Page 119 of Desperate Games

I freeze. Not because I’m afraid, but because I feel it.

His fury. His hunger. His need for something I can’t name.

And for one suspended heartbeat, I know he’s asking me something without words.

Asking for permission.

Asking if I can live with the part of him that doesn’t forgive, doesn’t hesitate, the part that’s already plotting what comes next.

The world might see him as dangerous.

But me? I see him as mine.

So, I don’t flinch when I see his thirst for revenge. I don’t cower when I feel the weight of his rage filling the room like smoke.

No—I lift my chin.

I walk toward him.

And when I reach him, I slide my hands up his chest, into his hair, and I show him with my body what I can’t yet speak out loud.

I accept him. All of him.

His darkness. His violence. His power.

Because every part of him is mine. And everything he does, he does for us.

“Andy.” His voice cracks, just once, and that’s all it takes.

“I know,” I whisper, before pressing my mouth to his.

It isn’t soft.

It isn’t gentle.

It’s savage, desperate, two storms colliding.

His hands crush me against him, his mouth devours mine, and I moan like a woman already undone.

Clothes scatter—his shirt ripped off, my dress shoved up, underwear torn with a growl that rattles my bones.

He lifts me up, using the wall for balance. Then he carries me down the hall to our bedroom like I weigh nothing at all.

When we get to the bed, he lays me down, spreading my thighs wide, caging me in with all that furious need.

“Say it,” he growls against my throat, biting hard enough to leave marks.

“I love you,” I gasp, nails clawing at his back.

“Whatever you do, Remy—it’s okay. All of it.”

That breaks him.

Or maybe it makes him whole.

Either way, his mouth is on mine again, and then he’s inside me—hot, thick, filling me to the hilt in one brutal thrust that makes my vision go white.

“God, Andy. You kill me,” he groans.