It takes him a second, but his focus finds me again. The rain outside the door is relentless, the water cascading down the slope of the tunnel around our feet and into the void, only dimly lit by sconces on the wall.
“Finding one soulmate is rare enough. Two—” he shakes his head, the expanse of his throat moving in the dim light. He changes the subject. “I haven’t talked to Kate much, but I like her. Which reminds me.” His eyes ignite with something that has my gut rolling. The darkness that washes over his brown irises is alarming. “I can’t find her contract. Or any paperwork for that matter.”
My sternum tightens. I fight to reach up and rub away the tension as it flows to every muscle, pulling them tight.
“I must have forgotten. I’ll have her fill out one.” Can he hear my heartbeat laced with my tone?
“Yeah. Strange,” he repeats, glowering. It’s that look of his, where it’s like he’s using his rough fingers to pick apart my brain and search for the information I’m denying him.
Fuck. How could I have missed that?
I need Kate to sign a contract, or he’s going to know something is off, and my lies will catch up with me.
But the moment her blood touches that paper, she’s not just mine, she’soursin every way, shape, and form. Her life belongs to the mob.
She’ll never be able to escape.
But at this point, I don’t think I’ll let her either way.
TWENTY-NINE | KATE
My spoon nudges around the beef in my bowl, my eyes locked on the tender meat bobbing in the broth of my stew like it's the most interesting thing in this massive dining room.
Right now, it is, considering I’m the only one occupying it. It's nearly 9 p.m., and exhaustion consumes me from our fuck-fest last night. I’ve showered since then, yet Preston’s scent still clings to every stretch of exposed skin. It’s become a comfort I lean on—one I don’t have to seek out when it's seeped into my pores and follows me around.
All day I’ve meant to ask Preston if he wanted to eat with me tonight, since we usually dine separately in our rooms, but I haven’t seen him. Not to mention it's a little too late now. Unfortunately, I waited this long hoping I’d run into him, despite my stomach grumbling when I got off work. I should be hungry, but unease has settled in my stomach instead.
Something monumental changed when he ravenously claimed me in the maze, and I’m starting to crave that deeper connection that only time together can offer. I want thoseordinary moments since I said I’d give him all of me if he gave me all of him.
Then, when I woke, the cold sheets from his side soaked into my back, and I knew he was gone. He had cradled me all night, tucking me safely into his side like a lover would. That’s where he was when I fell asleep, after he let me ride him until I had us both coming undone again. At some point, he slipped from the bed, and I haven’t seen him since. So, I got up and went on with my day at the clinic, replaying everything that happened.
Is he regretting what transpired in the garden?
It wasn’t just that one time. He made good on his vow and carried me back to his room. He removed my clothes, placing me on his gray duvet that felt like heaven until he took me there with his cock. He did what he promised and admired the mess he made of my pussy by sliding back into me. I was leaking with his arousal and my own, and he fucked it back into me.
Then he added more, repeatedly, until I was so drained that I passed out. I think I was holding my breath when that last orgasm shredded through me.
I’ve never been fucked and come that hard in my life. He dragged my soul to the depths with his, then brought me back to consciousness before diving in again until my pussy had memorized every vein in his shaft.
Nervousness blooms in my belly at the thought of him being stressed about whether we took things too far.
Or was it my ugly truth that came out in the middle of the night when we were both awake that sent him spiraling?
Those things are weighing on me; however, I can’t ignore that flicker in my chest that tells me I’m being ridiculous. Just because he was gone this morning when I awoke doesn’t mean anything.
He’s so caught up in whatever mess I found myself in that I’m surprised he’s had time for me at all. Not just to pleasure mybody, but to teach me self-defense every morning. But it doesn’t dissipate the eager feeling in my bones, which is impatient to see his handsome face.
There is a large fireplace on one side of the room, the hearth looming and empty since we’re nearing the end of summer. Various abstract art pieces line the far wall, with spotlights highlighting the masterpieces featuring chaotic brushstrokes and swoops across the canvas. I used to think I could easily do that. Then I took an art class as a filler in college and nearly put my fist through the canvas.
It's more complicated than it looks.
Now I have an appreciation for that kind of artistic eye and creativity, which I admire whenever I'm in their presence. From where I’m sitting, my attention is drawn to the signatures scribbled in the bottom corner. I wouldn’t be surprised if each painting costs six figures.
Or more.
I’m guessing the latter.
Wiggling my nose, I scoop a potato onto my spoon. I’ve barely touched my stew, my mind wandering to where Preston might be.
