Page 57 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost (Nightfall Syndicate #1)

My entire world narrows down to the feeling of his cock stretching me open, the coil of pleasure tightening in my core. I'm vaguely aware that I'm babbling, a stream of curses and pleas falling from my lips.

"That's it, baby," Kade pants against my ear. "Take my cock. You're doing so well."

His praise sends another spark of arousal through me. I'm so close, teetering right on the edge of bliss.

"Please," I whimper, not even sure what I'm begging for. "Please, Kade, I need—"

Kade walks us backwards until he sinks onto the couch, still buried deep inside me. I gasp at the change in angle, feeling him even deeper now.

"Fuck," I breathe, adjusting to the new position.

I hunger for the times when Kade takes control, pinning me down and having his way with me. But straddling him like this, I get a thrill of command. I'm the one with the ability to unravel the infamous Ghost .

I start to grind my hips, savoring the delicious friction. Kade's hands grip my waist, guiding my movements.

"That's it, baby," he growls. "Ride my cock."

His words send a fresh wave of heat through me. I pick up the pace, bouncing on his thick length. The wet sounds of our coupling fill the room, mingling with our moans and gasps.

"Oh god," I pant, my head falling back. "You feel so good inside me."

Kade's mouth latches onto my breast, sucking hard. I know it'll leave a mark, but I'm too lost in the exquisite sensations coursing through my body to care.

I grind down harder, taking him as deep as I can. The change in angle hits a spot inside me that makes me see stars.

"Fuck!" I cry out, my nails digging into Kade's shoulders.

He hisses, his hips bucking up to meet me each time I come down. The couch creaks beneath us, protesting our vigorous movements.

I'm close, so close. That familiar tension is building low in my belly, threatening to consume me. But I want to make this last, to savor every moment.

I slow my pace, rolling my hips in a sensual grind. Kade groans, his fingers tightening on my waist.

"Don't tease," he grunts, his hands urging me to move faster.

I smirk. It's rare to see Kade this undone, this desperate. And knowing I'm the cause sends a thrill through me.

"What's wrong, Ghost?" I purr, leaning in to nip at his earlobe. "Losing control? "

His eyes flash dangerously. In one swift move, he flips us over so I'm on my back on the couch. Before I can catch my breath, he's pounding into me with renewed vigor.

"Fuck!" I cry out, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

Kade's lips crash against mine in a bruising kiss. I moan into his mouth, my legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even closer.

Kade's powerful thrusts drive me deeper into the couch cushions. My nails rake down his back as waves of pleasure crash through me. The tension coils tighter and tighter in my core.

"Please," I gasp against his mouth. "I'm so close."

His hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy. Stars explode behind my eyes at the added stimulation.

"Come for me, my little hellcat," he growls.

The command in his voice combined with the relentless pounding of his cock sends me over the edge. My back arches as my orgasm rips through me, a scream of pleasure torn from my throat.

Kade collapses on top of me after his final movements, our chests heaving against each other as we catch our breath. My heart pounds wildly beneath his weight.

I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, savoring this moment of connection. Something stirs within me as I think about our bodies joined this way—the possibility of creation, of something permanent binding us together.

The thought sends a warm flush through me that has nothing to do with physical exertion. I've never told anyone about this fantasy, this deep-seated desire that makes these intimate moments even more intense for me.

I press my lips to his shoulder, hiding my smile against his skin.

For several long moments, we just lie there, our hearts racing in tandem. I run my fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, savoring the solid weight of him pressing me into the couch.

"That was..." I trail off, unable to find the right words.

"Mmm," Kade hums in agreement, nuzzling into my neck.

The tenderness of the gesture makes my heart squeeze. It's these moments, right after the intensity fades, when I see the man beneath the carefully controlled exterior.

"We should probably get cleaned up," I murmur, though I make no move to get up.

"In a minute," he replies, his arms tightening around me.

I smile, perfectly content to stay right here in our little bubble of peace. Tomorrow will bring more challenges, more dangers. But for now, this is enough.

Thanks for reading Shadowed Vows. Hope you enjoyed Kade and Alina's story! They missed Sunday dinner with Alina's family, but I have a special bonus chapter for you! (and yes, there's some more spice…)

Shadow Vows Bonus Scene What happens when a deadly mercenary meets the family? Ghost thought infiltrating enemy compounds was hard—until he faced Nonna's interrogation and Alina's childhood bedroom.

