Page 10 of Beautiful Sinners

Aleksander will be coming for her, and not because she killed his twin.

“Soon,” I answer, and she nods, understanding, even though what I said would make no sense to anyone else.

Aoife and I,Syn and I, could always have a conversation without speaking a single word. It’s another clue I should’ve picked up on but somehow missed.

Her cheek caresses my neck, and she presses her lips to my skin, holding them there at my pulse point.

“I was so scared that you…” Her arms tighten around me. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“For what?” My voice cracks, and her lips go to the knot of my Adam’s apple.

She doesn’t answer my question but instead says, “I want to be clean.”

Whatever she needs, I’ll give her.

“I’m going to set you down. Hold on to me.”

Trying in vain to remain unaffected as I slide her body down the length of mine, I gently lower her to stand and tell my dick to chill the hell out because fucking her should be the furthest thing from my mind right now.

My hands go to her hips to steady her when she teeters, and I hear the sharp gasp my light touch elicits.

“Hurt?” I ask, undoing the button of her pants so I can get a closer look.

Cillian’s personal physician, Cotton, checked her out while she was unconscious, but she should get a full work-up, maybe a CT scan just to be sure, now that she’s awake.

“No.”

The water beats down over her head, plastering her long hair to her body, but I can see the blush of arousal in her cheeks. It’s the same silent thrum that ignites every time I look at her.

She raises her arms above her head for me to take off her shirt, then she unhooks her bra herself. Her creamy, pale breasts bounce enticingly when she tosses the garments behind her, and they land with an audibleplopon the tile shower floor. The bruises and bite marks marring her chest aren’t from today, and I trace the first one Hendrix gave her because he smelled me on her. He can be a jealous, territorial ass.

She holds on to my shoulders when I go to my knees and ease the wet denim down her long legs. My lips gravitate to the scars on her left side, and she sighs when I brush kisses across the roughened, reddish skin. Who did this to her is still a mystery, and I’m conflicted about finding out the answer. Part of me hopes she never remembers. But if she does, God have mercy on their souls because they will receive none from me when I find them.

“Constantine.”

My eyes lift to hers as I help her step out of her jeans and panties. The picture she creates is stunning, like a Botticelli Venus rising from the waters, nude, wet, and utterly captivating.

“I need to tell you something,” she says softly.

I run my hands up her thighs and around to her lower back. Not to entice, but to let her know I’m here. I’m hers. And I’m not going anywhere.

She touches my face, her fingers tracing the curve from my forehead to my cheek. Thick emotion clogs her throat when she chokes out, “I love you, too. I should have said it when you told me, but… and then… and then when Aleksei… I was so afraid that I’d never get to… I just thought you should know.”

Tristan, Hendrix, and I are not good men. We’re surely bound for hell as penance for the things we’ve done. By some miracle, Aoife came back. Her heart found us just like she promised. How in the fuck do we deserve such a precious gift?

With our gazes locked, I rise to my full height and take the small bottle of liquid soap from the shelf, lathering some between my hands.

“I never doubted it for a second.Você é meu coração.”

Her smile is shy and small, but I see it, and damn, is it a wonderful sight.

Playfully, I brush a dollop of sudsy foam on her button nose, and the water raining down on us rinses the rest from my hands when I slip them around her, desperate for that physical connection to help ease the fear that I almost lost her again. But she’s alive. She’s here. With us. Where she fucking belongs.

“May I?” she asks, her hands already at the button of my jeans.

I stand motionless as she concentrates on undoing the zipper, then slides her hands up to remove my shirt. After she’s done, I kick off my pants and push them with my foot to join her pile of clothes. Her shaking palms immediately go to my bare chest, covering where my heart beats only for her.

She stays just like that for long minutes, hands and eyes fixed on me, as tears fall like raindrops down her face. Eventually, her chest heaves when she breathes deeply, and she tips her head back, those cornflower blue eyes filled with such sadness.

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