Page 30 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)

TWENTY-NINE

Sam

I catch Olivia before she crumbles to the ground. One question and her feet give out. Tears steam from her eyes, and she's sobbing. It's like a cord has snapped and, suddenly, she's gone from keeping it together to a full-on meltdown.

Scooping her up in my arms, I move through the apartment until I find the bedroom that I'm certain belongs to her. Her body is trembling against my chest, tears soaking through my shirt, warm against my skin.

Laying her down on the bed, her fingers grip my shirt, reluctant to let go. I don't pull away, instead I tug her close to me and let her cry into my chest.

"I've got you," I murmur.

The small bedroom is sparsely decorated.

We sit on a wrought-iron bed frame with pale purple sheets and an old duvet.

There's a stack of boxes in the corner and an open suitcase with clothes hanging out.

I don't think she ever truly moved in. I wonder how long she was here before I took her to my place.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice hoarse from all the crying. "I can't?—"

"Don't." I sit on the edge of the bed. "Don't apologize."

I think she needed to break. Holding everything in all the time is impossible. And maybe I've pushed her too hard, put her in a situation that's added more stress to her life. She's still panting through her tears like she can't catch her breath.

She's falling apart in front of me, walls crumbling, and I'm the last person who should be here to witness it.

"Breathe," I order, mimicking the slow breathing I want her to do. She's about to hyperventilate herself to death.

"Breathe," I demand again, my palms finding each of her cheeks, forcing her to look at me as I breathe.

Slowly, she comes to, mimicking my breathing until her own slows down.

"Good girl," I praise her, causing her cheeks to turn pink.

She likes when I call her a good girl . She likes my praise, my touch, my control. And something sick twists inside me, because I want to give them all to her. I want to give her everything.

"I can't handle my head," she says, her voice faint. "It's too many thoughts, and I can't organize them. I just need it all to stop." She looks at me with teary eyes. "Help me."

Those two words do something to me. She's been so strong since the day I've met her, not once asking me for any kind of help.

And now she's in front of me, her eyes pleading.

"What do you need?" I ask.

"I need you to shut my brain off."

The way she's saying it makes me think she wants something more, and my cock springs to life at the thought of giving it to her. But she doesn't know what she's asking for right now; she's upset, vulnerable. And I'm not about to take advantage of her.

"Please," she whispers, her fingers clutching into my arms. "I need you."

The last bits of control I have snap one by one in quick succession.

She needs me.

Who am I to deny her?

"Olivia." It takes everything in me not to tear her clothes off. "What are you asking for?"

Her cheeks flush with heat, and the sight has me swallowing roughly. "I want… you ."

"Are you sure?" I ask firmly.

"Yes," she answers immediately. "Sam, I need you."

And that's all I need to pounce. I yank her head to mine, kissing her deeply. It's even better than I imagined. She tastes like candy, sweet apples, and fresh citrus. The scent invades my nostrils. I can taste it on my tongue, and I want to devour every inch of her.

My control is long gone. That man who has everything neat and in order, who doesn't jump into situations out of reactions, is long gone. I am nothing but frantic need.

And right now, I need her.

Need to taste, need to feel.

Need to ingrain every inch of her into my memory.

One time might not be enough, but when I wake up from this lust-fueled haze, my logical brain will probably tell me once is all I get.

So I'm going to make sure I enjoy it.

I push her down onto the bed, my weight pressing her into the mattress as my mouth claims hers. Her lips part instantly, inviting me deeper as her fingers grip onto my shirt to keep me close. I groan into her mouth, my hands roaming her body, desperate to touch every inch of her.

"I need to see you," I growl against her lips.

My fingers find the hem of her shirt, yanking it over her head. The sight of her in a simple black bra makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her pretty blue eyes darkened with want.

I unhook her bra with one hand, letting it fall away. Her breasts are perfect, full and topped with rosy nipples that harden under my gaze. I lower my head, taking one peak into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it before sucking hard.

"Sam," she gasps, her back arching off the bed.