Be sure to grab it here! https://author.emeryrowan.com/shadowed_vows_bonus

Want to read "Frost" Asher's story? Be sure to check it out in Shadowed Hearts: Frost – it will be available May 2025!

Like to hang out with like-minded readers? Join us on Facebook in Emery Rowan's Syn Squad

xo Emery Rowan

Keep reading for a sneak peek!

Asher

"Tell me you're not sending me in there, Blade"

"I need eyes on this location. You're the nearest asset." Cole's voice is calm in my earpiece, the way it always is during an operation.

"At a coffee shop? This is a waste of resources." I swing my leg over my Ducati, the white bodywork gleaming in the morning sun. My muscles protest—third surveillance op in as many days.

"Intelligence suggests our target frequents the location. We need confirmation."

I exhale sharply, scanning the street before removing my helmet. "Fine. But I'm logging this as misuse of tactical personnel."

Cole chuckles. "Noted."

The bell above the door announces my arrival at Temple Coffee Roasters.

The scent hits first—rich espresso beans and something sweet—followed by the tactical assessment that's second nature after fifteen years of operations.

Three exits: front door, kitchen access, fire escape through the bathroom window.

Sixteen civilians present. Two baristas behind counter.

The line to order moves slowly, giving me time to catalog faces. Middle-aged businessman tapping impatiently at his watch. College student with textbooks spread over a four-person table. Elderly couple sharing a pastry.

Nothing unusual. Nothing threatening.

The calculated distance between myself and everyone else feels right. Comfortable. The way it's always been.

My attention shifts to the baristas. Male, early twenties, tattoos visible beneath rolled sleeves.

Female, petite with dark hair gathered in a messy bun, pink streaks catching the light as she moves.

She's working three machines at once, fingers flying over equipment with surprising precision.

Her movements aren't just fast—they're efficient.

The line shuffles forward. I'm next. The female barista looks up, and unexpected brightness hits me—huge dark eyes set in a heart-shaped face that makes her look too young to be working here.

But there's something in her gaze—a flicker of intelligence, of assessment—that doesn't match her cheerful demeanor.

"What can I get started for you?" Her voice is warm, animated. Something about her seems oddly familiar, though I'm certain we've never met.

I ignore the feeling. "Black coffee. Large."

"Just black? No room for cream?" She cocks her head, studying me like I'm a puzzle with missing pieces.

"Just black."

Her lips curve into a smile that seems to reach beyond the standard customer service mask. "Coming right up."

For a fraction of a second, I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. What anyone sees. Then I dismiss the thought. It doesn't matter. I'm not here to be seen.

I'm here to watch.

The barista turns away, dark hair swinging across her shoulders. She grabs a matte black cup, larger than the others lined up beneath the espresso machine. Her movements are economical but graceful. Professional yet distinct.

Not relevant to the mission. I redirect my focus to the door as another customer enters.

"Strong and bitter, just like the personality it matches."

I blink. She's back, setting my coffee on the counter, a playful spark in her eyes. No one makes comments like that to strangers. Especially not to men who look like me.

"Excuse me?"

"The coffee." She taps the cup with a short fingernail, painted black with tiny silver stars. "Single origin Ethiopian. It's intense but complex. Not everyone appreciates it."

"I didn't ask for Ethiopian." My voice comes out cooler than intended .

She shrugs, unbothered by my tone. "Trust me. If you're drinking it black, this is better than our house blend."

The way she constantly scans the room between words—left to right, eyes briefly lingering on the entrance, the back hallway, the windows. Not a casual sweep. Systematic. Similar to how I check a room.

Interesting.

"You always decide what customers want?" I pull my wallet from my jacket pocket.

"Only when I know I'm right." Her smile widens, revealing a slight dimple in her left cheek. "Which is most of the time."

Our fingers brush as I hand her my card. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt up my arm—static electricity, nothing more. But I withdraw my hand too quickly, betraying my discomfort.

Her eyes flick to my face, registering my reaction. "Sorry about that. Happens all the time in here. Something about the machines."