Page 43 of Addicted

My head turns again, Knox’s hazel eyes bright and shining with the afterglow of an orgasm.

“Ours to hunt,” he hums, placing his lips over mine and kissing me stupid. I melt into him, loving the taste of him. It’s like flying on the back of a motorcycle down the highway. Like freedom.

“Ours to own and keep,” Aeron adds from the other side, tangling his fingers in my hair and jerking my lips to his, Knox growling as I’m torn from him. “Ours to break and put back together again.”

He whispers the last part against my lips, moments before his own close the minuscule distance. His kiss is an invasion. A possession. He tastes like invading armies that take what they want with no shame, pillaging the land and bending the people to their will.

I sink into it, allowing him his fill with no resistance as he conquers me completely. Everything disappears when they surround me like this. There is no gang war. No enemies. No Romeo and Juliet comparisons. Just them, and me, and us.

I wish with every fiber of my being that it could be like this always.

Just us against the world.

But wishes are like stars. Pretty to look at, yet unreachable. Unattainable.

And there are so many stars in our night sky that it sparkles.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“PLEASE DON’T BREAK MY HEART” BY ESCAPE

LARK

The next few days pass in confusing bliss, leaving my head spinning and my heart yearning. Jude makes me watch every Disney movie known to man during the day, because apparently, my ‘Disneycation’ is woefully lacking. I spend each night in Aeron’s or Jude’s bed, lost in the passionate embraces of one or more of my Tailor boys.

Wait, when the fuck did I begin to think of them as mine?

Aeron strides into the room one morning, throwing open the curtains and making Jude, Tarl, and I all flinch as the light momentarily blinds us.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss, shielding my face by burying it into Jude’s neck and taking a deep inhale of his sweet, popping candy scent.

I squeak when the covers are thrown off, and yell a second later when the asshole known as the heir to the Tailors grabs myankle and I’m hauled out of bed, landing in a naked heap on the floor.

“Morning, Dove.” Aeron smirks down at me, holding a hand out, and I scowl, huffing as I let him help me get to my feet. He doesn’t let go, pulling me close so that our bodies touch, and a shiver runs over my skin. There’s something about having him fully clothed when I’m completely exposed that makes my pulse race.

“Morning, Devil Man,” I whisper back, the last part said against his lips as he leans in and places them over mine. As always, his kiss claims me and destroys me in equal measure, leaving me weak-kneed and desperate for more.

“I like that nickname from your lips,” he hums against my lips this time, the brush of our flesh making my breath hitch. “But I like my name being screamed from them when I’m deep inside you more.”

Fuck me, he’s out for the kill this morning.

Wetness slicks my thighs, his rude awakening forgotten as I try to press closer. He chuckles a deep manly sound that does nothing to ease the ache that he’s created.

“Later, Dove. For now, it’s race day and you need to get dressed as you’ll be on my arm for all to see.”

“Race day!” Jude yells, leaping from the bed and grabbing me out of Aeron’s hold, spinning me around until I’m dizzy and giggling. “Why didn’t you say that?”

We come to a stop and I see Aeron shaking his head, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He looks at Jude with a softness that I rarely see directed at anything or anyone else. Except, perhaps sometimes, me.

“There’s a dress for you in my room, Dove,” Aeron says, and Jude plants a smacking kiss on my lips before running off to his bathroom to presumably shower, his peachy ass delicious, especially with my bite marks on it.

“Good morning,Aziz-e delam,” Tarl greets me softly, kissing my lips gently before turning around and walking towards the door, his own ass taut and fucking edible.

“What does it mean?” I ask.

He turns back, his caramel-colored skin shining in the morning light. Like all the others, he, too, has ink covering parts of his body. Beautiful, swirling designs that ebb and flow over his taut muscles with what looks like some kind of scripture running alongside the lines.

“Dear of my heart,” he tells me, a twinkle of mischief in his mismatched eyes.