Page 37 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)

THIRTY-SIX

Sam

“ Y ou brought your witness to my wedding,” John deadpans as he brings a crystal glass of bourbon to his lips.

I can’t help but laugh at his bluntness. It’s true, I did bring my little witness with me. Lately, it feels like she’s becoming more than just a witness. A fact that both excites and worries me.

“I don’t need to hear how she’s a liability,” I say in jest, sipping my own bourbon.

“That’s not what I was gonna say.”

“No?” I chuckle. “I know you think I’m making a mistake.”

“I thought so. And I do think she’s a distraction, but…” He shrugs. “It looks like you’re really falling for her.”

The words surprise me, freezing the glass that’s on its way to my lips. I look out to the dance floor, finding Olivia with Madi and Lana. They’re laughing as they dance ridiculously to a Taylor Swift song that’s blaring from the DJ booth.

I smile at the sight of her like this, looking carefree for the first time since I’ve met her. I could get used to seeing her like this. I think I’d like to be the reason she’s happy and carefree.

Does that mean I’m falling for her?

Something nags at my chest, a reminder that this will never end well.

But something else sparks inside me. What if? What if this could work? What if we could be happy?

Her face lifts, finding me at the edge of the dance floor with John. She grins, waving a hand at me. That smile turns my insides into molten lava.

Beside me, John chuckles.

“Correction. You’ve fallen for her.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to dispute his claim, but I’m not sure I can.

I think he might be right.

I’ve fallen for my little witness.

I can't get Olivia out of my head the entire drive home.

The sight of her in that emerald dress, the way it hugs every curve of her body, the way she smiled at me during the wedding.

It's all I can think about. My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel, fighting the urge to pull over and take her right here in the car.

When we finally arrive at the mansion, I barely get the front door closed before I'm on her. She gasps as I push her against the wall, my mouth finding hers in a hungry kiss.

"I've been waiting to do this all night," I growl against her lips, my hands already working at the zipper of her dress. The silky material pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a lacy black thong and heels.

"Sam," she says, nearly moaning as I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist.

We don't make it far. The grand staircase is right there, and I can't wait any longer. I lay her down on the steps, the marble cold against her bare skin.

"Here?" she asks, her eyes wide with surprise and desire.

"Right here," I confirm, loosening my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. "I need you now."

Her hands reach for my belt, helping me shed my clothes. I hover over her, taking in the sight of her splayed across my staircase, hair fanned out, chest rising and falling with each breath.

"You're fucking perfect," I murmur, lowering myself over her.

The coolness of the marble against my knees contrasts with the heat of her body. Her back arches as I enter her, another moan escaping her lips that echoes through the foyer. I capture the sound with my mouth, kissing her deeply as we move together.

"Sam," she whispers my name like a prayer, her nails digging into my back, urging me deeper.

I grasp Olivia's hips and flip her over in one swift motion. The marble steps press against her stomach and breasts as I position myself behind her. Her ass is perfect in front of me, and I can't resist giving it a light slap.

"Hands on the steps," I command, my voice thick with desire.

She complies immediately, bracing herself on the cold marble. I grip her hips and enter her again, the new angle allowing me to go deeper. At the feeling, she whimpers, and I feel her tighten around me.

"You like that?" I growl into her ear, leaning over her back, my chest pressed against her. "You like being fucked on my staircase, where anyone could see you?"

"Yes," she moans with a shiver, pushing back against me.

I slide one hand around to her front, finding her clit with my fingers. She jolts at my touch, then grinds against me.

"You're mine," I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear as I thrust into her. "Say it."

"I'm yours," she pants, her voice breaking as I increase the pressure on her clit.

My fingers work in tight circles while I maintain a relentless rhythm. I can feel her trembling beneath me, getting closer to the edge.

"That's it," I encourage, my breath hot against her neck. "Come for me, Olivia. Let me feel you come around my cock."

Her body tenses as the orgasm builds. Driving into her harder, my fingers never stop their movement against her sensitive flesh.

"Sam!" she cries out as she shatters, her inner walls pulsing around me.

I hold her tight against me as she rides out her pleasure, continuing to stroke her through the aftershocks. Her body is slick with sweat, her breathing ragged as she collapses against the steps.

I'm not finished with her yet. Her body trembles with aftershocks, but I need more. I scoop her up in my arms, her naked body pressed against my chest. She's light as a feather as I carry her up the stairs, her arms wrapped loosely around my neck.

"Sam," she whispers, her voice hoarse from screaming my name.

"We're not done," I growl, kicking open my bedroom door.

Tossing her onto my bed, I watch as she bounces slightly on the mattress. Her hair is wild around her face, her lips swollen from my kisses, her skin flushed pink. She's never looked more beautiful.

"Spread your legs," I command, standing at the foot of the bed.

She complies without hesitation, her thighs falling open for me. I crawl onto the bed, positioning myself between her legs. Running my hands up her thighs, I relish her shiver under my touch.

