Page 102 of The Reaper
Caleb’s jaw ticked. “You’re generous.”
“I’m strategic,” I said. “I want him out without noise. Let him vanish like Alastair. I don’t want to think about either of them again unless it’s a footnote in our success story.”
He nodded, and I knew he’d keep his teeth sheathed because I’d asked. I also knew if either of those men set a toe on my shadow again, Caleb would handle it with that precision I’d felt like a lightning strike, and I didn’t know whether it humbled me or thrilled me more.
He rolled onto his back and tugged me half on top of him, my cheek finding the warm plane of his chest. His heartbeat thudded slow under my ear, steady as a drumline.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured into my hair. “I’ll move heaven and earth to keep you safe. But I’m not here to build you a cage.”
“I know,” I said. “And I meant what I said, too. I’m done living like penance is a plan.”
He tipped my chin up with his knuckles, studying me like he was memorizing this version—calmer, clearer, still mine. “Tell me something about Meggie’s,” he said, “the future one. The first thing you’ll decide that has nothing to do with guilt.”
“The floor,” I said immediately, surprising both of us. “Not tile. Wood. Something that creaks when it’s quiet and sings when it’s full. I want a bar that’s sticky on summer nights because too many drinks got set down in a hurry, and a porch where Dean can sit and pretend he hates people while he watches the ocean. I want a bell by the kitchen door, and when service starts, we’ll ring it twice and one.” I tapped his sternum gently—tap, tap—pause—tap. “I’m here. Keep going.”
His eyes went dark with something that lived a few levels below words. He matched the rhythm on my lower back, two fingers knocking softly. “Always.”
The room felt warmer. Or maybe that was just me melting into him. The sheet slid lower; my thigh hooked over his hip; his hand found the small of my back like it had been built to live there.
“Breakfast in the atrium?” he asked, voice low.
“In a minute,” I said, and kissed him like ‘a minute’ meant whenever I decided the world could have us back.
The kiss was unhurried, a mapping rather than a raid. His mouth was heat and a promise I could taste. His hand slid up my spine, fingers threading into my hair; my palm cupped his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble against skin. The need between us didn’t spike; it rose like the tide—inevitable, powerful, certain. When he rolled, pinning me with the kind of care you offer a thing you revere, the soft sound I made was recognition: mine.
35
CALEB
Ilay in the massive bed at Dominion Hall, the morning light slipping through the blackout curtains, painting gold streaks across the hardwood floor, the faint hum of a boat engine drifting from the harbor below. Meghan was beside me, her body warm against mine, her breath soft and steady, the scent of cedar and clean linen mixing with her skin’s faint lavender trace.
My mind churned over everything that had happened—her fire, her fight, the Charleston Danes pulling me into their world, the papers waiting for my signature that would make me a billionaire.
Billionaire. The word felt like a foreign language, heavy and unreal.
I’d never had a fancy meal out unless it was on someone else’s dime, never owned more than a duffel could carry, but this—her, this place, these brothers—felt righter than anything I’d known, righter than I thought I deserved.
Yet with Meghan, I knew I deserved her, her fire matching mine, her heart a beacon I’d follow anywhere.
Her hair spilled across the pillow, dark and wild, and I traced a strand with my finger. The weight of the past weeks pressed in—Alastair’s warehouse, his pathetic blubbering, Meghan’s fierce takedown, the notes that had haunted her. I’d been ready to end him, to put a bullet in his skull, but she’d handled it, claimed his empire with a wink and a boot to his crotch.
That strength had me falling harder, my need to protect her blending with a need to savor her, to make her mine in every way. I shifted, my lips finding hers, soft at first, a slow kiss that deepened as she stirred, her mouth opening, warm and yielding. I took my time, savoring her lips, tasting the faint sweetness of last night’s shortbread, my tongue tracing hers, a low hum escaping her throat.
I moved lower, my mouth trailing to her neck, then her collarbone, the skin warm and soft under my lips. Her breasts were next, full and perfect, and I kissed each one, my tongue circling her nipples, teasing them to peaks as she arched, a soft moan spilling out.
My hands followed, cupping her, my thumbs brushing her skin, memorizing every curve. I kissed down her stomach, slow, deliberate, her muscles tensing under my lips, her breath hitching as I lingered at her hips, my hands gripping the soft flesh, my mouth grazing the dip where her thigh met her pelvis.
I flipped her gently, her back a canvas of smooth skin, and I kissed down her spine, savoring the way she shivered, my lips brushing the curve of her ass, my hands kneading gently before flipping her again, her eyes meeting mine, dark with want.
My mouth found her center, hot and slick, and I took my time, every kiss, every lick a vow. I tasted her, sweet and musky, my tongue sliding through her folds, slow, deliberate, savoring her like this was where I was meant to be. Her hips bucked, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, her moans a rhythm that set my blood alight.
I licked deeper, my lips grazing her sensitive skin, my tongue swirling, drawing out every gasp, every tremble, until she was shaking, her breath ragged, her body arching under my mouth. I didn’t rush, didn’t stop, letting her ride the edge, my hands gripping her thighs, keeping her open as she came, her cry sharp, echoing in the quiet room.
She pulled me up, her eyes wild, and straddled me, mounting me with a grace that stole my breath. I looked up at her, her hair falling around her face, her body glowing in the morning light, and I couldn’t believe I was this lucky. She stared down, her gaze fierce, tender, and I knew I was the luckiest man alive.
Her hips moved, slow, deliberate, her heat tight and perfect, a moan ripping from my throat.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, voice rough, and she smiled, stroking my face, her fingers soft against my stubble as she took me deeper, slower, our bodies moving together like they’d been made for this.