Her hands fumble with my shirt, pushing it up my chest. I pull back just long enough to rip it over my head before returning to her, skin against skin. The feel of her soft body beneath mine is intoxicating.

I trail kisses down her stomach, unbuttoning her jeans as I go. Lifting her hips, she helps me slide them down her legs, along with her panties. And then she's naked beneath me, all creamy skin and curves.

"You're fucking beautiful," I murmur, taking in the sight of her.

I spread her thighs wider, my hands gripping her soft flesh. The scent of her arousal hits me, making my mouth water. She's already wet for me, glistening and ready.

"Sam," she whispers, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "What are you?—"

"Shh." I press a kiss to her inner thigh. "Let me take care of you."

Her breath catches as I move higher, dragging my lips along the sensitive skin of her thigh. I can feel her trembling beneath my touch, anticipation building with each inch I claim.

"You don't have to think," I murmur against her skin. "Just feel."

When I finally taste her, she gasps, then whimpers, her hips bucking off the bed. I hold her firmly in place, my tongue making a slow, deliberate path through her folds. She's sweet and tangy, better than anything I've ever tasted.

"I don't want you to think about anything except how good your pussy feels right now."

"Oh God," she moans as her fingers find their way into my hair.

I circle her clit with my tongue, teasing her, building her up slowly. Her thighs tense around my head, her breathing becoming more erratic. Sliding one finger inside her, then two, I curl them to find that spot that makes her cry out.

"Sam, please," she begs, but she doesn’t even know what she's begging for.

I suck her clit between my lips, flicking my tongue against the sensitive bud while pumping my fingers inside her. Her walls clench around me, her back arching off the bed. She's close. I can feel it in the way her body tightens, the way her moans become higher, more desperate.

"Let go for me," I command against her center, the vibration of my voice sending her over the edge.

She comes with a broken cry, her body shuddering violently. I don't stop, working her through each wave, drawing out her pleasure until she's pushing at my shoulders, oversensitive and spent.

When I finally look up, her face is flushed, her eyes half-closed in bliss. All the tension has drained from her features, replaced by a languid satisfaction that makes pride surge through me.

I hold Olivia against my chest as her breathing evens out.

Her body is warm, soft, completely relaxed now as she drifts off to sleep.

The weight of her feels right in my arms, like she belongs here.

Her dark hair spills across my skin, and I find myself running my fingers through it, mesmerized by its silky texture.

Something twists in my chest as I look down at her peaceful face. The fierce, guarded woman who stood up to me is vulnerable now, trusting me enough to fall asleep in my arms. When was the last time anyone trusted me like this?

Fuck. This wasn't supposed to happen.

I've built walls around myself for years, keeping everyone at a safe distance. Even my closest men don't truly know me. It's how I've survived, how I've kept my sanity intact while rebuilding what my family lost.

But Olivia is finding cracks in those walls without even trying.

I close my eyes, willing the feeling away. This can't happen. I can't let her matter. The moment someone matters is the moment you give your enemies leverage. In my world, feelings are liabilities, and liabilities get exploited.

She shifts in her sleep, nestling closer, her hand coming to rest over my heart. Can she feel how fast it's beating? How much she affects me?

I should leave. I should extract myself from her bed and put distance between us. But my arms tighten around her instead.

I listen to her soft, even breathing for what feels like hours, all while fighting the war inside me. Every instinct honed from years in my world screams to pull away, to rebuild the walls she's somehow slipped through. But my body refuses to move.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I whisper to the shadows.

This wasn't part of the plan. Keep her close, ensure her silence, maintain control — those were the objectives. Not this. Not lying in her bed with her curled against me, not feeling this ache in my chest that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with something I can't afford to name.

Her fingers twitch against my skin, and I wonder what she's dreaming about. Is it peaceful? Or is her mind still caught in the storm that broke her earlier? I hope it's the former. I hope, for a few hours at least, she finds some peace.

Tomorrow, I'll remember all the reasons why this can't happen, why she and I are impossible.

But tonight? Tonight, I allow myself this moment of weakness. This brief escape from the weight of my name and all the responsibilities that come with it.