Page 21 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

The moment he pulls me into his arms, the rest of the room falls away. It’s just us, swaying to the soft melody echoing through the ballroom. I nestle my head against his chest, feeling the slow, steady thump of his heart beneath my cheek.

And then he starts to hum.

Low, warm, his voice blending with the music until he quietly starts to sing along. The sound vibrates through his chest and into me, wrapping around my bones like a lullaby spun in honey and smoke. My breath catches, and I close my eyes, letting myself drown in it.

His scent is everywhere—cologne and leather and something undeniably him. Earthy, warm, a little dangerous. It makes my knees weak. Makes me want to lean in even closer and never let go.

His hand settles against the small of my back, firm and possessive, while the other cradles mine against his chest. Every motion is slow, deliberate, and yet tension coils low in my belly like a drawn bow.

When my hips shift against him, I feel it—the unmistakable press of his arousal against my stomach. My breath hitches, and heat floods my cheeks. But instead of pulling back, I sway with him, letting the tension build, my pulse hammering behind my ribs.

His fingers flex slightly at my lower back, and I swear he feels it too—the crackling awareness between us, the want that hangs thick in the air like a storm ready to break.

My skin prickles, every nerve alive, attuned only to him. I’ve never felt so wanted. So claimed. And it’s not just the way he holds me—it’s the way he sees me. The way he draws me close like I’m something precious, something he doesn’t want the world to touch.

I lift my gaze, and he’s already watching me. His blue eyes are darker now, burning with something that steals the breath from my lungs.

Desire. Yes. But something more.

I want him. I want this. I want the weight of his body over mine, the heat of his skin against mine, the sound of his voice whispering my name in the dark. The air between us pulses with it, alive and electric.

He leans in, brushing his lips across my temple, and I melt.

I’m in so much trouble.

And I don’t care.

Eddie pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine as the song fades into the background. His breath is warm on my lips, his hand still splayed across my lower back, holding me close like I might slip away if he lets go.

His eyes search mine, dark and smoldering, and then he murmurs low and rough, “You wanna go home?”

The words are simple. But they feel anything but.

Home.

It’s not just a question. It’s a promise. A challenge. A line we’re about to cross.

My heart pounds. My body already says yes before I nod. “Yeah. I do.”

He doesn’t wait. His hand finds mine—strong, certain—and he grips it tight, turning and pulling me toward the back of the ballroom.

I have to jog to keep up, heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. “Eddie,” I laugh breathlessly, “slow down, I can’t—”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes raking down to my shoes, then mutters, “Fuck this,” and the next thing I know, he’s bent low and swept me into his arms.

I let out a surprised yelp, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck, fingers curling into the back of his suit jacket.

My face finds its way into the curve of his neck, and I breathe him in—cologne, smoke, something unmistakably Eddie.

My lips graze his skin as I smile against it, already drunk on the feel of him.

“Much better,” he murmurs, tightening his hold.

Outside, the air is cooler, quieter. The chaos of the red carpet and the ballroom fades behind us. The back of the building is lined with black cars, engines idling in wait for the guests avoiding the paparazzi swarm.

Our limo is right there. The driver spots us and moves fast, rushing to open the door.

“Take us home,” Eddie orders, his voice low, firm.

Still carrying me, he ducks into the back seat, settling in with me in his lap like I belong there.

And maybe I do.

His arms wrap around me, strong and safe, and I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

My dress slides a little higher on my thigh, and I’m all too aware of the way his body shifts under me.

He doesn’t say a word, just strokes his hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His touch is so gentle, almost reverent. My heart aches with how much I want this.

Want him.

He looks at me like I’m breakable. Like I’m more than the girl on his arm tonight. Like I’m something precious.

“Eddie…” I whisper, unsure what I’m asking for. But I don’t have to say it.

His eyes darken, and his hand slides to the side of my throat, his thumb brushing softly across my jaw. I shiver under the touch, my breath catching.

Then he’s kissing me.

No warning. No hesitation. He slams his mouth to mine with a force that steals every ounce of breath from my lungs.

It’s not gentle now.

It’s hunger. Need. Every second of the last week—the looks, the tension, the soft kisses, the promises—boiling over.

His lips claim mine, and I open for him instinctively. His tongue slides into my mouth, demanding and desperate, and I meet him with just as much fire. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, needing him closer, and he groans into the kiss, his hands tightening on my hips.

His mouth moves over mine with raw intensity, teeth dragging against my bottom lip, making me gasp. He kisses me like he’s starving, like this is the only thing that will satisfy the ache we’ve both been nursing for days.

And I feel it. Everywhere.

