico, his molten gaze locked to my face and nothing else.
"You're so beautiful," I say, and he chokes a laugh, breathless.
"That's my line." His voice cracks at the end.
"I want you."
"That's my line too." He rasps, before he loses whatever restraint he was clinging to and pulls me onto the bed, him lying on his back, me straddling him. I rock against his already hard cock, and he shudders.
"Careful?" I ask, and I feel a ripple of laughter beneath me, deep and warm.
"Don't worry aboutme," he says, eyes shining. "You're the queen here. I'm at your mercy."
