She sucked in a quick breath. “Rav?—”
“Let’s get out of here.” I pulled away from her, only far enough so I could see her reaction. “Right now. Let’s go back to the villa while everyone’s still here.”
“The mission?—”
“It will still be there tomorrow.” I slid one of my hands down the curve of her back to her ass. The move was no different from half the couples surrounding us. “Tonight is ours.”
She searched my face, and I let her see everything—the desire, the fear, the certainty that I wanted this. Wanted her.
“You’re serious,” she whispered.
“Dead serious.”
The music continued to drone around us, but faded into the background. I watched the decision form in her eyes before she spoke.
“Okay,” she finally said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Let’s go.”
The tightness I’d been carrying in my chest since I’d seen her in Mnemis finally released. I took her hand and led her off the dance floor, not bothering with goodbyes. At the edge of the club, I caught Emmett’s eye. He raised his bottle in silent acknowledgment.
Chapter 31
Brooke
The villa doorslammed behind us, and Rav turned the lock. The house was silent—no voices, no footsteps—but I barely registered it, too consumed with the feeling of his hands on my waist.
“Screw the pleasantries,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the center of the house. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
His phone buzzed, and he paused. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and read me a text from Scarlett: “She says the team’s getting food after the club, they won’t be back for hours, and that we should enjoy the privacy.”
“That sounds like an order,” I said with a laugh, tossing his phone onto a small table near the base of the elevator. “So where were we?”
“Right about?—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish the answer. I was already pushing him against the wall, my lips finding his with an urgency that surprised even me. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as it slid against mine, sending heat pooling between my thighs.
“Upstairs,” he murmured against my mouth, his hands sliding down to cup my ass. “Now.”
“Too far,” I gasped as he caught my bottom lip between his teeth. “Here.”
His eyes darkened. “Are you sure?”
In response, I reached for the hem of my shirt and hauled it off, revealing my black bra and every inch of my scars. Five years ago, I might have hesitated, might have wanted the concealment of darkness. But not tonight.
Tonight I wanted him to see all of me.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed, his gaze traveling over me without flinching, without the slightest hint of distaste.
The intensity in his eyes made my skin burn, and I reached for his ridiculous silk shirt, tearing at the buttons until I could push it off his shoulders. More than anything, I wanted to see the scorpion wrapped around his bullet scars—a symbol of me, of us. I traced it with my fingertips, feeling the slightly raised texture of the scar tissue beneath the ink.
“I never forgot you.” His voice was rough as he backed me toward the nearest flat surface—somehow we’d wound up in the kitchen, at the dining table. “You were always part of me.”
My ass hit the edge of the table, and he lifted me onto it, stepping between my legs. His hands slid up my thighs until they reached the waistband of my jeans. He made quick work of the button and zipper, freeing me from them. I wrapped my bare legs around him, pulling him closer, grinding against his hardening cock, which was testing the strength of his pants’ zipper.
“Christ, Brooke,” he groaned, his fingers digging into my thighs. “I’ve thought about this every fucking day.”
“Less talking,” I demanded, reaching for his belt. “More fucking.”
His laugh was dark and promising as he captured my mouth again, his tongue mimicking what I desperately wanted elsewhere. I managed to get his belt undone and his zipper down, my hand slipping inside to slide down the length of his cock. He was so thick and hard.
