With that revelation, the fuckery we’re immersed in gets even murkier. “Yes.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Okay. Well, there was a picture of her in a folder on Claudia’s phone as someone to watch for. It said she was claimed to be dead, but suspected not to be. There was also information about the Morellis and Vittoris running a trafficking ring and a note that Ainsley Morelli-Vittori should be delivered there if found. So, I took them out.”
“Who?”
“The Morellis and the Vittoris.”
I’m not sure why my brain can’t digest this information. I know who my wife is, but I still request clarification. “All of them?”
“No.” She waves that off with a disgruntled pout. “Only twenty-one. There are still at least five left. But I also neutralized a few of their financers—Kratos’ men—and even though there was only one of them at the scene, I staged it to look like he and his acquaintances were behind killing the Mafias.”
“Jesus.” I stroke my forehead and stare at the ceiling.
My fierce fucking Thorn.
There’s a lot I need to catch her up on, too, especially the conversation I had with her father. My instincts told me he was being forthright, with the exception of a few omissions, but maybe he was covering his ass. Regardless, we’re knee-deep in shit. KORT will be pleased to know she took out those scum Mafias though. That’s something. Maybe there’s a way through this.
She grazes her fingers along my scruff, drawing my focus back to her. “That’s not all.” Her voice is suddenly a wisp of caution. “I figured something out, Axel, but it’s not the kind of information that’s good to know. It’s the kind of intel people never stop hunting you to cover up.”
I don’t think I can handle anything else tonight. “Is there any chance anyone knows where you are?”
“No.”
“Good. I need to hold you tonight, and I need to fuck my wife.”
“You forgive me?” Her emeralds flicker in the moonlit glow with a sweet innocence that stills me.
That’s all mine.
“Forgive you? Darling”—I tug her closer until she’s gripping my shirt and scratching my nape and my lips are brushing hers with my proclamation—“I’m in awe of you.”
“Then, yeah, that’s a good place to stop.” She sighs in relief, though her face still conveys the doom we’re up against.
Easing that burden is something I can handle. At least for tonight.
ZARA
Liberation is being stripped of all constraints. Yoked to a safe harbor. Finding power in pliancy.
Naked and chosen and free to be flawed.
I’ve trekked countless miles across the globe in my life, a nomad traveling beyond restrictions but crumpling from the weight of a single stone.
And belonging to no one.
Maybe that’s why being nude, collared, flattened, and bound to a grand piano reads as erotic emancipation.
“Wider,” Axel demands from between my legs.
He thrusts two fingers in and out of my wet heat, hitting that coveted target while playing Beethoven’sFür Elisewith the other hand. His brand of punishment is always music to my ears. Pun intended.
I gingerly lift my feet, spread my thighs more, and set my heels down on keys further out. With the lid closed, the sounds are somewhat muffled, but it still fills the apartment with an abrupt melding of high and low notes. Which immediately wins me a delicious smack on my pussy.
“Jesus,” I hiss as one of my heels bumbles and evokes a booming rumble to thunder against my core.
Another spank. Another sting. Another curse.
“When do you get to come, Zara?”