"You're so fucking wet," I murmur, sliding two fingers inside her. She's still sensitive from her first orgasm, and her hips buck at the intrusion.

"Please," she begs, her eyes locked on mine.

I withdraw my fingers and replace them with my cock, entering her in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her back arching off the bed.

"Look at me," I demand, setting a relentless pace. "I want to see your face when you come again."

Her eyes flutter open, glazed with pleasure. Hooking one of her legs over my shoulder, I change the angle to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars.

"Sam, I can't—" she gasps, her words cut off by a moan as I drive deeper.

"You can and you will," I insist, reaching between us to circle her clit with my thumb.

Her walls clench around me as her second orgasm builds. I can feel my own release approaching, but I'm determined to make her come again first.

"Come for me like a good girl, Olivia," I command, increasing the pressure on her clit.

She shatters beneath me, her body convulsing, my name a broken cry on her lips. The sight of her coming undone pushes me over the edge, and I follow her into oblivion, emptying myself inside her with a guttural groan.

The sound of our breathing is the only noise that fills the room.

Once I’ve come back down to earth, I grab a wet cloth from the bathroom and clean Olivia up, discarding the rag before pulling her into me.

She's cuddled against my chest, her hair flowing across the comforter in long dark waves.

My palm rests on her bare skin. It feels comfortable like this, and I let myself close my eyes and sink into the feeling.

I can't remember the last time I relaxed.

And then her fingertips trace the raised flesh on my chest. The touch sends a chill down my spine, memories I've buried deep, threatening to surface.

"What happened?" Olivia's voice is soft, curious.

I stare at the ceiling, the warmth of her body against mine suddenly feeling far away. The scar tissue beneath her fingers holds the weight of that night. My mother's blood, her final breaths, the burning pain as the bullet tore through her and into me.

"Sam?" She props herself up on an elbow, those blue eyes searching my face.

My jaw clenches. I don't talk about that night, don't talk about my mother.

The scar is the only physical memory of what happened, and I've never let anyone close enough to see it.

My chest aches at the thought of opening old wounds, every instinct screaming at me to push her away.

But then I see those blue eyes filled with worry.

And there's another part of me that wants to tell her. To let her in.

"It's from when I was a kid." The words come out rough.

"You don't have to tell me?—"

"No, I want to," I cut her off. She's silent, her hand continuing to trail circles over my chest while I attempt to gather my thoughts.

"When I was ten, I was kidnapped by a motorcycle club."

Olivia inhales sharply, but doesn't speak.

"They took both me and my mom. My father had begun training me to take over la famiglia that summer.

Part of his lessons included what to do in a kidnapping situation.

" I rub a hand over my face. I've wondered if he suspected danger from the MC and that's why he began those lessons, to prepare me for this situation. I never asked him. That would’ve meant talking about what happened that night, and that's something we never did.

Ignoring our pain was much more the Costello way.

"I tried to get us out. I was able to get my binds free, and I went to undo hers, but my father showed up at the same time.

There was a shootout, and their leader came back to move my mother and I, but found us unrestrained.

He pulled his gun to shoot me, but—" I choke on the words I've never said out loud.

"It's okay. You're safe." Olivia nuzzles into my neck, her palm running soothing circles over my chest.

"She stepped in front of me." I suck back the tears that threaten to spill over. "The bullet went through her first." My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears. "Before it hit me."

Olivia's hand spreads flat against my chest, right over my heartbeat. She doesn't say anything, doesn't offer empty condolences or platitudes. She just stays there, her touch grounding me to the present while the past threatens to drag me under.

I stare at the ceiling, letting the memories wash over me. Olivia's steady breathing and warm touch anchor me to the present.

"My father got there just in time to shoot the asshole. I don't remember much after that. Just his screams when he realized she was gone."

Olivia shifts closer, pressing her lips to my shoulder. The gesture is so gentle it makes my chest ache.

The words come out before I can stop them. "My mother died protecting me. My father... He was never the same after that night. The Iron Serpents might have pulled the trigger, but I'm the reason she's dead."

"Sam." Olivia's voice is firm as she props herself up to look at me. "You were a child. Her death wasn't your fault."

I meet her gaze, seeing nothing but sincerity in those blue depths. Something inside me cracks open at her words, at the unwavering certainty in her voice.

"I've never told anyone about that night." My hand finds hers where it rests on my chest. "Not even John knows the full story."

"Thank you for telling me." She leans down, pressing her forehead to mine.

The intimacy of the moment steals my breath. Having her here, in my bed, knowing my darkest memories…it should terrify me. Instead, I feel lighter somehow. Like sharing the weight of that night has lifted a burden I've carried alone for too long.

I tangle my fingers in her hair, pulling her closer until our lips meet. The kiss is different from our others. Slower, deeper, filled with everything I can't put into words. When we break apart, she settles back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her close.

For the first time since that night, I let myself believe that maybe love doesn't always end in loss.