“That smart mouth of yours,” he whispers. “I know this is what you’re really after, ain’t it?”
I can’t hold back my moan. I push back into him, but he draws his hand away. “Ah ah,” he says. “Tell me what you want.”
My breath catches. “I want you inside me.”
“Beg for it,” he growls, his voice laced with that dangerous edge that makes my pulse spike. His fingers pause, teasing just outside, denying me the fullness I crave. “You don’t get a damn thing till you say it right.”
“Please, sir,” I whimper. “I need you inside me.” The words nearly catch in my throat, but they spill out, my pride crumbling under the weight of his dominance. He hums low with satisfaction, a sound that strikes like a match, igniting as he gives me what I begged for.
“That’s better.” His fingers, thick and unrelenting, stretch me with precision, teasing that aching heat inside me until I’m trembling, my thighs slick with need. “You been wantin’ it deep, ain’t you?” He works me open, making sure I feel every inchof the ache. My body jerks, instinctive, desperate to take more, to be filled. He curls his fingers just right and I cry out, a raw, choked sound I can’t control. I’m his to unravel, and he knows it.
“You ready for me? Ready for me to fill you proper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Up,” he says, pulling his fingers free. He pats my rear end and nudges me up onto my feet. My skirts fall into place, drawers tangled around my legs.
My heart slams against my ribs, each beat a frantic drum as his command cuts through the air. “Strip.”
My fingers fumble, clumsy as they tug at the laces of my bodice. I can feel his eyes on me, patient and hungry, as the garment loosens and slips from my shoulders. It falls to the floor with a soft thud. The warm air grazes at my exposed skin, raising goosebumps and tightening my nipples to aching peaks.
Kodiak leans back slightly, arms folded, watching me like a man admiring his favorite view. There’s a slow, satisfied curve to his mouth, equal parts amusement and dominion. My skirts follow, crumpling in a heap, and my drawers snag around my ankles, leaving me bare.
“That’s it,” he breathes, approving. “Look at you, mindin’ so sweet. Knew you could behave when you wanted somethin’ bad enough.”
He crouches slightly, takes hold of me and lifts me like I weigh nothing. His arms band around me, thick with muscle and the warmth of him. His chest is broad, heart beating against me in a steady rhythm. I wrap my arms around him, carried by him until the observatory table’s hard edge digs into my flesh. My legs dangle, useless, my body open and vulnerable, and a shiver racks me—not cold, but a raw, electric need that pulses low in my belly. I’m exhilarated, caught in a storm of his quiet power.
His mouth casts heat against my collarbone, and my pulse spikes, a frantic rhythm. “You’re perfect,” he growls, his voicea rumble that vibrates through me. He steps forward, his firm body filling the space between my parted legs, the scent of leather and sweat rolling off him, laced with his raw musk. It wraps around me, thick and familiar, like heat rising off sun-warmed earth. I could drown in that scent. It always does something to me, sinks deep, dredging out every ache I have for him.
His fingers, deliberate and slow, work the buttons of his trousers, each soft clink of metal against cloth striking my senses. I watch his hands—those capable, calloused hands—quick enough to draw a pistol, steady enough to calm a wild mare, and tender enough to touch me gentle like I’m the most precious thing on God’s green earth. Now, they part fabric like pulling back the veil on something sacred, revealing the hard, undeniable proof of his desire.
His hand moves, guiding the thick length of him. The faint dew of his desire paints my inner thigh, an intimate mark that sends fire through me, a rush of warmth pooling at my core.
“You’ll take all of me,” he vows, the blunt velvet crown of him notched at my entrance. “And when I spill deep inside you, your cries’ll carry my name to those stars.”
His voice is a promise and a prayer together, and for a heartbeat, I forget the ache, the sorrow, the months of trying. All that’s left is the wanting.
I close my eyes and breathe, feeling the weight of him before he even enters me. I send the thought upward, past the rafters, past the glass, past the reach of air, up where heaven begins. Let this be the time. Let something take hold so I may carry a piece of him.
The stars blur above, and I almost imagine they’re listening. I picture a spark tumbling down from the sky, a seed of fire small enough to take root within me.
If the heavens ever wished me kindness, let it be now.
Chapter 45
KODIAK
Nine Months Later
She’s standing by the window in the late afternoon light, backlit and soft, hands pressed into the small of her back like she’s trying to ease the pull of carrying what we made.
I pause in the doorway.
Sunlight’s spilling through the glass, painting her in gold. Swell of life plain under her chemise, clinging to every curve. And those breasts—Lord, those breasts—near ready to spill over the neckline, heavy and swollen with the promise of life.
It’s sweet, but then my hands go cold, numb. My chest tightens. Lately, it’s like the Devil’s hiding ’round every corner. Ain’t normal. I should be overjoyed—and I am—but then I think on my ma, on how I came into this world killing, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe fate’s been sitting back, waiting patient for me to get soft, to love something enough for it to hurt.
She don’t see me at first. I take a step in, boots scuffing the floor just enough to catch her ear. She turns. Her lips part likeshe forgot whatever it was she meant to say and holds the round swell under her dress.
