I think I know what he needs.
We have been here before. Not just with the blood and the shower, but with us trying to connect when we experience such different realities. Shaped and forged in two different fires. While I’m eating cake with Bronson and Cassidy, he is making people bleed, letting the darkness consume him. How do we connect after that? Find a common place to be close?
We use our flesh.
That’s what I discovered the last time this happened. I can’t truly understand his evil. Though I can, and I will, handle it. The first thing he needs when in this state of mind is my touch, then after, maybe words, but our bodies have to connect first.
While his eyes drag along my exposed body, my heart is an erratic thing inside me, but I try to hold my confidence. I know he likes what he sees. Even when I’m hormonal or insecure, deep down there is no denying the pull between us.
His deer.
My wolf.
His cock, hanging long and thick between his thighs, twitches and grows right before my eyes.
It’s magnificent.
My fingers flex to touch him.
He strolls towards me, long naked legs, tattooed across one thigh, moving with prowess and dominance. Slowly, with his blue eyes capturing my hesitant gaze, he crawls onto the mattress, his tattooed flesh shifting as he moves.
He dips to drag his lips over my lower belly, nuzzling and kissing the soft flesh. He hums. I arch into his mouth, moaning for more. Travelling upwards, he kisses my ribs, between my breasts, warming my skin with his breath.
"Are you okay, Sir?” I ask when he settles over me; one little question I desperately need an answer to. Cupping the back of his neck, I feel entirely entranced by his gaze only inches from me. Clay Butcher is a formidable man in every way, not just dangerous, but criminally handsome. “Do you need me?”
“I always need you, little deer.” His lips meet mine in a gentle way that steals my heart, rolling and sucking, savouring and appreciating me.
Leaving my mouth gasping for more, my body humming to have him enter me, he kisses down my throat. “I need to taste you. Need your scent and flavours.” His hand slides to the back of my knee, up between my thighs, where he slips two fingers into my pussy.
I pulse upward.
Meeting his hard body.
More. More.
But it’s selfish—I want to be the right woman for him. His wife. The wife of the Don of theCosa Nostra.I want him to know that he can trust me. That my compass—my north, south, east, and west is him… “I can be here for you. I can listen. You can confide in me.”
He groans, stroking his long fingers insideme while kissing my skin and consuming my very soul. Like the devil does. My devil.
"Knowing this,” he says, breath heavy on my neck, “would be a brilliant waste of your time, sweet girl. You have more important things to consider.”
“Our wedding?”
“Is far more important.”
"Will I ever be the person you confide in?” I gasp as he thrusts with more purpose, working my pelvis with the expert skill of a demon summoned for pleasure. “Will you ever share your dark secrets, S-Sir.”Oh God.Feels so good.“I want to handle your e-evil.”
"What I need most from you is your innocence.” He pushes up to watch my mouth part, my words of support curdling into heedless moans.
My face flushes.
My body tightens.
I shudder.
I buck into his hand.
“To watch you come,” he says. His eyes pin me to the mattress as I come on his fingers, whimpering and shuddering. “The other half of me.” A smile touches his lips.
