Page 67 of Betrayed

“I don’t care how we started. I don’t care if you came to me for revenge, for money, for survival. All I care about is this—” I slide her hand down to my chest, right over my heart. “You’ve got me,now. My money, my protection, my love. Whether you want me or not.”

Her eyes fill. “I want you.”

“Then you have me.”

The kiss is slow at first. Tender. Desperate.

But it builds. It always does. I drag her onto my lap, wrap her legs around me, and kiss her like I’m drinking from the edge of death. Because that’s what it feels like—like I almost lost her.

My hands slide under my flannel shirt, the one she’s claimed as her nightdress—no bra, no panties. Just warm, trembling skin and hard nipples against the soft curve of her breasts.

“You’re mine,” I growl. “No more guilt. No more silence. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she breathes.

I move her to the floor and lay her down gently—only to rip off the shirt a second later.

Her breath hitches.

I kiss the inside of her thigh, biting it softly. “You need to forget him. Forever.”

We break.

We burn.

I push inside her, and her moan is a goddamn hymn.

I take my time, dragging every inch of myself through her tight, slick heat, until she’s sobbing with need.

I pin her wrists. Bend her legs up. Make her feel every stroke. Every kiss. Every inch of my body.

Until she screams my name.

Until she sobs and comes again and again.

Until she forgets Caleb ever existed.

She falls asleep on my chest, fingers curled like a kitten’s.

I don’t sleep.

I’ll never let another man touch her.

I’ll end anyone who tries.

I’ll burn the world before I lose her again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Lucian

It’s been a quiet afternoon. I’m sitting on the porch, watching the fog lift off the lake, enjoying the only cigarette I found, hidden in the crumpled pack Erin stuffed into an empty tin at the back of a cabinet. I light it, taking that first drag a little too eagerly, and it hits me almost immediately. The swirling smoke from my exhale makes me think of her cabin.

It’s prettier here than at the moor. Still, something inside me misses the foggy gray skies, the muddy dirt path, the depressing stretch of colorless land that leads nowhere.

Bayne calls.

“You still want to do this?” he asks without preamble.