Heat pools low in my belly, my thighs clenching around him, and the way he grips me—like he can’t get enough—makes my head spin.

His hand slides from my throat down to my back, pressing me harder against him, and I can feel just how much he wants me. The rigid length of him is unmistakable, and the friction of our bodies pressed together sends sparks shooting down my spine.

I moan into his mouth, unable to stop myself.

His lips break from mine, just long enough to breathe, and his forehead drops to mine, both of us panting.

“Laney,” he says, voice hoarse, shaking with restraint. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Because I do.

I know exactly what this is doing to me too.

And I don’t want him to stop.

Eddie’s breath is ragged against my skin as he stares at me like I’m something sacred, something he’s been waiting too damn long to touch. Then he lowers his head, and his lips brush the side of my neck—just a whisper-soft touch—and my whole body trembles.

When he finds the place where my pulse thrums, he lingers, gently sucking on it, dragging his mouth over the frantic beat. My breath stutters out of me as I instinctively fist my hands in his thick hair, tilting my head to the side in a silent plea for more.

He groans low in his throat, like he’s barely holding himself together, and his hand rises, fingers skimming the neckline of my dress before cupping my breast. His thumb strokes across the fabric, teasing and possessive, and a whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it.

God, I want him. I want this—this heat, this connection, this man who touches me like I’m his to worship.

Things blur after that, urgency crackling in the air like a live wire.

I don’t even register the moment he shifts until I’m suddenly not in his lap anymore.

He moves me gently, reverently, placing me down on the bench seat of the limo, my dress pooling around my thighs.

Then he drops to his knees in front of me on the floor, and my heart lodges in my throat.

“Eddie…” I whisper, breathless.

His hands are on my calves, sliding upward slowly, and he lifts my foot, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to my ankle. My skin burns beneath his lips.

My breathing grows shallow.

He keeps eye contact as he kisses higher, his mouth trailing up the length of my leg in a path that feels like fire. He moves my dress aside, bunching it delicately above my hips, and I feel completely exposed—utterly bare beneath that dark, hungry gaze.

But I’m not embarrassed.

I’m seen.

His hand slides to the inside of my thigh, and he kisses me there, slow and tender. I gasp—an involuntary sound as my body arches toward him. His thumb skims along my inner thigh, and I can feel how close he is. My skin tingles with anticipation, every nerve ending drawn taut.

Then his hand slips higher, and when his thumb drags softly over my center, he groans deep and rough.

“You’re so damn ready for me,” he growls, voice strained, full of awe and hunger.

I can’t form words. My mouth parts, but all I can do is breathe, pant, feel.

My whole body is vibrating, my heart racing, my breath catching on every touch.

He presses his forehead against my knee for a second, like he’s trying to regain control, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so raw, so real.

I’m drowning in this. In him.

My thighs tremble under his hands, and my fingers dig into the seat beneath me, anchoring myself as everything inside me screams for more. The way he touches me isn’t just about lust—it’s devotion. It’s a man unraveling for someone he’s been starving for.

And he’s starving for me.

God help me, I think, as heat pools low in my belly and the world fades to nothing but the sound of his breath and mine.

Because there’s no coming back from this. No pretending this is fake.

Not anymore.

As Eddie lifts his head, I can see the second his control snaps.

He hooks his finger around the flimsy lace of my thong and pulls up the fabric moving through my folds as he teases me with my panties, before swiping the fabric to the side, and I swear nothing has ever been more erotic than him with his head bent low, regarding my pussy like a man starved.

My fingers fist in his thick hair, pulling at the silky strands.

He bends his head and I feel the breath of him at my center before his tongue flicks out over the tight bud of nerves before him.

My ass rises to get closer to the bliss he is bestowing on me.

Looking down at the erotic sight of this man, kneeling between my legs with fire in his eyes as he pleasures me like it’s the only place he ever wants to be, is how I imagine heaven to feel.

His tongue presses harder, responding to each moan and whimper I make as his hands caress my belly, my breasts before clamping down on my hips to hold me steady.

“Eddie, oh God.” My head thrashes from side to side as he licks and sucks at my pussy. I can feel the arousal dripping out of me and covering his face and, normally, I’d be so embarrassed but the grunts of pleasure coming from Eddie spur me on.

My moans grow louder as my climax begins to ripple over me like a wave, and then he thrusts two fingers inside me and curls them.

I clench my pussy around him, wanting more, wanting everything this man has to give me.

As if he can read me, Eddie strokes his magical tongue over my clit faster, firmer until my voice fills the car and I shatter.

I hear him growl in satisfaction as I ride my orgasm like a wildfire out of control, magnificent in its brutality and totally consuming every thought and feeling until there is only us and this moment.