“No way we’re leaving without a shower, Dove.” Scooping her up, I toss her over my shoulder like she weighs nothing. She squeals, laughing, but I’m already moving, carrying her through the door and into Thomas’s hidden guest suite. I set her down on the cool tile. Aria’s eyes widen as she takes it all in.
“No way…” She glances around. “This office isn’t just for work. It’s like a damn guest suite.”
I chuckle. “Club Culture’s one of Thomas’s side hustles. The man needs a sanctuary. You met his wife. This is his escape hatch.”
“Poor Thomas.” Her finger taps my back. “Do you think we would’ve had more fun on the bed? You trashed his desk. Everything’s on the floor.”
“Lass, as tonight proves, I’m a jealous bastard. I don’t want you lying in another man’s bed.”
“Even if it’s with you?” she challenges, wrapping her hand around my waist.
“Fuck no.” I drag her under the spray with me. She shrieks as the water hits her and laughs. “Your scent would linger. The idea of some other man breathing it in? No, I can’t stand it.”
“You’re crazier than an Irish werewolf on a full moon.” Her grin is wicked. “Apparently, your madness is contagious because I get it. No way do I want you in another woman’s bed, even with me in it.” Her hands slide up my chest, arms circling my neck. She nips at my collarbone, leaving a mark.
“Oh, and Mr. Obsessive...” she nips at my chest, her teeth scraping, leaving another mark. “Don’t think I missed the part about Thomas owning this place. Clever little secret, no wonder you said nothing to Tasha when she mentioned the bachelorette party. You’re such a stalker.”
“Clever, huh?” I drag my lips over her forehead down to her cheek. “If I’m an Irish werewolf, then you’re my wild, beautiful mate. An Alpha must track what’s his.”
“You’re a control freak,” she giggles.
“Maybe.”
“But since it’s contagious,” she beams and tugs at my beard. “I want the same. I should always know where my mate is.”
“For you,” I kiss her, deep and consuming, pulling on her tongue and savoring the taste of her. “Anything.” When I pull away, spinning her around to wash her back. I squeeze body wash into my palms, running them over her glistening light-bronze skin, each curve, each dip, worshipped beneath my touch. My fingers slide from her neck to her luscious breasts, grazing over the marks I left.
The sight of her, branded by me, stokes a fire in my gut. Damn, I’m hard again. My cock twitches, eager, remembering the way she screamed for me. But I rein it in, kneeling to run my hands down her legs. Then my palm cups her neatly trimmed pussy. She gasps, her body arching toward my hand.
“Stop that,” I warn, teasing her clit. “Or I’ll end up licking you til you’re screaming my name again.”
She lifts a leg, draping it over my shoulder. “Now that,” she purrs, “sounds like a bloody brilliant idea.”
“Careful,” I blow a puff of air close to her pussy, “you’re wiped out, love. We’re here to clean up and then go home.” But my lady grinds her hips against my fingers, her body already calling for mine again.
“Fuck...” The primal urge floods through me. I’m a mobster, not a monk, and with her, restraint never lasts long. I grip her thighs and bury my mouth between her legs. She moans, her fingers threading through my hair as she rides my face, panting my name like a prayer.
It doesn’t take long before she’s pressed back against the wall, and I’m inside her again, slow at first, then helplessly lost.
When she breaks, I go with her. This time, I don’t fight it.
Fifty-Two
“Our love started messy; now it’s a beautiful thing. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours, and for the first time in my life, that’s enough.” Aria Boschett.
As I lie atop him, my head resting on his chest, I’m sated, wrapped in the warmth of Cyan and the steady rhythm of his heart. It’s a sound I could listen to forever. It’s grounding, constant, and matches the fragile hope swelling inside my chest. Moonlight spills through the window, casting his rugged features in silver. He looks almost ethereal like this, the shifting color of his eyes softened. I want to keep this between the two of us. This calm, this new beginning. With no more barriers, no more secrets, neither his past nor mine. Not even Ethan. I won’t let the chaos seep into this fragile paradise.
“You know,” I whisper, not quite sure how to begin, so I don’t try to polish it. Just letting my truth spill out. “My parents were perfect. Our life was perfect. Until I fucked it all up.”
I swallow hard. “My dad had a quiet strength about him. I was his la mia piccola signora.” A small smile touches my lips before it fades. “And I killed him.” Cyan doesn’t interrupt. He just listens; his silence gives me the courage to keep going.
“When I was twelve, I begged him to go to the bookstore. He was exhausted. He’d worked a double. But I wouldn’t let it go. I stomped my foot, cried, and reminded him he’d made me a promise. Everyone else in my class would have their copy. I didn’t want to be the only one without it.”
I draw a shaky breath. “Dad got up, grabbed his keys, ‘A Boschett always keeps their promises.’” My voice cracks. “That was the last thing he ever said to me before he walked out the door. He never came home. He was mugged and killed.” I squeeze my eyes shut as tears spill over. “Because of me. Because I wanted—” The words fracture, breaking apart before I can finish them. A sob tears out of my chest, ugly and uncontained, stealing my breath. I curl inward, hands fisting in the sheets, like I can anchor myself if I just hold on hard enough. I can’t say it. I can’t give the guilt a name out loud. Cyan doesn’t rush me. He shifts beneath me, and one arm comes around my back, solid and warm. His other hand slides into my hair, not forcing my head up, just cradling it there, like he knows this moment needs space to hurt. I shake against him, my face pressed to his chest, his heartbeat loud beneath my ear. Ever steady, ever unwavering, Cyan holds me, telling me without words he’s not going anywhere, that he’ll stay right here no matter how ugly the truth gets. My tears soak into his skin. His thumb moves in small, grounding strokes along my spine. Once, twice, again and again. The quiet patience undoes me more than words ever could.
“My mom’s laugh used to light up an entire room,” I continue, quieter now. “After my dad died, it was like something inside her shattered. She tried to hold everything together, but I think she couldn’t look at me without seeing him.” My breath catches. I press my forehead harder into his chest, like I can hide there. “Every time she looked at me, I think she saw the promise I made him keep. The night he didn’t come home.” Another sob tears out of me before I can stop it, but I don’t stop. I push forward. “I wasn’t just her daughter anymore… I was the reminder; the reason she lost the love of her life.” I drag in a breath that trembles. “One day, she dropped me off at my grandmother’s and said it was only temporary. She never came back. Someone found her car abandoned. No trace of her. She just vanished.” My chest tightens as the words I’ve carried for years finally surface. “And even Nonna. She needed me, and I wasn’t there. It’s always me. Dad, Mom, and my grandmother... every time something bad happens to the people I love, I’m right there at the center of it.”
The words I’ve lived with for years slip out before I can stop them. “I’m the constant. I’m the curse.”
