“I need more,” he says through clenched teeth. “I need more.”
I twist my hands in his hair. “Give me more.”
He does. He fucks me hard with a hand on my hip and my name falling from his lips.
Writhing beneath him, I claw at his shoulders, unrecognizable words pour out from me between my lips. I race over the edge and into an orgasm that blurs everything but him.
With a roll of his fingers over my clit, he chases his release, and when he comes he roars my name.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Liam
I beggedher to spend the night with me, but Athena left after we fucked.
I didn’t let her run right out the way she did last time. I cradled her in my arms and told her a story about the history of Grand Central Terminal.
She asked questions and laughed when I knew every answer.
This city has always fascinated me. When I was a kid, I’d spend my summers researching the little known facts about centuries-old buildings and the people who once lived and worked there.
I can’t say the building I work in is seeping with history, but there have been a lot of stories shared there.
I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of it waiting for Rhys.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m not pulling a shift today, but he sent me a text message an hour ago saying he needed an ear to listen.
I was here going through some of my files, so I told him to meet me outside.
Winola is upstairs in a session with a senator who lost his son recently. Discretion is all he wants, so I slipped out of the office unnoticed. Meeting Rhys there won’t work today.
“Hey, Wolf!”
I turn to the left to see him approaching. His blond hair is gone. It’s been replaced with a dark shade of green.
He’s pulling it off.
“Rhys.” I point at finger at his head. “You’re a brave man. I like the new look.”
“Before my mom lost all of her hair, she dyed it a different color every week.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “She wanted me to join her, but I didn’t. I regret that now, you know?”
I know.
Regret can crowd the heart after death, leaving little room for anything else.
Rhys seems to have a handle on it though. He’s celebrating his mom by honoring her. He’s not wallowing in thewhat-might-have-beenpit.
“She’d be proud of you for taking on the task now.”
I mean every word of it. Deidre was proud of her son. It shone through in every word she spoke about him. The kid was the light she needed to push through the pain of her treatments. She fought to the end for him.
“Do you want to get a hotdog or something?” He pats the back pocket of his jeans. “My treat.”
If he needs someone to hang out with for an hour or two, I’ve got the time. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”
We start down the sidewalk, side-by-side. When we reach the corner, he turns to face me. “My dad’s warming up to the idea of coming to see you.”
That’s good news. Deidre worried about her husband Gareth. She hoped that one day he’d be ready to open up and talk about her death. That day may be closer than I anticipated.
