Page 33 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“Tommy, please,” I’m begging.

Then he drives inside me and I gasp, hold the breath, and let it out on a sigh. “Oh, God. Oh, fuck.”

He kisses my shoulder, then my throat, then my upturned mouth, all the while thrusting his hips so that his dick fills me.

He flips over and I sit up, ready to control the moment, to draw it out until neither of us can take it. And that is the plan—until he thrusts up and I’m left hanging on, using my legs to brace myself as he pushes his cock deep inside me.

I shatter, moving my hips, taking all of him until he powers into me again and grunts, then sits up to hold onto me from behind, my back against his chest, while we’re both riding the waves.

He comes too, with a guttural roar right in my ear. His teeth clamp down on my bare shoulder. Our breath mingles, hot and desperate.

I know the exact moment he regrets it.

His body goes rigid then his hands fall away and he looks at the wall. Even if I hadn’t known him most of my life, I would still know what regret looks like on his face.

I lift myself off him and begin the search for my clothes. But I swear to God, if he apologizes to me, only one of us is going to make it out of the room. Before I’m even close to being dressed, he’s at the door, still naked and walking out.

“Hey, Corrie … I’m …”

I look up, fully prepared to claw his eyes out. “You’re what?”

He sighs. “I’m glad you’re here. As fucked up as everything is.”

It’s not at all what I expected him to say. And he’s right—things are fucked up. My fiancé is dead to me, my ex-lover has reappeared as a grim reaper mobster, my life is in shambles. Who the hell knows what’s going to happen next?

But despite all that, if I’m being honest…

I’m glad I’m here, too.

10

Tomas

Corinne is humming. She’s in the bedroom, packing to go home, and she’s fucking humming. Like she’s happy to get out of here and away from me. Like the last three days of sleeping in my bed with me and waking up in the middle of the night to fuck and suck and cling to each other mean nothing to her.

On the other hand, she’s humming, which means she’s leaving. I should be dancing on the ceiling. With Corrie gone, I can get back to my normal life, take care of business, and not worry about what she’s going to say when I get home. I won’t have to think about the feelings churning in my gut when I look at her. Technically, since I won’t be looking at her, there won’t be feelings to ignore. I’ll be able to tell myself that I’ve remained unfazed and stoic through all of this.

That’s my story.

But in the wee hours of morning, when I watch her sleep; in the later afternoons, when she’s sitting in my library reading and doesn’t know I’m watching her; in the evenings, when we’re eating together and I’m pretending I finally have all the things I’ve ever dreamed of—that’s when I’m weakest for her.

Her leaving is the best thing. For her. For me. For my marriage to Katerina.

All that aside, I’ve arranged to have a couple of my guys follow her. That makes a total of four assigned to this burgeoning mistake. Two trailing the asshole she married and two watching her around the clock.

Alvin has still not told the cops anything more than that he was at the hotel on business. The cops bought it because they had two dead Mafia guys no one cared about and a witness who wouldn’t talk. There were bigger and more important cases to work on. Let this file collect dust in the cold case basement.

I don’t want to stand at the door and watch her, but I’m drawn there, because as long as she’s here, I’m going to be weak for her. When she’s gone and I can’t see her or smell her or touch her anymore, I’ll be back to my old self. I fucking hope that’s the case, at least.

“Hey.” She looks up and smiles then folds another shirt—one of mine she wore to bed while she stayed here—and puts it on top. I lean against the window and watch her long, graceful fingers as she folds and pats and smooths.

“Hi.” Her sigh is short, and I can’t tell if she’s upset or if I’m imagining it. “Do you really think I’m still in danger?”

We’ve been sniping all morning about Eidan and Luka—the men I’ve assigned to her. “I do. I know Roberto had men sitting on your apartment. And if he found your apartment, he knows your name. And if he knows that …” I shrug. She can figure out the rest. “I can’t …” See? Weak. “Can’t risk your safety.”

“I know.” She frowns and goes back to the closet.

Because I’m tired of being so far away from her—miles compared to how close to her I want to be—I lie across the bed next to the suitcase. She walks out of the closet with another of my T-shirts and I smile inwardly. She wants souvenirs. That shirt joins the others.

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