A live wire sizzles from deep within my core, building, building, and building, until I can no longer bear it.
A roar rips out of him, his cock becoming impossibly harder and thicker.
“Fuck yes,” he grunts, his rhythm faltering. “Come for me, wife, flood me with your cum.”
My release detonates. Wetness drips out of my pussy as wave after wave of his hot cum bathes my insides.
Elias presses kisses upon kisses while he moves on top of me, eking out every ounce of ecstasy. His lips travel to the sensitive pulse point on my neck, my jaw, my eyes, then my lips again, like he can’t get enough.
“Myzemër,” he whispers minutes later, cradling me, chest against chest, his semi-hard cock still lodged inside me.
My eyes flutter open. Wind howls outside. Another flash of lightning slashes the room in white.
But I don’t care. The unease from earlier has long vanished.
“What does that mean,zemër?” I smile and brush his hair from his forehead so I can see his eyes again.
My favorite emerald eyes.
“Heart.” His lips curve into a small smile. “I lost my heart years ago, but you’ve kept it safe for me, myzemër.”
I give him a wobbly smile, heat prickling the backs of my eyes again.
I push him down onto the bed and straddle him. His breath hitches in surprise.
My hair forms a curtain around our faces when I lean over him.
“Kian…Elias…whoever you are,” I whisper, “I will always keep your heart safe. Always.”
His groan fills the room when I move on top of him, letting my body speak the rest.
Later that night, he stays, our bodies touching, connected like we’ve been waiting all our lives.
Two hearts reunited.
Chapter 42: TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES
The early dawn bathesLana in a soft blue light.
And I do what I do best.
Watch her.
But this time, instead of sitting in a chair next to her bed, or observing through monitors, I’m beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, inhale her sweet roses, and count the soft flutters of her breaths.
The useless muscle behind my sternum kicks and jolts, mocking me with a truth my mind has known for years.
“I love you, Lana,” I whisper, so softly she can’t hear me.
For so long, I called it obsession, delusion, hatred—anything but what it was. I told myself that hating her made it acceptable to stay by her side, even though she led the killers to our door.
But I can’t lie to myself anymore.
I love her.
I’d kill for her.
I’d burn for her.
