“Say. It.” His fingers flex on my neck. “Say it.”
“I love you!” His mouth slams against mine, and my back hits the side of the house as he utterly devours me, tastes those three words from my lips, swallows them down and owns them.
There is a feral, primal need to his touch, to the way his body presses mine into the side of the house. He strokes his tongue against mine, grinding his hips forward so his hard length pushes against my lower abdomen. He groans into my mouth, “Say it again.”
My nails sink into his chest, biting, “I love you.”
“Fuck,” Hands reach behind my thighs, and hehoists me up, my legs going around his waist so he can walk us into the house, and the door slams shut behind us.
“Mine,” He growls against my lips. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” His fingers press into my thighs. “Now I’m going to prove it.”
CHAPTER 37
Ilove you.
My hands squeeze the soft flesh of her thighs where they hold her against me, keeping every part of her touching me.
I love you.
I can still taste the sweetness of the words on my tongue, like a drug, they work my system, sending me higher, needing more, a fix never sated.
In the bedroom, I only allow her down to reach for the shirt tucked into her shorts, pushing the light material up and over her head only to throw it behind me and then I reach for the clasp at herback.
I love you.
No one has ever said those three words to me.
My mother died when I was young, so I don’t recall her ever saying it, and my father was never the type; he showed but never told. Though he always had a lot to say about a woman’s love.Thewoman’s love.
I didn’t expect it to come in the form of a bratty, reckless, stubborn mafia princess, but you know what? If I want it from anyone, it’s her.
I unclasp her bra and toss that to the ground, leaning back to watch my hands cover her entirely, the bars pierced through her nipples warm to touch. Her lips are pouty and swollen, her lids hooded.
She matches me in every way. Pushes when I pull, takes every blow and delivers her own.
I’ve never given much thought to soul mates, didn’t think they existed despite the ramblings of my old man telling me they’re a real thing. He had it with my mom, supposedly.
He never did remarry.
She tips her chin toward the ceiling, a low moan slipping from her lips that raises the hair on my arms.
So fucking pretty.
Though dainty, she possesses the unwaveringstrength of the surrounding mountains, her resilience an echo of their granite faces. As strong as the storms that roll through the valley, an unfaltering force of nature.
I drop my fingers to the button of her shorts, flicking it open, but she doesn’t give me a chance to remove them as she takes control and slips them down her legs, leaving her in only her panties.
The C burned into her thigh has healed enough that the bruising is all but faded shadows, the skin raised, showing it’s new but fixed.
My knees hit the carpet ahead of her, and my mouth presses to the fresh scar.
My C. My brand.Myname.
She jolts at the contact but doesn’t move away, her hands falling to the top of my head to thread my hair between her long fingers. Hooking my fingers in her panties, I let my eyes travel up her body as I pull them down, baring her to me before I gently coax her back until her spine hits the wall and I follow, immediately hooking one leg and then the other over my shoulders where I’m knelt on the carpet, her pussy right at my mouth.
