I close my eyes tight, letting the pleasurable wave crash through me. “The good half,” he adds. “The half that is pure, that is worthy. The evil suffocates me, and you help me breathe. Purify my air. You already handle my evil, little deer. Exactly the way I need."
He draws his fingers out through my clinging inner walls, bringing them up to taste, groaning. Positioning his cock perfectly between my thighs, Clay takes my mouth and presses inside of me with searing possessiveness.
I whimper, receiving him, wrapping my legs around his thighs and my arms around his broad back, fingersgrabbing powerful muscles as they ripple and shift. He is an artisan’s canvas, hard and strong, so perfectly formed and virile.
My nipples tighten.
He thrusts. Deep. Steady.
The rough sounds of his pleasure fall into my mouth as we kiss and make love. Because that’s what we’re doing. Sweet, thorough, consuming lovemaking. I feel entirely smothered by him. He is everywhere. Inside me. Around me. Taking my breath. Touching my skin. Owning me.
My pussy grips him.
“Sir!” I come again.
And it’s wonderfully frightening. The best things always come with a touch of terror, don't they? Like a caterpillar emerging as a butterfly. A mother splitting open to bring new life. And me, being consumed by this powerful man who could just as easily crush me—his dominance and lust are even more thrilling because of it.
Heisdangerous.
And I need safety.
We are opposites, and opposites attract. Sometimes opposites even explode when they collide. Being the right woman for him, being worthy of him, of the acceptance from the Family means fitting his needs. And I do that. They don't need to understand it. I am his other half.
He empties his evil inside me with a throaty growl, pounding his hips between my legs to work out the last pulses of his orgasm.
When he shudders to a finish, I hold him to me as he relaxes. He buries his head in my neck, and I feel tears sting behind my eyes. It issosweet.
As he pants into the crook of my neck, coming down from pleasure’s peak, he is almost too heavy. A wisp of breathsqueezes from my lungs, then he lifts to his elbows, knees on either side of me, taking his weight. I inhale deeply.
His cock pulses in my core. We are wet and hot and content, slung together.
When I feed my fingers through his dark hair, dragging my nails up his nape and into his scalp, he nuzzles me further.
“Can you tell me one thing?” I whisper to the quiet room. “One word for what this was all about?” I know I shouldn’t push—I only need a hint to pacify my insecurities. Is it about me or business? Was it defensive or offensive? Or neither...
“Revenge."
My throat tightens.
The question ‘whose revenge’ rolls around my tongue like a sour entity, clinging and insistent, but all I say is, "I believe in karma, Sir. It doesn't always have to be so... final. So villainous and bloody.”
Clay’s body loosens with a deep exhale, muscles going lax over me, the perfect amount of pressure to allow me air—but forbid me to move.
We settle into each other.
Panting in unison.
Then hot breath slithers down my neck and blankets me as he murmurs, “Even karma needs a little push, sweet girl.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
clay
“Forgive the mess,”I say, gesturing towards the conference room as though its immaculate marble and glass decor can’t quite live up to what I require. “My usual office, as it happens, is—” I use my hands, thickening the hint of Sicilian in my accent—”under renovation,se?”
The wordrenovationhangs in the air.That’s right, fuckers. I heard what you’ve been saying about me.
The three bikers gaze around the room, trying to hide their stupefied awe. For a moment, I let them linger, analyse my space and men. Measure up the twoCosa Nostrasoldiers, and the two Made Men, John and Lucky Louis, at my bar. Recognise my father, Luca Butcher, who sits on the leather sofa, a presence that needs no words. Study the polished gleam of the table and the tall, impressive windows overlooking the pool where my little deer swims with my sons.
