“Tell me what you need,” I whisper against her ear, nipping gently at the lobe.
She tangles her fingers in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make my breath catch. “Talk to me. I want to hear you.”
“You want the words?” I grind deeper, watching her pupils dilate. “You want me to tell you how fucking incredible you feel? How wet you are for me?”
“Yes,” she gasps, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders.
I’ve always wielded words as weapons, used them to dismantle opponents. But here, with Cora, they become something else entirely, honest in ways I never allow myself to be.
“Look at you taking me so perfectly,” I murmur, setting a rhythm that makes her moan. “So fucking beautiful and so goddamn filthy at the same time.”
Her legs wrap tighter around my waist, urging me deeper.
“The things you do to me... I can’t believe I found someone so fucking perfect and fucking slutty.” I brush my lips against hers, my voice rougher than intended. “Makes me want to ruin you and worship you in the same breath.”
Cora responds with a sound that’s half whimper, half laugh. “Only for my men.” Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, her touch unexpectedly tender amidst our intensity.
I’ve never understood the concept of making love until now—how it could be both gentle and devastating, intimate and filthy all at once.
I feel her tighten around me as I increase my pace, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. The sight of her—flushed and needy beneath me—unleashes something primal inside me.
“Fuck, Cora. You’re so goddamn perfect.” I grip her hip harder, angling to hit that spot that makes her eyes roll back. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”
Her back arches off the bed, those perfect breasts pushed toward me. I lower my head to capture one nipple between my teeth, tugging just enough to make her cry out.
“Liam, please—I’m so close—” Her voice breaks as I slide my hand between our bodies, my thumb finding her clit with practiced precision.
“I love you,” I whisper against her skin, my voice rough with unexpected emotion. “I fucking love you, Cora.”
Her eyes fly open, locking with mine.
“Say it again,” she demands, hips bucking against me.
I drive deeper, feeling my own control fracturing. “I love you. Love how filthy you are for me. Love how you take my cock. Love everything about you.”
My thumb circles faster as I feel my own climax building, unstoppable now.
“Coming—” she gasps, her inner walls clenching around me in rhythmic pulses.
Her mouth finds mine in a desperate, messy kiss as she comes apart, swallowing my groan as I follow her over the edge. I thrust through our shared orgasm, pouring everything into her—my release, my words, my terrifying vulnerability.
When she breaks the kiss, her eyes shine with unshed tears. Her fingers trace my cheekbones with a tenderness I’ve never allowed myself to need before.
“I love you too,” she whispers, her voice breaking slightly. “Not just because of this. Because of today. Because you let me see you, the real you.”
43
CORA
The text arrives while I’m sipping coffee at the breakfast bar. Three words that crack my world open: “Martha is gone.”
Martha Coleman. My childhood nanny. The only adult who ever stood between me and my father’s rage. Gone at sixty-two from a heart attack in her sleep.
“Cora?” Dom’s voice sounds distant through the sudden ringing in my ears. “What’s wrong?”
I can’t speak, just hand him my phone. His arm slides around my waist, anchoring me while Ryder and Liam crowd close, their concerned faces swimming in my vision.
“She was the only one who saw,” I finally manage. “The only one who tried to stop him.”
