I curse under my breath. “This is what I was trying to avoid. Getting distracted when I should be working.”
Her nails dig into my back. “Then walk away. Just leave.”
I laugh with no humor, just raw disbelief. “Leaving you is not an option. You’re my fucking mission, Chloe.”
She flinches but doesn’t let go. Her hands untuck my shirt, searching for skin. “You still want the diamonds?”
“I want you alive. Everything else is secondary.” Lowering my arms, I cup her breasts, rolling her nipples beneath the fabric of her shirt. “At the moment, these diamonds are the only ones on my mind. And impossible to say no to.”
She shudders before kissing me again, harder this time. “You’re a monster.”
I nod. I can’t deny that or ignore the twist of my stomach. After everything I’ve done, how else could she look at me?
I’m barely human on the best of days. And she hasn’t witnessed any of those.
Her body responds well, but will her mind accept me the same way?
Doubtful.
She releases a low, long exhale. “But you’re my monster.”
The words come out so softly, I’m not sure she meant for me to hear them.
That knot in my stomach disappears in an instant, and my heart races.
I pin her arms over her head, forcing her back against the wall. Her wide eyes shine with tears.
My monster.
I kiss her again, deeper, slower and more brutally, until she moans into my mouth.
My hands roam her body, mapping her the way I would enemy territory. Hips, ribs, breasts, the curve of her ass. She’s trembling, but not from fear. I slide a hand up her shirt, find bare skin.
She bites my lip a little too harshly, and I grunt. “Hurt me, so I know I’m not dreaming.”
I oblige by hauling her to the sofa and tossing her down, face-first.
My body covers hers, my clothed cock pressing against her from behind. I don’t bother with finesse. I want her to revel in every ounce of need, every bit of anger, every broken part of myself that’s now bound to her.
She arches under me, begging for more. My hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her painfully aware of her own pulse. “Tell me you survived.”
She gasps and tries to sob. “I survived.”
I press harder along her veins. “Louder.”
“I survived!” She breaks. Her body convulses in my arms as her emotional release hits with the force of an orgasm.
Long-buried emotions gush out, leaving space for new life to take root. I hold her through the tremors, shuddering with her, unwilling to let go.
When she finally relaxes, I collapse against her, burying my face in her neck and breathing her in.
For a long time, we don’t move. We simply exist, knotted together in the aftermath. Running my hands up and down her back, I soothe her as her release pours out through her tears and hiccupping sobs.
My father died protecting a Pakhan. A symbol.
I will protect her, this woman who is my mission and my weakness and my future all in one.
I pull her up and cradle her in my lap. Her face is blotched red, her hair a tangled mess, but for the first time in hours, her eyes are clear.
