Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Every protest I have—he’s too dangerous, I’m too broken, he’s mafia and I’m not—and the deeper secrets I hold still, that I can’t share with anyone, become muted and inconsequential in the perfection of this moment.
I wanted him back. And here we are.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he says as he lifts me and thrusts, lifts and thrusts. Rose petals cling to our skin like swaths of satin, fragrant and erotic. The pattern of his breathing accelerates with mine. I cling to his shoulders and he holds me to his chest as he lifts and thrusts.
We ride the blissful perfection of this moment as we climax together. I moan when a spasm of pleasure rocks me. He groans in my ear as his own orgasm claims him.
My limbs are boneless when we’re done. I’m slumped against him, still submerged in the water, his cock still in me. I breathe heavily and nestle my head against his damp, warm chest. I close my eyes.
I want to hold onto this moment. I want to let myself believe that what I want—dare I say what we both want? —is possible.
I’ve told myself that Lyam is unfeeling and cruel, and at times… I may not be too far from the truth.
But he’s loyal to the people he loves. Dedicated and fierce, and I want that kind of love.
What if I gave in to the temptation to… actually… let him in?
My heart races at the thought. I look away, but not for long, because he takes my chin and turns me back to him.
“What are you thinking?”
I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m bearing his child.
“I…” I draw in a breath and let it out again. “I don’t like to get close to people,” I admit. I think it might be the first time I’ve said it out loud.
He doesn’t look away or dismiss me but holds my gaze earnestly. “Good. I’m glad you’ve admitted that. Now tell me why.”
I look down at the water. “The water’s getting cold,” I say, even though it’s not, but my attempt at diversion doesn’t work.
“Right. I’ve got it set to stay at the right temperature, which matters when you’re pregnant, so it won’t be getting too hot or too cold.”
Of course his billion-dollar tub can do that.
I bite my lip.
Tender fingers on my cheek. Piercing eyes with a furrowed brow that split me wide open. “There’s nowhere to hide, baby,” he whispers. "Tu peux me faire confiance.”
You can trust me.
Still, I find it hard to speak. I don’t have the words.
He stares into my eyes. “When I was twelve years old, I killed my first traitor.”
I blink and stare back. For cultured men like the Gerards, I sometimes forget that they’re as brutally violent as they are when they have to be. The stories I’ve heard…
“Why?” I whisper.
“Why did I do it or why did they have to die?”
Oh, God.
I swallow but don’t look away. “Both.”
Still staring at me, he gives me the bald truth. “I did it because he was my first hired hit. To this day, I have no idea what he did. My family was just beginning to get into organized crime. I was really, really good at shooting. We needed the money, and I’d found a way to get it, a lot of it, quickly.”
Wow.
Shit.
I lick my lips and swallow, trying to get up the courage again. “How many?” I whisper.
“I’ve lost count.”
I stare at him.
I’ve forgotten we’re still joined together. He’s still in me.
It feels strangely right.
He was a hired assassin. He killed for money because his family needed it.
“I never miss,” he says quietly. “Ever. If I shoot to kill, my target dies.”
He’s given me a glimpse into the deepest, darkest part of his soul no one but me ever sees.
“Now do you want to run?” he asks me.
I don’t want to give him anything but honesty. “A part of me? Yes. But a bigger part of me wants to stay.”
His brow softens with the hint of a smile. “You think you can fix me?”
I give him a smile back. “I don’t think I need to.”
He continues his story.
“We wanted control. People put their faith in bullshit lies and promises, but in the end, we know the people they trust are untrustworthy. Politicians line their own pockets. My family at least owns who we are.”
I nod. “Right,” I whisper. “I get it. I understand.”
Maybe he never needs to know who I truly am. Maybe he’ll understand that my affiliation with the man who’s rejected me my entire life has nothing to do with who I am today.
“Let’s get to bed,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “The sun is beginning to rise.”
“Are you actually going to sleep this time?” I tease. I stand and rinse myself off, then take the plush towel he hands me. I let him help me out of the tub so I don’t slip, then slide into a fluffy white robe waiting for me on a hook. “Oh my God, I’d pay you a million dollars to wear one of your own.”